For a second, he had even imagined the human woman an ally—and it was at that same moment that the strange, disconcerting images had washed through his mind. She was the woman from the visions he’d had in the mitres! It was the image of her that had given him comfort during his capture and his brutal beating at the hands of the Air Force soldiers. She, the same woman seated across from him now, with her gray eyes that wouldn’t quite look at him—yet that seemed to slice through him somehow. Was she some sort of gazer, like he was? Did humans possess gifts of seeing that his people didn’t yet understand?
‘‘I’m Hope Harper,’’ she began quietly, the full, sensual mouth hesitating briefly. She ran her tongue over her lower lip thoughtfully, then continued: ‘‘I work for the FBI and I have some questions for you, Lieutenant.’’
‘‘I already asked you my own,’’ he said softly, leaning forward toward her. He was fascinated with her haunting eyes, it was true—but he’d asked the question to disconcert her; the same reason he brought it up again now.
‘‘We aren’t here to talk about me,’’ she countered matter-of-factly, setting her jaw. She was a tiny woman, just a wisp of a thing—barely five feet tall, if that. The human was delicate and lovely; maybe that’s why her presence made some of his gnawing terror dissipate. She gave him comfort; he felt stronger and healed sitting near her. As if somewhere, somehow, this woman had . . . loved him. Deeply. With all her life force, until . . .
Until what? He had a dark, cloudy sense, something terribly foreboding that he couldn’t quite understand. So he stared at her and began to gaze; she would never even know—that is, if his hunch about her eyesight were correct, she wouldn’t realize he was soul-gazing her.
Show me who you really are. At first he saw dim fog; murky, blurry vision with dark spots covering pieces of the images. Then darker still. She was running through the woods, and reached back with her hand, taking his. ‘‘Come! Now!’’ she urged him in English. ‘‘They’re on the way. We have to go, Scott!’’
‘‘. . . listening to me?’’ came this Hope’s hard-edged question. ‘‘If you won’t cooperate, we have ways of making things less pleasant.’’
He blinked, painfully aware that his eyes were probably about to glow, and that wasn’t something the humans needed on tape. Closing them he replied, ‘‘I am ready. Ask all you want.’’
‘‘Why won’t you speak English? We know you’re fluent in our language.’’
He tapped his fingers on the table, but said nothing for a moment. Finally he arrived at the best and most honest answer possible: ‘‘Because it feels safer to me not to.’’
‘‘I might feel the same way if I were in your shoes,’’ Hope replied, smiling faintly. She had a lovely smile, with a full mouth he’d already noticed could assume a sulky expression or a beautiful one, depending on what he said. Her pale blond hair and light freckles finished out her appearance with a warm, innocent look that naturally made him want to confess far more than he should. Human women, he thought ruefully. Why in hell did I ever develop that taste?
Watch yourself, man! Stay focused! But then it hit him how perfectly these humans had orchestrated their interrogation, and he had to suppress a hysterical laugh. Whether intentional or not, they’d now pitted him against the one temptation he could never seem to resist: a blond, beautiful human woman.
He hadn’t a hope in hell of survival.
Hope watched as they shoved Scott into the far corner, wrestling him to the ground. Two medical staff worked at his arm, and seemed to be injecting some unknown substance into it. Hope cringed as Scott shouted, writhed, and resisted, and she heard the sickening thud of what was probably a rifle butt hitting him hard in the face. There was the unmistakable bright color of blood, and he yelped in obvious pain, crumpling into a heap on the floor. Then all his noises ceased, the room falling quiet except for the rapid breathing of the soldiers and medical personnel who had worked him over.
‘‘He’ll cooperate better now,’’ the colonel told her, nodding in satisfaction. ‘‘He can sleep on it.’’ He took her arm, urging her toward the door.
With a backward glance, she thought she saw blood pooling on the concrete floor. ‘‘He’s injured,’’ she objected quietly.
The colonel snorted. ‘‘Good. Those creatures took out ten of our aircraft in the past three months. Killed eight of our pilots. Let him bleed!’’
‘‘Yes, sir,’’ she said dutifully, pausing by the door for a new DNA test and biometric scan: In or out, they had to undergo the same procedure to verify their identity. Going in she understood, but it was odd to her that they had to take the same tests just to exit the holding room.
