The Chosen

by Theresa Meyers

  A spark of image flashed across his field of vision of what she would look like tangled in white sheets, her shoulders bare except for the fall of honey silk. He frowned. He had no business thinking about what it would be like to bed a Darkin. It had been reckless of Colt to do so. Remington wouldn’t make the same mistake.

  Both of his brothers had had near-death experiences with Darkin. So far he’d been lucky enough to escape the same. But the odds were not in his favor.

  By the time he reached the second-floor landing outside the hall where his offices were located, his legs and arms were burning. He kicked open his door and settled China on the brown leather couch in his personal office. Having slept there a time or two, he knew it would be comfortable enough until she woke.

  A nagging itch pestered the back of his mind. He wanted to know what had transpired on the airship. Did she think Colt and Winn would be safe? Did the vampire seem intent on helping as Winn had said, or was it a ruse? She would know.

  He waited a few minutes, and when she still hadn’t woken, he jogged down the stairs and across the street to the Occidental to get a couple of sandwiches and iced drinks. What he returned with was cold roast chicken, coffee, and milk. The lunch rush had left them out of fresh bread until evening, and there was no more ice to be had until the special machine the hotel had ordered from Wickenburg made more. Remy was just profoundly glad he wasn’t the cook having to bake bread in this heat.

  The moment he brought the food into his office, he noticed China twitch, first her nose, then her eyelids. He settled the meal down on his desk and turned to find her sitting up slightly on her elbows, her eyelashes fluttering, a confused expression on her face.

  “What am I doing in your office?”

  “You fainted.”

  China snorted. “Shifters don’t faint.”

  Remington removed his coat, sat against the edge of the desk, and crossed his arms. If she wanted to argue with him, so be it. But he would win. He’d made a career of winning at such things. “I object. You are a shifter. Clearly you fainted, and I had to catch you before you planted your face in the dirt. Therefore, shifters not only can but do faint.”

  Her faced puckered in a sour look. “Most shifters don’t try to make three to four different shifts in less than twelve hours on an empty stomach either.”

  “But you ate an enormous breakfast.”

  She cocked her head to the side. “Shifters burn through food faster than humans.”

  He pulled the white linen cloth off the plate of sliced cold roast chicken. China immediately sat fully upright.

  “You mentioned something about being hungry before you passed out. I thought you might want something to eat when you woke.”

  She glanced first at the chicken, then at his face, then back to the chicken. “I think you may be right.”

  He handed her the plate and China dug in, not even bothering to ask if he had a fork. Remington chuckled. He’d yet to lose an argument.

  “Get your strength back, then you can tell me what happened up there.”

  China swallowed a mouthful of chicken. “Your older brother has a good sense of the situation. Seems to me the vampires really want to help, but the contessa is none too happy about it. She doesn’t like having to work with Hunters, but she ain’t got a choice. She’s following orders.”

  Remington frowned, his lips twisting as he thought it through. “A break in the ranks of the Darkin is very unusual.”

  China snorted. “Unusual? How about unlikely. There’s got to be a lot more going on than just the vampires wanting their food supply safe—no offense.”

  He waved a hand at her. “None taken.” He paused, glancing at the worn leather of his mother’s journal sitting on the top of his desk. He hadn’t bothered taking it down with him when the airship had come, and he hadn’t cracked it open yet. But Colt had been very direct. There was information in there Remington needed.

  “If the loyalty among Darkin to Rathe as their leader is faltering, it could mean far greater things are at stake than merely control of humanity.”

  “Well, that ain’t no small thing,” China hedged.

  “True, but Earth alone isn’t the entire universe, now is it?”

  China frowned. “Don’t you ever just talk plain and say what you mean?”

  “I say precisely what I mean,” he shot back. “Just because it isn’t simplistic doesn’t mean I’m obfuscating.”

  “Ob foo what?”

  “I’m not trying to hide my intentions.”

  China shrugged as if it didn’t matter to her either way and licked her fingers. Her shiny pink tongue curved around her digits in such a way that Remy’s gut and groin tightened in response. He looked away.

  There was certainly no reason to tell her what he was thinking. It had no bearing on their efforts to recover the missing piece of the Book of Legend, wherever it was hidden. For a second he wondered if cleaning her fingers with her tongue was the only cat-like quality she possessed.

  China sighed, a contented sound, and blinked lazily at him. “So now what?”

  Remy picked up his mother’s diary and flipped it open. “I think it’s time we find out precisely where Diego’s map will lead us.”

  China touched her index finger to the center of her full bottom lip, rubbing the slight indentation there in a most distracting fashion. “Colt said the bit of paper out of Diego’s safety-deposit box would lead us to the hiding place of the Book.”

  “It will, when combined with this.” Remington held up the diary. “If Colt is right, what was in Diego’s box was only half the clues we need. The rest we might find in here.”

  China frowned. “You aren’t gonna sit here and read it out loud to me, are you?”

  Remington put his hand to his chest with a bit of dramatic flair, as if he’d been wounded. “My dear Miss McGee, don’t you enjoy being read to?”

  She gave him a saucy grin that shot straight through his veins like a good gulp of bourbon. Holy hell. He was going to have to watch himself around her.

