by Karen Kelley
The burning eased, but not the feeling that the two of them had merged and somehow grown closer, stronger in spirit.
Did you feel it? Ria asked
Yes, I did. We are truly one.
Ria sat up and looked around. It was quiet, dark. She slowly came to her feet. Leaning the palm of one hand on the side of the building, she caught her breath, letting herself regain control of her body again.
We need to hurry, Shintara urged.
I’m ready. Ria peeked around the side of the building. No movement. She hurried to the door and tested the knob. Unlocked.
God, she was scared shitless. Clothes would be nice. It wasn’t cold, but goose bumps had popped up all over her body.
She eased the door open and took a quick look inside. No one was in the hallway. There were doors on either side. Maybe she could find something to wear in one of the rooms.
She slipped inside. The first two doors were locked, as well as the next three. She was halfway down the hall when she heard voices coming down one of the halls that branched off.
Oh, hell! Now what was she going to do? Shift!
No time!
Crap! She tried the next two doors.
Locked.
The next one opened. She slipped inside the room just as two men turned the corner. She left the door open just a hair to see what they would do. They stopped at the first door and unlocked it, then went inside. She breathed a sigh of relief, then looked around.
She was inside a lab of sorts.
Bingo.
There was a white lab coat hanging from a coat rack. She quickly slipped it on. A little too big, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. There was something in the pocket. She pulled it out: a name badge with a barcode. She looked at the picture. Crystal Webb was in desperate need of a makeover. She dropped the badge back inside the pocket and opened a few drawers until she found booties like medical staff would wear over their shoes during surgery. If she saw anyone, maybe they would think she was also wearing shoes and worked there.
She still felt really naked, but at least the coat fell below her knees and it buttoned up the front. Now to find Kristor.
The men she’d almost ran into had been carrying Styrofoam coffee cups. Cafeteria? She decided to go in the opposite direction. But when she rounded a corner, she came face to face with a set of double doors blocking her path. There was a sign that read RESTRICTED AREA.
Kristor had to be somewhere behind those doors. She pushed on them. They didn’t budge. To the right was a scanner, much like the ones used to slide a credit card through. Pffft, she knew how to use one of them. She reached inside the pocket of the lab coat and brought out the badge. It was worth a try.
She slid it through the slot. The doors beeped. She tentatively pushed on them, breathing a sigh of relief when they opened.
The hall was empty and dimly lit. On either side were doors again, but these had small windows. The first three were empty. She peered into the next window. It also looked empty. She opened the door to make sure.
Something grabbed her arm and dragged her inside. She opened her mouth to scream but a hand clamped over it.
“Don’t make a sound or I’ll have to silence you.”
She nodded.
He slowly moved his hand away.
“Kristor?”
“Rianna? What are you doing here?”
“Saving you.”
“I don’t need saving.”
“You’re in a cell. I’d say you do.”
“I was just about to leave. The guards make their rounds every hour from what I can tell. They just made them.”
“Then let’s get the hell out of here.”
She opened the door and glanced out. “All clear.”
They kept close to the wall as they made their way to the double doors. Just as she was about to swipe the badge, the doors opened and a man stepped through with two guards.
“Agent Richards.” Kristor nodded toward the older man as if they were old friends meeting on the street.
The agent sloshed his coffee over the side of his cup, burning his hand. He yelped and dropped the cup.
“Sir, I—” The guard didn’t get the chance to say anything else. Kristor threw one punch and the guy slumped to the floor. The other guard had barely opened his mouth when he met with the same fate.
Agent Richards turned to run, but Kristor clamped a hand on his shoulder and pushed him toward the cell.
“Maybe I should take you back to my planet and let you see how we question aliens from Earth.”
“Oh, God, please, no.”
Kristor opened the door and shoved him inside. Ria wondered if they really captured people from other planets. Did they poke them with probes?
It had been rather nice when Kristor had probed her. She mentally shook her head. Now was not the time to let her thoughts wander.
Agent Adam Richards was the man who had wanted to dissect the man she loved. She shoved up the sleeves of her lab coat. “Let me at him,” she said. She wasn’t sure what she would do, but she wanted to do something. Maybe punch his lights out.
Kristor shoved the agent against the wall, then clamped the cuffs on his wrists and ankles.
“Please don’t. I swear I’ll retire, anything, just let me go.”
Was he actually crying? The tough expression he’d worn when Kristor was taken to the van was gone. The guy was actually sniveling.
“If you don’t stop torturing aliens I will return, and I’ll bring others with me. Do you understand?”
“I’m not sure I have the authority—”
“Whatever it takes, you will get it done.” Kristor took a menacing step closer.
“Yes, I will. I will. Just don’t hurt me.”
Kristor grabbed Ria’s arm and they started out, but he glanced once more over his shoulder. “Don’t make a sound. If you do, I’ll kill you.”
He shook his head. “No, of course not. Quiet as a mouse. Promise.”
“Then shut up,” Kristor growled.
Ria thought Kristor was quite fierce. She rather liked this warrior side of him. He made her feel protected. Except they had to get out of there fast.