Probably because some of these aliens can change form, she thought with a backward glance and a shiver. She’d felt an odd connection with Dillon all afternoon, but it was easy to forget his kind were cold-blooded killers. Invaders. And that he could probably perpetrate countless deceptions; otherwise, there was no explaining the tests upon exiting the lockdown area.
‘‘Sir?’’ one of the security officers on the other side of the door buzzed through the speaker by the door. ‘‘We’re having trouble with Ms. Harper’s retinal scan.’’
The colonel hit the intercom and called back, ‘‘What sort of trouble?’’
‘‘Well, sir’’—the soldier hesitated, sounding confused—‘‘it’s saying she isn’t who she claims to be.’’
Beside her, she sensed the officer stiffen, stare at her, then turn back to the intercom. ‘‘I’ve been watching Ms. Harper the entire time,’’ he argued, but there was a trace of apprehension in his voice. As if he weren’t entirely certain she might not be an alien herself.
‘‘It’s the retinal scan, sir. It doesn’t match the pattern from four hours ago—or the one on record.’’
There was the sound of the colonel’s weapon being drawn and instantly Hope’s heart went into her throat. There was the loud flow of blood in her ears; she turned first one way, then another. ‘‘It’s a mistake!’’ she cried, hearing the door buzz open and the rushing entry of footsteps. ‘‘Please!’’ she insisted, ‘‘There’s a mistake. I’m FBI language specialist Hope Harper! I’m not an enemy! I’m one of us!’’
Suddenly, there was the sting of a bee in her arm . . . or a needle . . . and then just nothing at all.
Such a swimmy sensation in her body, tingling down to her fingertips and her toes; Hope tried to stir in the bed, but her stomach was huge and awkward. Tighter than a drum, the skin itching, and she kept scratching at the swollen melon in her twilight-sleep. But then she remembered: They’d only stopped to rest. Their enemies were all around them, surrounding their army like a pack of wild wolves. She struggled to sit up, always hard these days, and Scott’s worried face appeared in her line of vision.
‘‘You need to rest,’’ he scolded, his black eyebrows drawing into sharp creases. His familiar, handsome face. So clear, so easy to see.
I haven’t seen this well in a year, Hope thought, trying to blink back the hazy, drug-induced sleep. Where am I, really?
Even now, in the midst of so much bloodshed and ruin, Scott was breathtakingly beautiful to her. ‘‘Come here,’’ she whispered, waving him closer as she settled back onto the makeshift pallet he’d created for her in the tent. He crawled forward on his knees until he bent low to kiss her. She cupped his scratchy face between her palms—he had a three-day growth of beard going, a look she always loved on him. Too bad it was because they were being pursued to extinction. Slowly their lips met, brushing together; there was the familiar heat of his mouth, the sweet, salty alien taste of him.
He was the alien! The one she’d spent the morning interviewing. Only, he’s no enemy of ours . . . somehow, in this world, he’s my husband.
He cupped her belly with his palm, the large roundness hard and unyielding beneath his hand, even though the tiny, precious girl no longer had room to kick and squirm inside Hope’s belly. Still, they felt her warm presence there,
her occasional flutters and thrusts.
I’m not able to have children! Only recently, the doctors had told her that the worsening state of her diabetes meant she would never carry a child.
Scott slowly lifted her sweater until the frigid night air met her warm human skin, and bent his dark head low, slowly kissing her belly. Kissing her—and kissing Leisa at the same time. That’s what they’d named her already. Leisa Dillon.
He leaned his cheek against her stomach, breathing out against her warm skin. ‘‘Stay there a while,’’ she said, twining her fingers through his thick black hair. He’d grown it longer in the past few months, while they’d been on the run; where once he’d kept it short and trimmed, now it fell loose about his collar. He’d never looked more handsome to her than he did in these, their final days. Their very last days.
Hope’s heart spasmed with grief. So unfair, to lose everything right when it had been handed to her.
But . . . I don’t know him, Hope’s heart whispered back. He’s a stranger to me, not my husband. Not the father of my child.
