He took the medallion, worked the chain carefully over her head, then slid it beneath her tunic, where it belonged. His fingers lingered on her throat, and he felt the delicate beat of her pulse.
“Thank you,” she whispered. She squeezed his hand. Her skin was too chilled, her hand fragile and small. His throat suddenly thick, he leaned over, pulled the blanket closer around her neck.
Her breathing deepened, slowed, and she drifted off to sleep. And for a long moment he just gazed at her, his own breathing ragged, his emotions skidding out of control.
He’d messed up completely. He should have realized she wouldn’t stay put. Now, come morning, the smugglers would hunt for their tracks. And Maya could never outrun them. She could hardly stand on her feet.
Even worse, the sound of that gunfire would have carried, tipping off Singh’s men—erasing any advantage they’d had. The helicopters would pursue them at dawn.
And if all that weren’t bad enough, they were running out of time. The lunar eclipse was the following night. They had an outdated map to guide them. They’d need a miracle to find that sadhu’s cave.
And heaven only knew what danger awaited them if they did.
But as he watched Maya’s face slacken in sleep and listened to her soft breath, an even worse worry consumed him.
Assuming they survived this ordeal, how would he ever let this woman go?
Chapter 13
Maya prided herself on her strength. In the orphanages she’d lived in growing up, she’d always been the strong one, the fighter who protected the weaker girls. And she’d stayed staunchly self-sufficient ever since, refusing to rely on anyone else.
She’d been humbled now.
Pain shot through her scalp as she limped up the mountain. Her depleted muscles quivered and ached. Her bruised eye stung; her forehead throbbed like a lava dome ready to blow. And she had to admit that without Deven’s help, she’d never make it up the hill.
She straggled to a stop, waited for him to cross a gurgling creek. The stream wasn’t big—maybe a foot or two deep, ten feet across—but still too far to jump. Not that she intended to leap anywhere with her skull threatening to explode.
He strode easily from rock to rock, then hopped the final distance to the opposite bank. “Be careful,” he warned. “The rocks are slippery.”
“All right.”
She inhaled the scent of cold moisture, started across the flat rocks—but with her eye swollen shut, her depth perception was off. She tottered, slipped. Deven lunged back and grabbed her hand, then pulled her safely ashore.
“Thanks.”
He didn’t release her, and his big, warm hand enveloped hers. She tipped her head back, and his dark gaze skimmed over her face. “How are you holding up?” he asked, and his husky voice rumbled through her nerves.
“Fine.”
He raised a brow, but didn’t argue. “We’ll stop at the rise ahead.”
He let go of her hand and continued hiking, and she trudged behind him up the hill. She tried to ignore the fierce pain cleaving her skull, the inconvenient guilt that wouldn’t subside.
But she couldn’t deny the truth. Her independent nature had cost them. She’d refused to stay in the cave, hadn’t listened to Deven. As a result, she’d been captured, injured. She’d nearly lost the priceless medallion.
Even worse, she’d put Deven at risk. Those smugglers could have killed him. Her stomach pitched on a swell of remorse.
And the repercussions of her stubbornness hadn’t ended. Even now she was slowing them down. Without her, Deven could have hiked faster, located that hermit’s cave hours ago. Instead, they’d spent the entire day inching up the mountain—and the cave was nowhere in sight.
Even worse, the map had proved useless. Forests had filled in clearings. Boulders and streams had disappeared. Even the river had changed course over the centuries, causing them to make false turns and backtrack as they hunted for landmarks that weren’t there.
They reached the crest of a hill, and Deven stopped. “We’ll rest here for a minute.”
“I can keep going.”
He didn’t respond to that obvious lie. He merely handed her the bottle of water, and she drank deeply, greedily, chugging the cold liquid down her parched throat. Then she handed it back, staggered to a nearby rock and collapsed.
Deven stood near her, scanning the mountain. He drank some water, recapped the bottle, and a stray drop coursed down his cheek. His beard stubble had grown over the past few days, making his face darker, even sexier—which wasn’t fair. He turned more rugged as the days wore on, while she looked as if she’d crawled from a swamp. She would sell her soul for a bath.