  “I’m more a woman of action myself.”

  He laughed. “I’m beginning to see why Colt both liked you and feared you, Miss McGee.”

  Remington pulled the paper from his pocket and spread it out on top of his desk; it was a series of numbers and markers, along with what looked like trails and mountains. A map with no details, no place names. But now that he knew the numbers were longitude and latitude, he could begin to piece it all together. It would get them there, but he wanted to know what lay at the end of the line because X never marked the spot, and if Hunters had hidden the last remaining piece of the Book of Legend in the jungles of southern Mexico, then they hadn’t simply dug a hole and buried it there.

  It would be well protected—and that meant booby traps. He brushed his finger back and forth against the binding of the diary in his hand as he thought. “The numbers that run along the side are latitude and longitude correlating to the markers on Diego’s map and begin just outside of Tombstone. The next leads to Nogales.”

  He opened the diary where the ribbon marker was lodged and began to skim the flowery, handwritten script faded with age.

  Diego came to the homestead today. He’s returned from checking on the security of the piece hidden in his mother’s homeland. He brought back an Indian relic with him. It looks like a squat, smiling square of a man. He says he pulled it off of one of the temples when he finally made it out. His tale of discovering the hiding place of the Spanish gave me goose bumps. His ancestors are protecting the Book now. Only the keys his ancestors left him will get it out of the temple safely.

  “Diego’s page never said nothing about keys,” China grumbled.

  Remy gazed into her eyes. “Sometimes a key isn’t a physical thing. Sometimes it’s merely a legend on a map. Sometimes it’s a hidden knowledge that answers a riddle.”

  “And sometimes,” she added in a caustic tone, “it’s a real key.”

  “Indian relic
,” he murmured. “I wonder if she meant that little stone smiling face that sat near our fireplace.”

  Remington turned and went to his bookcases that lined the walls behind his desk. There, at the top corner sat the squat little stone his mother had told him never to part with. He’d been using it as a bookend, and now he pulled it down from the shelf.

  “Here is our first key, Miss McGee. Let’s go find the rest.”

  Chapter 7

  Remington Jackson was a man who liked to be prepared. And as far as he could tell from his sources, including his mother’s diary, Diego was still alive somewhere near the border. Perhaps he could tell them precisely what the markings on his map meant. That was a lot of desert to cover. Little if no water, little shelter, and a Darkin for company. Lucky him.

  They’d left that evening, preferring to make the trek in the coolest part of the day. As promised, he’d procured China new clothes, as well as provisions before leaving Tombstone.

  They had food. They had equipment to camp out. He’d packed one of the water distillation devices Marley had created to use should they come across an accessible source of water out there. He’d also loaded up with a number of Marley’s custom Hunter weapons that were as unconventional as they were effective—rather like Marley’s special bullets. Remington had tried to think of everything both he and China might need. Once they were out there, there’d be no popping back to town for supplies. It would be a grueling, dangerous trek, and their lives would depend on his not forgetting anything vital.

  China hadn’t even bothered to open all the brown paper parcels she’d brought back from the dry goods store before they’d left. She’d just pulled out clothing from the first two things she’d opened and put on whatever was in the package. She rolled her dirty clothes, with the exception of her fringed leather jacket, into a ball she stuffed down into her saddle packs. The stiff, high white collar of the shirt was too prim on her. He realized that now. But at the time he’d been thinking it would keep the sun off the pale skin at her nape. She’d folded her jacket carefully and tied it over her bedroll and blankets at the back of her saddle.

  She’d been less fortunate in the second package she’d selected. While split down the middle, with buttons that ran up along the leg on either side, the garment was more or less a skirt. She’d frowned when she’d held it up. “Well, at least I can ride in it,” she’d muttered. The store hadn’t carried pants that would fit a woman, and the smaller boys’ sizes wouldn’t accommodate the curve of her hips.

  “What about my gun?”

  Remington had balked at that. “I think you’re well-armed enough between your wit and your barbed tongue and whatever claws you can create out of thin air, don’t you?”

  She’d grumbled. “I want a gun.”

  He could just see her shooting him in the back and taking the piece of the Book of Legend along with whatever else they discovered along the way. “We’ll wait on the gun.”

  She’d balled her hands, resting them on the curve of her hips, and had spoken plainly and firmly. “You get me a gun or we ain’t leaving.”

  “We don’t even have a horse for you yet. I’ll go to the livery and—”

  “I already got one.”

  “Where?”

  “Tied waiting at the hitching post downstairs in front of the hotel.”

  He’d narrowed his eyes. “And where did the horse come from?”

  “Why does that matter?”

  Remington had plowed his fingers through his hair and muttered, “You stole it, didn’t you?”

  “I prefer to call it borrowed without asking.”

  “As far as folks around here are concerned I’m on the side of the law. And horse thieves get hanged. You can’t just go around taking what you want.”

  She’d arched one brow. Remington had gone to the window and glanced down into the street. Down at the hitching post was a beautiful palomino. Its deep golden coloring and flaxen mane and tail reminded him of the color of China’s coat when she’d been a mountain lion. “Holy hell, woman, you took the mayor’s horse?”