“How did you find me?” he asked as they slipped past the double doors and down the hall.
She glanced his way as they hurried down the hall and out the door. Fresh air was like a welcome caress on her face. He grabbed her arm.
“Rianna?”
“I shifted. There, I hope you’re happy.”
He grinned, then pulled her into his arms. His lips brushed across hers in a gentle kiss. Then it deepened with emotion as they both realized how close they had been to losing each other.
“I love you,” he whispered after the kiss ended. He continued to hold her close.
She sighed. “And I love you.”
“Then you’ll leave with me?”
“Can we come back to visit?”
“Of course.”
“Then yes, I’ll follow you anywhere. As long as I have a bottle of Valium.”
“Valium?”
“Yes, and Dramamine.”
“I will make sure you have plenty then.”
“Good. Let’s go home.”
The fog began to roll in as they both thought about their animal guides. Ria felt the burning pain, but this time she welcomed it like an old friend.
Shintara stretched her wings as the fog dissipated. She looked over at the hawk who was doing the same. Nice wingspan.
You’re not so bad yourself, Labrinon screeched.
Ria mentally shook her head. Having her animal guide free was going to take a little getting used to. But as long as she was with Kristor, she had a feeling she could get through just about anything.
Her life finally felt complete. As it should.
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U.S. Arctic Research Commission
Above the Arctic Circle
D
r. Walt Arnold took slow breaths to keep from freezing his lungs. At thirty below, he was accustomed to the staggering temperatures, but it was hard to regulate his breathing when he was lifting sixty pounds of pipe and ice. He wrapped the core sample in plastic, then, with his assistant, levered it onto the transport, its metal shell intact. The temperatures were in their favor to keep the core sample from relaxing, as well as maintaining the chemical isotopes in prime condition.
His team took care of transporting the sample to storage as he returned to the drilling. He adjusted the next length of pipe, clamped the coupling, then glanced at the generator chugging to drive the pipe farther into the ice. The half dozen random samples would help correlate the data from the deeper drills. He watched the meter feed change in slow increments. Nearly three hundred meters. It was the deepest he’d attempted on this patch, and he was eager for data. His report wasn’t due for a year, but making the funding stretch took hunks of time he needed for the study.
When the core met the next mark, he twisted, the wind pushing the fur of his parka as he waved a wide arc. His assistants jogged across the ice and he warned them again about exerting themselves unnecessarily. They brought it up, the sample laid out in sections. Overstuffed with down and thermal protection, his colleagues rushed to contain it in the storage trenches dug into the ice to keep the sample from relaxing or their measurements for chemical isotopes would be screwed to hell.
The drill continued and out of the corner of his eye, Walt watched the computer screen’s progress. The nonfreezing drill fluid flowed smoothly and he could kiss the scientist who’d perfected it. Pipes locked in the ice meant abandoning valuable equipment. The crew transported the next length into storage below one degree to maintain the specimen. The rest gathered around the equipment housed over the site with a windscreen that would protect them, yet not change the temperature of the core samples. Walt ached for hot coffee.
Suddenly the core shot another twenty-eight feet and he rushed to shut it down. Shit shit shit. Not good, he thought, his gaze jumping between monitors. A pipe had come loose, he thought, yet the readings were fine. There wasn’t a damn thing wrong with the equipment. That meant there was a gap. An air pocket in the glacier. His brows knit, his heartbeat jumping a little. The core depths so far were a sample of the climate eight hundred years earlier, give or take a hundred.
“All stop, pull up the last sample.”
It was useless anyway. The inconsistent drill would change the atmospheric readings of gas bubbles if the core relaxed and lost its deep ice compression. Holes under pressure were usually deformed. The technician went back to securing the steel pipes. Walt switched on the geothermal radar, lowering the amplifier, then waited for the recalibration. The picture of the ice throbbed back to the screen, loading slowly. He didn’t see anything in the first half that shouldn’t be there. The feed showed an eerie green of solid glacier ice. Then it darkened, a definite shape molding from the radar pulse. Bedrock already? Or perhaps a climate buoy. Thousands of those were getting trapped, yet never this far below the ice flow.
A graduate student moved alongside him, peering in. “There’s something in there.”
Walt didn’t respond, waiting the last few seconds for the pixels to clarify. “Yes, Mister Ticcone. There definitely is.”
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He was staring at her.
Helena looked through her lowered eyelashes at him. He was a Scot and no mistake about it. Held in place around his waist was a great kilt. Folded into pleats that fell longer in the back, his plaid was made up in heather, tan and green. She knew little of the different clans and their tartans but she could see how proud he was. The nobles she passed among scoffed at him but she didn’t think he would even cringe if he were to hear their mutters. She didn’t think the gossip would make an impact. He looked impenetrable. Strength radiated from him. There was nothing pompous about him, only pure brawn.
