Wood, Fire, & Gold

by Jackson, Pam

  Clay seemed to pick up on her discouragement and grabbed her hand. He squeezed it gently and walked with her to the sofa. “Come here, Andie. Sit down, I won’t bite.” He flashed one of his drop-dead-gorgeous smiles and pulled her down next to him. “You can relax, I told you I know where this place is. But first you need to tell me why you got so hinky about the shipment of iodine and hydrochloric acid to Ospina’s warehouses. What’s the big deal?”

  Andie nodded in agreement and decided to give Clay the short version of the significance of iodine and hydrochloric acid in alchemy. A multitude of chemical compounds went along with the transformation, but now wasn’t the time for a lecture in ancient chemical engineering. “The iodine and hydrochloric acid are two of many essential ingredients for a chemical reaction to occur between different compounds so you can change a worthless piece of metal into a priceless piece of gold. But it does need a little help from another source to rev it up a bit.”

  “Rev it up? What do you mean?” he asked.

  “Well, that’s what makes this transformation so difficult—not to mention that ancient alchemists didn’t have a working knowledge of the exact chemical ratios to use or a precise recipe to follow ... that is, not until the Atros Fallis was discovered by Nicholas Flamel. You need to radiate the iodine, and I’m not talking about a radioactive iodine like we use to irradiate thyroid cancer. I’m talking Geiger counters and hazmat suits. And unless you tell me there has been a recent shipment of uranium stolen in the last few weeks ... well, then we’re safe. Tivoli and Ospina, even with the Atros Fallis, can’t complete the reaction without the radiation factor.”

  Clay didn’t say a word, he just stared grimly ahead, his face full of dread. Andie noticed that the muscles along his rigid cheeks and chin were beginning to work back and forth as if his teeth were cutting through steel.

  “Oh, Clay, no! Please tell me this isn’t true.” She shook her head, horrified. Her worst fears were coming true. The final phases for the transformation process were now in play—all that was needed was the Atros Fallis. She reached for his knee and broke him from his Terminator stare.

  With calm and deliberate words, he delivered the blow like a seasoned federal agent. “Several months ago off the Liberian coast, a container ship carrying a cargo of an undisclosed amount of ultra-high-level uranium ore was seized by a pirate ship. The container ship and crew took sail from Sydney, Australia, for Portsmouth, England. The ore was supposed to be used in a government training exercise for a mock disaster scenario in case of a nuclear power plant meltdown—it would give off similar readings on particle detector instruments without being harmful to the drill participants. The ore is incapable of running a reactor, but it could make a small dirty bomb with the right skills, or at least, cause mass hysteria. And it was definitely an inside job, since only a few key players in Parliament and MI-6 knew the sea route of the container ship. All of the ship’s crew and its military protection detail were killed. The pirate thing was just a cover; there’s not a chance in hell a handful of ass-clown pirates killed all of those trained men. It was definitely a mercenary force that seized the ship, and the FBI was informed just in case it surfaced here in the U.S. This is not the kinda news you want on the front page of the Post.”

  “Has it surfaced?” Andie squeaked out her question and immediately regretted asking. She knew in her heart that Ospina and Tivoli were most likely involved in the theft of the shipment.

  He turned and stared deeply into her eyes. His words didn’t come as quickly as Andie might have hoped, but when he broke his silence, she heard the vulnerability and uneasiness in his voice—a rare trait for this icy soldier. “No, it hasn’t ... but it’s been too long for it not to surface on the black market or the usual places that terrorist organizations shop for their WMDs. You just can’t keep that shit lying around your apartment like old Ozzy records. And the uranium ore will get you sick over a short period of time if you’re unprotected. Whoever has it, has it for a purpose, and they’re biding their time for just the right moment.”

  “My money is on Tivoli,” she said, glancing at Clay and his sober stare into nowhere. “Luca Eberstark is his top hatchet man. Luca has men lined up all over the globe for personal assignments from Tivoli. Some of them are badass, and some of them are punks—like the guys who ambushed us in the grove. But Luca Eberstark always survives, and he always gets paid first.”