  She’d shrugged. “If you are going to borrow without asking, you might as well borrow exactly what you want.”

  There hadn’t been time to debate things further. In the end he’d tossed her one of his revolvers and replaced it with one Marley had modified to include a sight scope, then had hustled her out of the hotel and gotten them out of town on the double.

  He’d briefly toyed with the idea of putting the iron shifter restraining cuff back on her, but thought better of it. Doing so only would have broken the fragile sense of trust beginning to build between them. And he did have to admit, she’d been both a mountain lion and a hellhound and hadn’t ripped him apart either time. That had to count for something.

  “Is your mount suitable, Miss McGee?”

  She turned for a moment and looked at him. “You know you ain’t got to be all stiff and formal with me; you might as well call me China.”

  An unwanted wash of something hot and acidic roiled in his gut. “Colt called you China.”

  She huffed. “Well, it’s my name, dammit. What else was he supposed to call me?”

  He raised a brow. “I take it by your tone that you are no longer enamored of my brother.”

  “If that means I ain’t after him no more, then you got it right.”

  Interesting. And dangerous. For both of them. “And why is that?”

  “Colt made it plain he don’t have no more use for me. He’s got that red-headed tramp Darkin of his now to help him find the piece of the Book he’s hunting.”

  Remington resisted the urge to chuckle. Clearly China was feeling scorned, and his amusement would only add to her humiliation and pain. Neither of which he wanted to do. He needed her to be focused.

  He needed to be focused.

  He’d long ago determined the best course of action with a woman who was heart hurt was to reassure her of her desirability. Wait. The horse slowed, sensing his hesitation. What the hell did he think he was doing? And when had he started thinking of China as a woman rather than a Darkin? He shook his head to clear it. She was Darkin, and a powerful one at that. He’d do best to remember it before something dreadful happened. He shouldn’t be worrying about her emotional state, and he’d damn well better get his own under firm control.

  “Something wrong?”

  Remington swiveled his gaze to her. The hot evening desert wind caught her hair, sending it into a swirl of blond satin ribbons behind her head as she rode beside him. Her sun-kissed skin gave her a healthy glow and made the gray in her eyes turn at times a silvery sage green color. He realized with a start the point he’d been duped into thinking of her as female—the moment he’d seen her in the cell, dirt, grime, and all. She’d been too angelic looking to be something damned and vicious as he’d been raised to believe all Darkin were.

  “Why you lookin’ at me like that?” Her words came out velvet soft, very nearly a purr.

  “Pardon?”

  “Why you lookin’ at me like I’m the last swig of water in the canteen? All needy-like.”

  He gave her a tilting half smile, nothing serious, nothing too comic, so she’d believe he made light of the situation. “A man can’t enjoy a beautiful view?”

  A delightful pink color suffused her cheeks. “Is that all? ’Cause I could’ve sworn you looked like you had thoughts running through your head.”

  Remington knew better than to bait her, but he could hardly help himself. Letting anyone get the last word just wasn’t in his nature. He liked to win. “What kind of thoughts?”

  “Thoughts like you were wondering what exactly happened between me and Colt.”

  Remington frowned. “Frankly that’s the last thing I’d like to discuss.”

  China snorted. “Hit a sore spot?”

  Remington centered himself, shoving down the boil of emotion until he was calm, cool, and collected. “What happened between the two of you is immaterial to our mission. I
need you, and you need me to locate and obtain the Book. Simple. Easy. Neat and clean. End of story.”

  She snorted again and muttered under her breath. “Ain’t nothin’ that simple and easy.”

  Remington looked at the crude directions they’d constructed from a combination of Diego’s handwritten map and the additional information he’d uncovered in his ma’s diary. He’d need Diego himself to understand what risks lay at the end of the trail. He peered up over the flat wash of scrub and cacti, looking at the rim of blue hills to the southwest.

  She leaned toward him, looking over his arm at the map. “Where we headed, exactly?”

  “Southwest until we hit Nogales. Probably get there by morning if we ride through the night. Then we’ll keep going west until we hit Caborca.”

  “What’s in Caborca?”

  “If I’ve interpreted the clues correctly, I’m hoping Diego.”

  “And if he ain’t there?”

  My, she was a persistent thing. “Then perhaps there is another key.”

  Her lips pursed. Remy could tell she was holding something back. “You have something to add, Miss McGee?”

  She glared at him. “China.”

  “Very well, China, do you have something to add?”

  She frowned. “What do we do if Diego doesn’t want to give us the information you want?”

  Remy hadn’t really considered that. He’d assumed he could convince Diego, or whomever else he needed to, that they should give them the information. “What makes you think it could be a problem?”

  China shrugged. “Nothin’ really. I just figured if Diego had gone to all the trouble of hidin’ his map and then puttin’ only half the directions to it in a safety-deposit box, he might not hand it over without gettin’ something in return. That’s how I would be.”

  “Diego knows the stakes if Rathe takes over.”

  China snickered. “You think he’s gonna care? If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that people don’t much care what happens to the rest of humanity if they think there might be an end to the world right around the corner. They get grabby, and it’s every man out for hisself.”