Nightshine: A Novel of the Kyndred

by Lynn Viehl

  “No one will take you near the islands. They know the law. If we’re stopped, I can use my credentials.” She checked the navigational equipment before sitting down in the captain’s chair. “Papi is not angry at you. It’s me.” She sighed. “It’s always me.”

  “I noticed he didn’t exactly break out the champagne when we showed up.” Drew sat down beside her. “Is it because you left home?”

  “My family never approved of my going to school and getting a job in the city,” she admitted. “They wanted me to marry. Papi even had a husband picked out for me.”

  Longing and jealousy ricocheted inside him, two pin-balls covered with spikes. “Was this husband-to-be a fat, ugly old widower with six kids?”

  “Eduardo? He was young, slim, and handsome. No children, but no desire for an educated, working wife.” She sounded depressed, but when she looked at him her eyes twinkled. “Now he is older and a little fat.”

  “And he has six kids?”

  She smiled. “Four.”

  It might have been the way the sun was gilding the tips of her eyelashes, or the sheen of sea spray on her cheeks, but in that moment Drew knew he had never seen and would never again see anyone as beautiful as Agraciana Flores. “You could have both, you know,” he heard himself say. “The family and the career. Lots of women do it.”

  “Women in your country.” She caught a piece of her hair that escaped from the colorful scarf she’d tied around her head and tucked it under the edge. “Here we are not so liberated.”

  “You should consider emigrating, then.” He reached out to trace the curve of her cheek, and was startled when she whipped her head away. “Gracie?”

  She stood up, gripping the wheel tightly. “There are some bottles of water in an ice chest below if you are thirsty.”

  Every time he got close to her, Drew realized, she pushed him away. “I’m not—”

  “I am.” She gave him a direct look. “Would you bring one for me, please?”

  Drew gave up and went below to retrieve the water. The cramped space had been made into a tidy little living space, complete with a narrow bunk, an ancient but clean cookstove, and a tiny bathroom. It should have been hot and airless, but the old man had rigged some sort of ventilation system, and a steady stream of cool, salt-tinged air wafted in Drew’s face.

  He noticed a crate stashed in one corner that had been filled with magazines and books, all written in Spanish but obviously about sailing and fishing.

  “So Papi likes to read.” He picked up one paperback and thumbed through it before something fluttered out of the pages. He bent to pick up a small photograph of a petite, dark-haired child in a red dress standing with a younger version of Papi in front of the old boat.

  “She’s still your girl, isn’t she, old man?” He noticed what he first assumed was a sleeve was actually a bandage on the child’s right arm. “But who the hell hurt her?”

  He knew he should have replaced the photo, but he gave in to the impulse and tucked it into his pocket before grabbing a bottle of water.

  Gracie had reverted back to her cool, distant composure when he rejoined her on deck, and thanked him politely when he handed her the bottle. “I apologize for my temper. I never discuss such matters with a stranger.”

  The photo in his pocket, the image of the child she had been, felt for a moment as stiff as the line of her back. Drew thought of the bandage on the little arm, the unsmiling old Mexican, and all the bits from the sea Gracie had used to decorate her cottage. When they’d arrived at her childhood home, the way she had hesitated, just for a fraction of a second, before speaking to her father was almost as telling as the cold indifference the old man had shown both of them. Drew knew love and fear, and saw both in Gracie, but there was something more. Something had caused a serious rift between her and her family, and he sensed it had nothing at all to do with her working in the city.

  He was also tired of being shut out by whatever it was. “Can you stop the boat?”

  She wouldn’t look at him. “We should keep going.”

  “We will, in a minute,” he lied.

  Gracie throttled down, shutting off the engine before turning to him. “We don’t have time for—”

  “I’m not a stranger to you. Not since last night.” Drew took her hands in his. “Talk to me.”

  “I have nothing to say.” She tried to extract herself from his grip. “I don’t know you.”

  “Wrong.” He held on. “I told you my life story. You know me better than my mother. I’m your friend.”