  Clay stood up and walked to the vellum binding atlas and his uncle’s map, which was spread across the table. “We need to find this cave, Andie—and destroy the Atros Fallis, if it’s there.”

  He didn’t look at her as he flipped through the pages of the atlas. She knew he was right. This was the best and only option for this precious piece of history. It must be destroyed.

  “You said you know where this snake tree is. Are we close?” Andie changed the subject to something she thought might make Clay feel more in control. The heaviness of their conversation was beginning to smother her, and she knew Clay was most likely feeling the same.

  This was crazy. A half hour ago when they’d kissed, she hadn’t cared about a damn thing except screwing him in the snow, and now all she wanted to do was curl up into a ball and cry.

  He folded his bare arms across his chest, defined muscles straining against the soft cotton of his T-shirt. He’d removed his military sweater when they came back to the cabin. Now, watching his biceps bulge, she wished he’d kept it on.

  He spoke, breaking Andie’s triple-X trance. “Yeah, darlin’, we’re close, but it’s not gonna be pretty. Remember that terrible swamp we left Eberstark stuck in?”

  Andie nodded grimly. She had hoped he would tell her the cave was sitting under a trap door in this very cabin. No such luck.

  “Well, that’s the place of the sicomac. There’s a high, rocky spot above the bog, and legend has it, the Lenape Indians dug out an earthen crypt for a beloved medicine man and planted a cedar tree at the entrance of the crypt to mark the spot. The tree was blessed with a powerful spell that could transform the beautiful old cedar into a nest of deadly rattlesnakes with the presence of an intruder.” He snickered, shaking his head. “Okay, okay ... yeah, I know it’s bullshit, but the Native Americans created these myths to keep outsiders away, and Claudius was like kin to those folks because of the Mohawk, Jhan. Perhaps he knew this location and thought it best for his own private stash of stolen property.”

  “Have you ever seen this tree ... this rattlesnake tree, or whatever it is, before?” she asked.

  “Yes. A long time ago, with my cousin Sean. It’s an old rotted tree trunk with heavy vines and massive roots that resemble snakes.”

  “How come you didn’t mention this crypt to me before?” she asked emphatically.

  “Hey, I never believed it myself. I didn’t bother to compare these two maps with each other. I didn’t even know the older atlas was in Myers’ cabin. My uncle was the one who believed in this crap, but like I said, he thought the tree in his map represented the sycamore grove. When my uncle won the map in the poker game, the old mountain man Dawes probably told Uncle Owen the location in Jersey Dutch. Dawes was known for being a crazy drunk bastard, and he usually combined English and Jersey Dutch when he was on a bender. Uncle Owen most likely misunderstood sicomac for sycamore.”

  “Okay. Clay, I trust you. I just wish we could go this instant. It’s killing me that Tivoli and Ospina might be closer to knowing the location than we think. What if Eberstark is alive and found the cave after we left him at the swamp to drown? He could’ve crawled up to the high ground of that wretched place and discovered it.” She was panicking and not making much sense, especially for a person educated in history. Discoveries of well-kept secrets and treasure took months of hard work. Sometimes years of research and planning went into a project before a discovery was made. It would be sheer luck if Eberstark found that cave first, but stranger things had happened with discoveries of ancient artifacts. Just ask the farmer and his friend who discovere
d the great Saxon gold hoard in England with nothing but a cheap metal detector.

  “Don’t worry, kotionok. Hopefully, we’ll get lucky and find it through the snow cover. Most of the heavy stuff will melt tonight with the warm air that’s moving up from the south.”

  “All right, we’ll wait ‘til morning.” She smiled and wondered about the strange word he had just called her. She hadn’t realized how many languages he was fluent in—even ones that weren’t used anymore. “What does koty..nok mean?” She cringed, knowing she had just butchered the delicate pronunciation of the word.

  A crooked, sexy grin appeared on his face as he translated. “It means kitten or cub of a cat. It’s Russian. I always liked the way it sounded. Did I insult you?” His playful grin turned serious. “I just didn’t want you to worry, and the term is endearing, that’s all.”