Bolting upright, he met her gaze blindingly, his eyes glowing as they only ever did when he soulgazed someone. She averted her own eyes, glancing away. ‘‘Hope, you have got to make them to listen to me,’’ he hissed. ‘‘If they don’t, then the Antousians will bring it all to this. What you see right now.’’
Hope’s contractions wrenched about her waistline like a cinch, causing her to tremble with pain once again. ‘‘There, there,’’ her husband cooed at her gently, rubbing her tummy, ‘‘you know this baby can’t come now.’’
‘‘H-how did we get pregnant?’’ she stammered, rubbing her eyes. She felt so heavy, droopy, like she was melting onto the ground beneath them. ‘‘I-I’m confused.’’
‘‘This isn’t our world, Hope,’’ he explained patiently, stroking her cheek. ‘‘It was their world. Another Hope and Scott’s world. Not yours and mine. We’re just seeing it together.’’
‘‘How? How can we see it?’’
He pressed another kiss against her belly, flicking his tongue against her skin playfully. ‘‘I’m a soul-gazer. I’ve always been able to see things I shouldn’t.’’
‘‘But you’re in my dream, Scott,’’ she insisted, running her hands through his hair again. She couldn’t help herself, couldn’t keep from touching him, and despite being almost nine months pregnant, she wanted him fiercely.
He sat up, both palms spread against her belly. ‘‘I love you. I’m warning you—that’s why I’m here with you now. Listen, you have to get through to me tomorrow. And to your people. Get them to listen, Hope. They will listen to you.’’
‘‘What do you mean, get through to you? You’re the one warning me.’’
He laughed. ‘‘Well, baby, it’s because my waking self doesn’t know about that other world. Only my subconscious mind does. And in time, you’re going to remember bits of it too.’’
‘‘They think I’m an alien. They pumped me full of some kind of sedative.’’
‘‘Same stuff they hit me with, but they’ll figure it out. You’ll be back on the case when you wake up,’’ he said, rising to his feet. ‘‘Listen to me—if the Antousians are massing at the Canadian border, and that’s what it sounds like, well, your government needs to understand they’re mounting a big attack. Bigger than any of the shorter, terrorist-style runs they’ve orchestrated before. They’re out for blood.’’
‘‘And your people aren’t?’’
Scott flashed a pensive smile at her. ‘‘No, Hope, we’re not,’’ he said. ‘‘We’re here to save you.’’
Chapter Eighteen
Jared took the steps down to his chambers two at a time. Since their failed training session with Marco, he’d been working all morning, analyzing surveillance information intended to help them free Scott. So far, they’d not made any real headway; his best friend was in a locked-down security area so highly secured they didn’t have a hope in hell of getting him out. At least not yet. He was determined they would figure a way to free his second in command.
At his door he hesitated, neatening his uniform and running his fingertips over his disheveled hair before entering. He’d promised to meet Kelsey here after lunch once she returned from his private library. She’d been immersing herself in Refarian culture, studying copies of ancient and modern texts with the aid of a handheld translator. A few of their books were already in English thanks to their longstanding tie with her world. She soaked everything up with wonderful fervor. Her endeavors typified everything he loved about his sweet human—her keen intelligence, curiosity, and determination. Her need to find purpose and understanding in the universe . . . and in him.
So he wasn’t surprised when he opened the door and found her lying back on their large bed, three books cocked open beside her and one balanced on her knees. He smiled, dropping his uniform jacket onto the bed. ‘‘What are you reading, love?’’ He popped open his body armor vest, breathing easier that way.
‘‘Well, mostly I’m trying to become proficient with your language,’’ she told him pragmatically, stacking the books neatly together. ‘‘I figure that way, I can start to learn more about the mitres and how it works. The more I know, the more I can help, Jared. I’ve spent a lot of time studying physics.’’
He nodded his approval. ‘‘That’s fabulous, Kelse. Whenever you’re ready, I’d like to introduce you to our science team. Given your’’—he hesitated, searching for words that wouldn’t frighten her—‘‘special relationship with the mitres, your scientific background means all the more.’’
She snorted. ‘‘Special relationship. That’s one way of putting it.’’
He settled on the side of the bed, searching her face. ‘‘Does it upset you? That we’ve been unsuccessful in removing the codes?’’