  “I am not friends with liars or impostors,” she flared.

  Suddenly Drew understood her aloofness and what she might be hiding behind it. “You don’t have anyone, do you? Ever since you left the village, you’ve been alone.”

  Gracie paled, and then her shoulders drooped. “There is no time for friends,” she said, her voice thin and hurt. “What I do is more important. I protect what I love.”

  “So do I.” The boat rocked a little as he snatched her off her feet and carried her down belowdecks.

  “Drew, what are you doing?”

  “Guess.”

  Her expression became alarmed. “No quiero. Drew, I don’t want—”

  “I don’t need the translation. I get it.” He put her down on her father’s bunk, and pinned her there on her back. “I don’t want to do caveman things like this. Ever.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Then why are you now?”

  “One of us has to, and you never will.” He tore open his shirt, popping buttons in the process, and pushed her hand flat against his damp chest. “Now tell me I’m a stranger.”

  Her fingers flexed against his skin. “You’re a stranger.”

  “A stranger you kissed,” he reminded her. “Like I was the one you’d been waiting for all your life.”

  “That was how you kissed me.” She shifted under him. “The only ones who are waiting for you are your friends.”

  He touched his mouth to a delectable spot beneath her jaw. “So you’re saying that I’m not the man of your dreams.”

  “I have no dreams.” Her hand trembled as she ran it up to his neck. “Andrew, please. When you leave, we will never see each other again. Don’t do this to me.”

  “All right.” He let go of her and rolled onto his side. He waited for her to get up and hurry away, but when she sat up he put his hand on her shoulder. “I just want you to know one thing.”

  She looked down at him.

  “You will see me again. Once my friends are safe, I’m coming back here.” He ran his hand down the length of her back before drawing it away. “For you.”

  Drew expected Gracie to run off again, not spin around and grab him. Before he could react she was on top of him, her mouth on his, her hands pushing his shirt away from his chest, her legs bracketing his. Astonishment paralyzed him as she poured all her passion into the kiss, her tongue sliding against his, her fingernails scoring his skin as she freed his arms.

  Abruptly she sat up, bracing her palms against his chest as she looked down at him, her hair falling around her beautifully flushed face. “So? This is what you want, yes?”

  “Oh, yes.” He gripped her hips, shifting her so she could feel his pounding erection. “It’s yours, sweetheart—but only if you want it.”

  She rubbed herself against him, her eyelids drooping and her lips parting. “I want you.”

  Drew lifted his hips to take his wallet out of his back pocket. As he flipped it open and reached into the billfold, Gracie’s expression changed to outrage.

  “You dare try to give me—”

  “Protection.” He took out the two condoms he always carried and placed them in her hand. “But if you want the money, you can have that, too. My credit cards are phony and the car’s a rental, and my laptop will self-destruct the minute you try to use it. I don’t have anything else to offer.” He thought for a moment. “Okay, I’ll give you all the Battlestar Galactica T-shirts I brought with me. Including my
favorite blue ‘What the Frak?’ one that Katee Sackhoff signed for me at the last SF convention.”

  She pressed her lips together for a moment. “Star-buck signed your T-shirt?”

  “You get the Syfy channel all the way down here?”

  She shook her head. “I buy the DVDs from eBay.”

  “You are the perfect woman.” He pulled her down, meeting her lips halfway with his while he helped her with her buttons. Under the prim blouse she wore a pale lavender bra edged with dark purple lace. By the time he discovered that her panties matched, he had her under him again, her thighs around his hips and the words she murmured in Spanish rushing in his ears. He left her only long enough to strip down to his skin, and then she rose to her knees behind him, her hands sliding around his waist as she pressed her cheek against his back.

  “Be still,” she said when he tried to turn around. She already had one of the condoms unwrapped, and deftly rolled it over the head of his penis and down the length of his shaft. Her fingers gently combed through the thatch of red hair before stroking over the aching swell of his sac.