She sighed and pushed the loose strands of hair from her sweaty face. Her appearance didn’t matter. They had far more serious problems—such as getting to that cave before the eclipse. Deven should have taken her medallion and left her. She understood his desire to protect her, but they were running out of time.
“I think I see the cave,” he said suddenly.
“Really?” She pushed herself to her feet, hobbled to where he stood. “Where is it?”
“See that crooked tree?” He motioned toward the slope ahead. “It’s just above it, to the left, in the ten o’clock position.”
He leaned closer, pointed to a spot beyond the tree. And despite the terrible pain racking her skull, despite the fatigue dragging the blood through her veins, his nearness sparked a flurry of nerves. She eyed the masculine slant of his cheekbones, the dark lashes fringing his hypnotic eyes, that wickedly carnal mouth.
His gaze clashed with hers. Her heart made a frenzied kick.
And a kaleidoscope of memories slammed through her—his warm, male skin, the seductive silk of his hair. The feel of his strong arms cradling her as he carried her back to the cave.
Breathless, knowing she couldn’t go there, she tore her gaze away. She squinted into the late-afternoon sunshine and spotted the distant cave. “You think that’s it?”
“If it isn’t, we’re out of luck. It’s going to be dark soon.”
She eyed the sky. He was right. The sun was already dipping toward the peaks. “We’d better hurry, then.”
Grunting his agreement, he started toward the slope. She followed more slowly, trying to maintain her balance in the rough terrain. Rocks skidded loose beneath her sandals. She slid on a patch of damp weeds. The slope turned vertical, and she had to grab at branches and pockets of brush to keep from tumbling down.
By the time they made it to the cave, she could hardly stand upright. Her thigh muscles twitched. Her lungs burned as if she’d swallowed fire. She studied the small cave set into the mountain, knowing that if someone dangerous lurked inside, she didn’t have the strength to escape.
Deven set down their basket and tugged out his pistol, the rifle still strapped to his back. “Stay back while I check inside.” But just as he moved toward the opening, a sadhu hermit stepped out.
The holy man stopped, looking startled. Although she’d seen sadhus before, Maya struggled not to gasp back.
The mystic was tall, cadaverously thin, dressed only in a loincloth. Ashes covered his leathered skin. Gray dreadlocks flowed past his knees. He had a bushy mustache and beard, another pile of dreadlocks knotted on the side of his head, like a coiled rope about to slip off.
He’d painted a bright red mark on his forehead—a spiritual bull’s-eye surrounded by white. Orange paint ringed his bloodshot eyes, and the rest of his face was bright white.
“Namaste,” she said, pressing her palms together in greeting. The hermit nodded and greeted her back.
Uncertain how to begin, she tugged the scroll from her pocket and held it out. “The abbot from the monastery sent us here. He gave us this map. He said you’d tell us about my medallion.” Careful not to bump her injured eye, she slid the medallion from her neck.
If the hermit was surprised, he didn’t show it. He took the map and medallion, then motioned for them to sit. Maya sa
nk onto one of the flat rocks outside the cave, and Deven positioned himself close by.
The hermit lowered himself to the ground, tucking his legs into the lotus position. While he studied the silver medallion, Maya glanced at the sheer mountains towering around them, the snow glinting in the high ravines.
“You spoke to the abbot?” the hermit asked.
“Yes.” She hesitated, not sure how much to reveal. “We needed to decipher the inscription on my medallion. We thought he might know something about the language. But by the time we got to the monastery, armed men had taken it over. They injured the abbot in the attack. Badly. I don’t think…He might not survive.”
Thanks to her drawing. Flashing back to the murdered bookseller, she suffered another spurt of guilt.
The hermit didn’t speak for several moments. A hawk wheeled past in the sky. He turned the medallion over again and looked up. “What did the abbot tell you?”