  “No, no. I like it—it sounds sweet, thank you. And you speak it beautifully. Was your family Russian?”

  “No, my mother was of Italian and Greek descent, and my father’s family was in the United States when there were just thirteen colonies. But when I was in Special Forces, my team trained in East Slavic language and culture. And later, when I joined ICE, it was easy for me to infiltrate and access human sex trafficking rings from Russia and the Ukraine into the U.S. My dark hair and light complexion let me pass as a mobster from Minsk.” He grinned playfully and shot a suave pose at her, hoping to distract her from any questions she might have on the horrors of human sex trafficking.

  “Wow, impressive and scary, all at the same time,” she said. Then she remembered the foreign words he’d said to her when he’d interrogated her at his house earlier that morning. “What did you say to me earlier? It sounded like Russian, too.”

  Clay was silent. She could feel his gaze raking over her body. Her heart suddenly raced in her chest.

  He blinked slowly, and then released a small sigh before he repeated the words again.

  “Ya lubil by tselovat tvoyu chudesnuyu grud,” he said, slowly and deliberately this time, never taking his eyes off her. He moved toward her with a slow, predatory stride and knelt down in front of where she sat on the sofa. He placed his hands on her knees and moved them up her thighs.

  Andie swallowed hard and couldn’t look away from his penetrating gaze. His grasp on her thighs was rough. She succumbed to his silent authority.

  “It means, I would love to kiss your amazing breasts,” he drawled out.

  He didn’t say another word; his searing stare spoke volumes, and Andie wanted him now more than ever. He moved closer so that his perfect lips were almost touching hers. His dark hair smelled delicious.

  “Would you let me do that, Andie? Kiss your breasts? Kiss every part of you until you come hard for me? I want to be inside you so bad, baby, it takes my breath away.” The words rolled off his tongue. “Because I’ve been dreaming of that since I first laid eyes on you. I could say it in Italian, Spanish or Farsi, but it won’t sound as wonderful, and it won’t translate with the same intensity.”

  She wanted to say something, but all that came out was a faint mewing sound from her throat, a primal response to the visual of Clay kissing her neck and breasts.

  He grinned with sweet satisfaction and was on her lips in seconds. His kiss was searing and wet—and at this point, so was Andie. She gave in to his mouth and let him control the kiss, his tongue teasing and urgent. She felt that if he stopped, she would die. She’d never been kissed like this before; it was raw, with an intensity that heightened all of her senses. She could taste, smell and feel him—all of which was absolutely wonderful. She wanted to be a part of him, her blood running through his warm veins, his flesh heating with her flesh, their hearts beating as one. All of this from a kiss—she was in trouble. Her control was lost, and she didn’t give a damn.

  Still kneeling, he parted her thighs with strong hands and pressed his torso hard against her pelvis. She moaned and started pulling at his T-shirt. Her hands roamed up his bare back, and she could feel the raised outline of a scar under his left shoulder blade. His muscles went rigid, and he slowly pulled away from her lips. She had almost forgotten that this powerful man had seen combat—he was not immortal, and bullets didn’t bounce off his skin. She remembered the wound he was nursing on his inner thigh. Was she pushing him? Oh God, she wanted him so badly, but she didn’t want him to recall sex with her as a painful memory.

  “Andie,” he rasped. He leaned his forehead against hers, closing his eyes.

  This was bad. She could kick herself, but she was so confused by his advances. He had just told her how badly he wanted her in his sexy, smooth voice, and now he was pulling away—again. She hadn’t been with a man in a while, and never had she been with a man like Clay. The moves she used with men who rarely left their museum offices or dig sites for even a cup of coffee—never mind a date with a woman—were useless on Clay. Roger was the last man she had bedded for love, and lately, being alone suited her best. She kept telling herself it was guilt that had motivated her to live in solitude: the guilt of Roger’s death, the guilt of flirting and using men to advance her career, the guilt of letting herself be manipulated by Tivoli for too damn long. But she desired Clay like no other, and she wanted him to want her in that same way.

  “I need to tell you something.” He hesitated for a moment, then opened his eyes. He pulled away, holding her shoulders, pinning her to the sofa. “Shit, how do I tell you this?”