  “I should mention,” he said, gritting his teeth, “that I’m not made of ice.”

  “So? You have two condoms. We use the other and start again.” She fisted his cock, giving it a delicious squeeze before she climbed off the bunk, winding herself around him so that the bits of satin she wore slid against his hot skin. Before he could tear them off, she hooked her thumbs in the sides of her panties and pushed them down, kicking them off.

  “Gracie.” He picked her up, bringing her lips to his mouth, and her arms and legs went around him as she lifted her hips and nudged him into place. Drew wanted to go slow, but she was already melting over him, her slick heat parting and engulfing him as she rolled her hips.

  The bunk was too far away; the floor was too hard. Drew held her against him and walked up on deck, ignoring her startled sound as he carried her back to the bench seat under the stern canopy.

  “Someone will see us,” she whispered.

  “Not unless they point a telescope at us.” He caressed her cheek. “Don’t you like how it feels?”

  She smiled. “Too much.”

  Seeing her naked in the sunlight was almost as satisfying as laying her out on the cushioned top of the bench. She spread her thighs and pulled him in between as he crouched over her, positioning himself until he lodged just inside her. As he stroked in, he bent down to kiss her, giving her his tongue as well as his cock.

  She arched, gripping him as she drew him in, working him into what felt like a hot, wet vise. When their body hair tangled Drew shuddered and groaned, enduring the pulsing tightness in his groin to fend off the urge to come so he could give her what she needed.

  She tugged at him with her hands and her body, her voice almost a whimper, her sex so damp now her movements sounded like kisses. “Ahora, por favor, Andrew. Please, now.”

  He cupped her small breasts with his hands, working his palms over her nipples as he drew back and thrust in, watching her through narrowed eyes. Her face bloomed with color and pleasure, her eyes dilating as she arched up into him, her body shivering. The heat made them both sweat, but it only intensified the sensations as their bodies danced. He tossed aside finesse and fucked her, slow and deep, in and out, building on her response until she was writhing, out of control, her thighs tightening as she pushed her breasts into his hands and went rigid. Drew bent his head to latch onto one tight nipple, scoring it with his teeth, and she came with a wild cry, squeezing him like a wet fist.

  Drew pushed in deep, hearing his own groan as he followed her, coming so hard his ears rang. She caught his mouth with hers and drank the sounds he made, her hands smoothing over his wet hair until he drifted down back to earth.

  He lifted his head to see her looking at him with desperate eyes. “Hey.” He smoothed back her hair to kiss her brow. “God, did I hurt you? I couldn’t—”

  “I feel wonderful. I have never …” She glanced up and abruptly eased out from under him. “We should go now.” She hurried across the deck and disappeared below.

  Drew rubbed a hand over his face and looked up at the underside of the canopy. The shadow of a seagull passed over it before the bird landed atop the outboard motor. It seemed to be watching him. “See anything you like?”

  The seagull opened its beak, uttered a sound like a bray of shrill laughter, and flew off.

  The twelve islanders seemed to defer to the dark-skinned man with the silver hair as their leader, Samuel noticed, the men silently looking to him for cues. The redheaded Caucasian woman standing beside him—the only female who wasn’t showing signs of pregnancy—also seemed to have some influence over the group, as most of the women kept watching her.

  It took Charlotte a few minutes and a great many hand gestures to discover why they had come to the villa, and even then she was not quite clear. “They want to talk to us, but only if we go down to the beach with them. They also can’t stay long. I think he’s only giving us an hour.”

  “They must know about the cameras.”

  She nodded. “I think we should go with them, although I don’t know how effectively we can communicate. Colotl doesn’t understand what weeks and months are, but it’s obvious that they’ve been on the island for a while, definitely much longer than we have. Maybe they can give us some idea of what this is about.”

  Samuel had already assessed the other members of the group. None of them was carrying weapons, but all of the men were in prime physical shape. If they attacked en masse, he wouldn’t be able to fend off all of them. “Should they decide they want to do more than talk, I want you to run to the house and barricade yourself in.”