‘‘Not at all.’’ She shook her head adamantly, leaning closer toward him. ‘‘In fact, Jared—when I was in the mitres the other night, it felt right. I was energized. Electrified. I’m not sure the codes are supposed to be removed. Think about what the letter said—’’
‘‘The damned codes are coming out! There’s no discussion on this matter,’’ he shouted, bolting to his feet.
Kelsey’s fair face infused with color. ‘‘So says the king,’’ she hissed sarcastically, a resentful furrow creasing her brows.
He rolled his eyes. ‘‘Let’s not tread this territory again.’’
‘‘We obviously have to—so long as you keep issuing unilateral ultimatums, at least.’’
‘‘I am the king, Kelse! I’ve been king since I was ten years old—mark that! That’s the past twenty years of my life I’ve ruled the Refarian people.’’
‘‘But I’m not your people, Jareshk. I’m your wife. Your queen. This has to be an equal partnership.’’
Ah, this business of marriage was harder than ruling any kingdom. His spirited wife had a way of burrowing through all his defenses and usual habits. He drew in a breath. ‘‘I’ve never thought of you as anything less than equal.’’
‘‘You’re way too protective of me.’’
‘‘Can you blame me? I’m in a war against the most brutal of species. They’ve killed countless numbers of my people—many of whom I loved dearly. And you, precious wife, I love most of all. How can you fault me for wanting to protect you?’’ Unexpected tears prickled at his eyes. ‘‘I won’t have them harm you—not ever. And not least because I took you as my mate. I refuse it! So, yes, if I’ve my way about it, the mitres codes will be extracted from within you. I put them there—it’s my fault!’’
Kelsey climbed off the bed, opening her arms to him. ‘‘Come here, you big silly king,’’ she whispered, all traces of anger vanishing from her face. ‘‘You beautiful man, come here.’’
He wrapped his arms about her, willing the war to stay far from their world. Willing her to stay safe and protected, if not always in his arms, at least always in his camp. ‘‘I won’t let them harm you, love.’’<
br />
‘‘What makes you so sure they would?’’
He gritted his teeth together. ‘‘So long as you carry the mitres codes, you are the most vulnerable part of my entire rebellion.’’
Kelsey shivered in his arms. ‘‘We need to try again with Marco.’’
‘‘Agreed,’’ he said, slipping his fingers beneath her chin and tilting her face upward so he could kiss her.
In a slow, erotic dance, their tongues twined together, thrusting, tasting. Kelsey’s hands skimmed over his back, then lower and even lower still, caressing him playfully. Then she took her palm and gave him a forceful swat on the behind.
‘‘Hey!’’ He laughed, stepping backward.
‘‘Oh, come on. The king needs a good spanking every once in a while.’’ She giggled.
‘‘That’s it!’’ he cried and lunged for her, sending her scurrying toward the bed where he tackled her, pinning her beneath his body.
‘‘See, human, it is unwise to challenge a Refarian male in his chambers,’’ he said, tracing his tongue along her collarbone. He pushed back the opening of her shirt, finding more warm skin to lick and nibble.
Adjusting his elbows, he felt something hard beneath his arm. Absently, he withdrew what turned out to be a book, a Refarian one. ‘‘What’s this?’’ he asked, giving it a quick glance.
She plucked it from his hand, pinning him with one of her most seductive looks. ‘‘It’s called a love rites advisory,’’ she told him silkily. ‘‘There’s some really good stuff in here. Steamy, erotic, alien stuff.’’
Jared rolled off of her and onto his side so that they lay together on the bed. ‘‘Let me see.’’ He took the book from her, opening it to the page she had marked: He was surprised to find specific details about the mating rituals of Refarian royals.
He gulped, feeling his groin tighten as he read a particularly vivid passage about the D’Aravnian natural self—an erotic description that totally fit his own sexuality. The way his fire was stoked by touch and bed play; his need to share his core self with his mate. He pressed a hand to his temple, feeling a thin sheen of sweat form on his brow. All of a sudden he battled the profound urge to Change, to run his fire up and down Kelsey’s body, teasing her. Tantalizing her with all that he was. She’d only seen him a few times; perhaps that truly was the answer to their problem.
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