  Andie’s heart leaped. She’d gone too far—she had pushed him to kiss her when he had clearly said he couldn’t protect her if they were involved. But why all the mixed signals? After this ordeal was done, she swore to herself, she’d never get involved with men again. She would form an unhealthy attachment to Oreo cookies and get a dog or cat to snuggle up with at night. Then it hit her like a two-ton brick. Maybe his injury prevented him from having sex. Maybe he was making boastful advances so he wouldn’t seem less masculine to her. She felt lousy for being so selfish once again.

  “Clay, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize that your injury—” There was no way she was going to make this sound pretty. “You can’t ... have sex?” She realized she had just croaked that last word out like a bullfrog.

  “What?” he asked with disbelief. Then he broke out into a thunder of laughter. “Andie, darlin’, just because I haven’t rode the bike in a while, doesn’t mean I can’t. The round exited below my dear friends. Everything is where it’s supposed to be—just like the day I was born.”

  “Oh, okay.” She blew out a sigh of relief. “Then why the look of gloom and doom in the middle of one of the best kisses anyone has ever planted on me?”

  “It’s something I have.”

  Andie could feel the blood draining from her head again. Really? Absolutely freaking fabulous. VD? Ebola? Fleas? “Are you sick?”

  “No, no. Nothing like that.” Then he blurted it out: “It’s a tattoo.”

  Now it was her turn to burst into laughter. “Are you kidding me? It’s got to be a pretty nasty looking thing for you to stop kissing me like that. C’mon, Clay, how bad can it be?” She imagined some foolish, juvenile body ink like so many people get when they’ve barely been away from Mom and Dad for a week. “You know, they can laser those things off now.”

  He didn’t smile at her joke. That’s when Andie realized how serious he was about this permanent mark on his body. She saw the heaviness in his shoulders as he released her from the sofa. He stood up and turned his back toward her, and with a fluid motion, he took off his shirt.

  Her gasp was loud, and she covered her mouth with her hand. What she saw sent a chill up her spine, making every hair on her neck and arms stand straight up. She was confused yet amazed by the inked image. She was surprised that fear was not pinging through her mind, sweeping her up and carrying her back out the door.

  “Andie, I don’t know how to explain this to you.” His usually strong voice quivered slightly.

  His back was still facing her, and she found h
erself on her feet, reaching out to touch the amazing strokes of gold, green, brown, and blue. A serpentine figure eight rested between his sculpted shoulder blades. His skin trembled at her touch, but he remained motionless as she outlined the head of a magnificent, plumed peacock and the jagged teeth of a powerful wolf ready to devour the bird’s head. With a delicate fingertip, she moved down the creature’s serpent body, following the beautiful red, green and yellow colors of its scales. Her fingertip glided smoothly across the noble face of the azure peacock and the beastly head of the brown wolf—it was as if the creature were alive and moving against his warm skin. To her astonishment, this was the sketch from the textbook she had showed him earlier—only now with rich color added. As Andie tried to make sense of the image before her, she realized this was the ouroboros that was etched into the thick, copper cover of the Atros Fallis—the book that had brought them together.

  But how?

  ###

  “Please, Andie. Say something.” Never did he plead for someone’s response, but this was Andie. Her silence was torture. Her touch was electric on his skin, and he wished to God they were still kissing passionately. But he’d needed to show her; at some point during all that heat between them, she would’ve noticed the tattoo that had plagued him for all these years. He wanted to be honest with her, but how would she ever believe him? There were moments he couldn’t believe himself that he’d had that damn thing marked into his back.

  “I don’t know what to say. Why ... ?” she murmured.

  Finally, to his relief, she found her voice.

  “Please tell me why the same ouroboros that is etched into the Atros Fallis is on your goddamned back!”

  Good, she was angry. Clay could handle her anger; it was her fear and sadness that shredded him.

  “It’s a long story. I’m going to tell you the short of it so you won’t run out that door again.” He was crazy if he thought what he was about to tell her wouldn’t send her packing. But this was the end game, and he would bare all. He had promised that to her—no more secrets.