  “They know I’m a medic and you can heal,” Charlotte said. “With eleven pregnant women on this island, attacking us would be like trying to shoot two golden geese for dinner. There’s also the obviously genetic connection we share.”

  “You think they’re Takyn.”

  “It’s that or we’re on the island of Unwanted Multiracial People who all decided to get pregnant at the same time.” She glanced at the group’s leader. “Colotl is starting to look worried. We should hold off on discussing this in English until later.”

  The redheaded woman came to Charlotte and touched her arm. As she did, Samuel saw the tattoo of a scarlet spider on the inside of her wrist. “Me llamo Tlemi. Vámonos, por favor.”

  He offered Charlotte his arm, and together they followed the islanders down the path to the beach. The men thrust their torches into the sand, creating a wide circle in which they sat with their respective female companions. Only Colotl and Tlemi positioned themselves in the center, and gestured for the Americans to join them.

  Samuel sat down across from them with Charlotte. The circle of flames illuminated their faces, and he realized they were quite young, probably in their early twenties. Following his instincts, he tugged down the collar of his shirt and showed them his tattoo. Charlotte followed suit, turning slightly as she pulled down the shoulder of her wrap to reveal her stylized turtle. She touched it and then reached out to Tlemi, pointing to the spider on her wrist.

  Colotl nodded and lifted his braid, turning his head to show the silver scorpion inked on the back of his neck.

  All around the circle the other islanders did the same, showing animal tattoos in various colors. Samuel found it interesting that all of the women had been inked on their forearms and the men on their napes.

  “Takyn,” Charlotte said, touching her ink and then Samuel’s before making an encompassing gesture at the islanders. She then said something in slow, simple Spanish, to which Colotl only looked puzzled. “He doesn’t understand the words for ‘mother’ or ‘father.’ If they were raised in a Mexican orphanage, they’d speak Spanish.”

  Colotl and Tlemi exchanged a look before he nodded to her. To Charlotte, she said, “I speak little English. Segundo teach me so I know what he say.”

  Charlotte exchanged a glance with Samuel before she
said, “Segundo had us kidnapped from America.”

  “We from America,” Tlemi said quickly, nodding toward the others. “Born America. We babies, master buy us, bring us Mexico.”

  “That explains why none of them appear to be native Mexican,” Charlotte told him. To Tlemi, she said, “Who is this master?”

  Tlemi’s expression changed from cautious to fearful, and she shook her head. “No talk master.”

  “If you’ll just tell me his name—”

  “No,” Colotl repeated sternly.

  “All right, no talk master.” Charlotte held up both hands palms out in a mollifying gesture. “Why are you here on the island?”

  “Send us here, live free, have babies,” Tlemi said slowly. “Not free. Never leave. Segundo come—”

  Colotl spoke sharply to her, and she snapped back. He glared at Samuel.

  “Colotl afraid talk Segundo,” Tlemi said, obviously angry. “I no afraid.” She turned to Samuel. “You heal with hands. I see you.”

  “How did you see this?” he asked her.

  “Watch you. In your eyes.” She pointed to her temple and then to Charlotte’s face. “See her heal, in your eyes.”

  “I think she’s admitting that she’s the resident telepath,” Charlotte murmured to him.

  “A remote viewer, perhaps.” Samuel glanced at Colotl. “Tlemi, how long have you and the others been on the island?”

  She conferred briefly with Colotl, who at last nodded. “Here eight moons.” She made a circle with her fingers.

  Charlotte mimicked the gesture. “Eight moons that look like this?” When the other woman nodded, she dropped her hands and looked at the other women. “Eight months. Sam, most of them must be in their third trimester.”

  “Where do you live?” Sam asked Tlemi.

  She pointed to the villa. “We have house.” She moved her hand from one side of the island to the other, and then counted on her fingers before she added, “Six houses. Yours seventh house.”