“Not much,” she admitted. “Just that it came from the eleventh century, but the cult that made it was destroyed. The monks passed down the knowledge about the medallion, though, and the map. He said you would tell us the rest. And that we had to hurry, get here before the lunar eclipse tonight.”
The hermit nodded, as if satisfied with her response. “You’ve heard the legend about the Roma treasures?”
Her pulse raced. Deven leaned forward, his eyes intent. “So this has to do with the crown?”
“Yes.” The hermit’s gaze shifted back to hers. “Those were times of great political turmoil. The king had enemies, even within his own camp. Some thought he was too impulsive, not worthy to lead. There were plots to steal the treasures and overthrow him. And there was that curse….
“Then the Muslims came. The Roma army couldn’t hold them off, and the king realized they faced defeat. He gave the necklace and dagger to his most trusted advisers. He left the crown here at the temple of Parvati with the Hindu monks.
“But he had a premonition that he wouldn’t return, that he wouldn’t survive the war. He needed something to pass on to his successor, some token the next king could use to prove he was the rightful owner of the sacred crown.”
“So they made the medallion,” Deven said.
“Yes. The monks hid the crown in a secret vault in the Parvati temple. To locate the vault, you need this medallion. To open it, you need the key.”
“The key?” They had something else to hunt for? They’d never find it in time!
The hermit nodded, his dreadlocks brushing the ground. “The king didn’t return, of course. The Roma were driven out of Romanistan and scattered across the world. But the monks preserved the knowledge of the crown’s location, passing it from head monk to head monk, even after the cult was destroyed. And a sadhu has always stayed here at the cave to guard the key.”
Maya’s hopes took off. “You have it here?”
“Wait.” He handed her the medallion, rose in a fluid motion and padded back into his cave.
She slipped the medallion over her neck. “What do you think?”
Deven shrugged. “I guess it makes sense, given the times. They’d need something to use as a safeguard.”
And it had worked. The crown had stayed hidden for a thousand years.
Seconds later, the hermit returned. He lowered himself to the ground again, then held out a small bundle made of bleached goat hide. Her curiosity building, Maya took the package from his outstretched hands. Hindu symbols had been painted on the satiny hide—the lotus, Shiva’s trident, the sacred mark for Om. A gold cord tied it shut.
Her heart beat fast. She glanced at Deven, saw the same anticipation gleaming in his eyes. She untied the cord, carefully unrolled the hide. Inside was an iron key.
It was longer than her hand, heavier than she would have imagined. It had an odd slit along the shank and a large round handle engraved with more ancient symbols—the sun, the crescent moon. The key gleamed in the waning sunlight, as bright and shiny as if it had just been forged.
“Listen carefully,” the hermit instructed. “Take the medallion and the key into the temple. There you’ll find the lunar dial. Use the medallion to align the dial, then wait for the eclipse. Right before the moon turns black, the dial will cast a shadow pointing to the vault.”
Maya hesitated, suddenly uneasy. “I don’t know…. Maybe we shouldn’t do this. I mean, it’s not really our crown. Maybe we should take this to the Roma princess, let her decide what to do.”
The hermit stood. “Fate has brought you here for a reason. You have the medallion, the map and the key. Now you must find the crown. But work quickly. An aura of danger surrounds you.”
A gust of wind moaned in the trees. She shivered at the unnerving sound and rubbed her arms. But the hermit was right. They couldn’t let Singh get the crown.
“Has anyone else been here?” Deven asked as if reading her mind.
The hermit shook his head. “No. No one has passed this way in years. Enter through the cave,” he added. He motioned behind him, then pressed his palms together in farewell. “My mission is done. You must do the rest.” He turned and strode down the slope.
He was leaving? Maya sprang up to stop him. “Wait! What about the inscription on the medallion? You didn’t tell us what it says.”
The hermit paused on the slope below her and glanced back. “It says, ‘Both darkness and light provide insight into the heart.’” He lifted his hand in farewell, then disappeared from view.
Maya didn’t move. What darkness? Whose heart? What in the world did he mean?
The wind gusted again, and a low wail escaped from the cave—like a shriek of doom. And a sudden wave of trepidation went through her, a feeling of dread.
Shaken, she turned to face Deven again. His eyes burned dark with determination. Tension poured off his rigid frame.
So he felt the danger, too.
But there was no turning back. They were committed, in this together.
No matter what perils lurked ahead.
As soon as the hermit left, Deven strode into the cave and flicked on his flashlight, unable to shake a nagging sense of danger. He wished he knew the terrain, wished to hell he knew what lay ahead. How could he protect Maya when he was charging in blind?
Scowling, he aimed the light around the cave, illuminating the murals painted on the walls—scenes from the Hindu epics, avatars of the gods. Krishna, Vishnu, Parvati, her son Ganesh with his elephant head.
“This is amazing,” Maya marveled from beside him. “It must have taken decades to create all this.”
Deven grunted, more interested in finding that temple than studying the art. He angled the beam toward the back of the cave and spotted a short, low tunnel chiseled from the rocks. A faint patch of daylight shone from the other end.
“Through here.” He doubled over, then started through the passage, but that insistent feeling of menace still buffeted his nerves. The ceiling dipped lower, and his rifle clinked against the rocks.
Several yards later, the tunnel ended. He straightened, helped Maya out and glanced around. They were in a long, narrow slot canyon, about ten feet wide, with sheer, towering cliffs soaring about them on either side. Cobblestones paved the ground. Symbols had been carved into the cliffs at regular intervals, like signposts guiding the way.
“It’s a road,” he said, stunned at the discovery.
Still marveling, he led the way down the narrow canyon, the soft thud of their footsteps breaking the oppressive quiet. Along the way he spotted more signs of human activity—ancient writing on the rocks, water channels chiseled into the walls. When they came to a stone archway spanning the road, they both stopped.
“A gate,” Maya said, sounding as dumbfounded as he felt. “It’s the entrance to a hidden city.”
“Incredible.” Hindu statues formed the base of the gateway. Precisely engineered stones arched overhead. The air was still, throbbing with a deep sense of expectation. He turned around, trying to spot another way into the city, but h
igh cliffs hemmed them in.
They passed under the gate without speaking, and the road became a city street. Dozens of caves pockmarked the cliffs in either direction like ancient apartments. Stone pillars fronted some of the openings, forming elaborate facades. They trekked without speaking through the deserted city, passing cave after yawning cave. The eerie silence swallowed their steps.
“How are we going to know where the temple is?” Maya whispered.
“I don’t know.” He scanned the cliffs, searching for something to guide them. The caves’ black gullets gaped back.
Then the sound of trickling water drew his attention. Following the noise, he spotted a pile of scattered rocks to the side—the remnants of a wall. He shifted his gaze to where the wall continued, saw the now-dry fountain underneath. Some long-forgotten mason had built an aqueduct, providing water to this secluded place.
And that bothered him. As well engineered as this city was, there had to be another way in.
Or more importantly, another way out.
Frowning, he continued plodding along, futilely searching for trails. Time had left the city untouched for centuries, completely hidden from the outside world. It was an ancient wonder. A tense, mystical feeling pulsed in the air.
Moments later, they reached the end of the canyon. Directly ahead of them, a stone stairway went up the cliff. Symbols had been carved into the base of the steps—the crescent moon, the sun, more exotic writing. The steps spiraled dozens of feet above them and then twisted out of sight.
“This must be it,” Maya said, her voice low.
“Yeah.” He turned her way. Her face was flushed, her hair half loose. And a feeling of tenderness stole through his heart. “You want to wait here while I check it out?”
“Not a chance.”
He understood. In her place, he’d also feel the need to see this through. “You go first, then.” That way if she stumbled, he’d block her fall.
“All right.”
She started up the staircase, and he followed, staying close on her heels. There wasn’t a handrail to hold on to. The steps were shallow and close together, designed for smaller feet. To make things even more treacherous, the steps dipped in the center, as if thousands of people had made this pilgrimage before them, wearing down the stones.
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