Her attention was captivated by him. She had seen other Scots wearing their kilts but there was something more about him. A warm ripple moved across her skin. His doublet had sleeves that were closed, making him look formal, in truth more formal than the brocade-clad men standing near her brother. There wasn’t a single gold or silver bead sewn to that doublet, but he looked ready to meet his king. It was the slant of his chin, the way he stood.
“You appear to have an admirer, Helena.”
Edmund sounded conceited and his friends chuckled. Her brother’s words surfaced in her mind and she shifted her gaze to the men standing near her brother. They were poised in perfect poses that showed off their new clothing. One even had a lace-edged handkerchief dangling from one hand.
She suddenly noticed how much of a fiction it was. Edmund didn’t believe them to be his friends but he stood jesting with them. Each one of them would sell the other out for the right amount. It was so very sad—like a sickness you knew would claim their lives but could do nothing about.
“A Scot, no less.”
Edmund eyed her. She stared back, unwilling to allow him to see into her thoughts. Annoyance flickered in his eyes when she remained calm. He waved his hands, dismissing her.
She turned quickly before he heard the soft sound of a gasp. She hadn’t realized she was holding her breath. It was such a curious reaction. Peeking back across the hall, she found the man responsible for invading her thoughts completely. He had a rugged look to him, his cheekbones high and defined. No paint decorated his face. His skin was a healthy tone she hadn’t realized she missed so much. He was clean-shaven, in contrast to the rumors she’d heard of Scotland’s men. Of course, many Englishmen wore beards. But his hair was longer, touching his shoulders and full of curl. It was dark as midnight and she found it quite rakish.
He caught her staring at him. She froze, her heartbeat accelerating. His dark eyes seemed alive even from across the room. His lips twitched up, flashing her a glimpse of strong teeth. He reached up to tug lightly on the corner of his knitted bonnet. She felt connected to him, her body strangely aware of his—even from so great a distance. Sensations rippled down her spine and into her belly. She sank into a tiny curtsy without thought or consideration. It was a response, pure and simple.
Keep an eye out for THE DEADLIEST SIN by Caroline Richards, coming next month!
The air was like a heavy linen sheet pressed against Julia’s face, yet a cold sweat plastered her chemise and dress to her body. It was peculiar, this ability to retreat into herself, away from the pain numbing her leg and away from the threat that lay outside this suffocating room.
A few moments, an hour, or a day passed. She found herself sitting, her limbs trembling against the effort. Guilt choked her, a tide of nausea threatening to sweep away the tattered edges of her self-regard. Why had she ignored Meredith’s warnings and accepted Wadsworth’s invitation to photograph his country estate? Julia felt for the ground beneath her, flexing stiff fingers, a film of dust gathering under her nails. If she could push herself higher, lean against a wall, allow the blood to flow…
The pain in her leg was a strange solace. As were thoughts of Montfort, her refuge, the splendid seclusion where her life with her sister and her aunt had begun. She could remember nothing else, her early childhood an empty canvas, bleached of memories. Lady Meredith Woolcott had offered a universe onto itself. Protected, guarded, secure—for a reason.
Julia’s mouth was dry. She longed for water to wash away her remorse. New images crowded her thoughts, taking over the darkness in bright bursts of light. Meredith and Rowena waving to her from the green expanse of lawn at Montfort. The sun dancing on the tranquil pond in the east gardens. Meredith’s eyes, clouded with worry, that last afternoon in the library. Wise counsel from her aunt that Julia had chosen, in her defiance, to ignore, warnings that were meant to be heeded. Secrets that were meant to be kept.
She ran a shaking hand through the shambles of her hair, her bonnet long discarded somewhere in the dark.
She pieced together her shattered thoughts. When had she arrived? Last evening or days ago? A picture began to form. Her carriage had clattered up to a house, a daunting silhouette, all crenellations and peaks, chandeliers glittering coldly into the gathering dust. The entryway had been brightly lit, the air infused with the perfume of decadence, sultry and heavy. That much she could remember before her mind clamped shut.
The world tilted and she ground her nails into the stone beneath her palms for balance. She should be sobbing by now but her eyes were sandpaper dry. Voices echoed in the dark, or were they footsteps, corporeal and real? Her ears strained and she craned her neck upwards peering into the thick darkness. There was a sense of vibration more than sounds themselves, hearing as the deaf hear. Footsteps, actual or imagined, would do her no good. She felt the floor around her, imagining a prison of rotted wood and broken stone, even though logic told her there had to be an entranceway. Taking a deep breath, she twisted onto her left hip, arms flailing to find purchase, to heave herself into a standing position. Not for the first time in her life, she cursed the heavy skirts, entangled now in her legs, the painful fire burning higher.
No wall. Nothing to lean upon. If she could at least stand—She pushed herself up on her right elbow, wrestling aside her skirts with an impatient hand. The fabric tore, the sound muffled in the darkness. The white-hot pain no longer mattered, nor did the bile flooding her throat. Pulling her legs beneath her, she dragged herself up, swaying like a mad marionette without the security of strings.
The silence was complete because she’d stopped breathing. Arms outstretched, her hands clutched at air. Just one small step, one after the other, and she would encounter a wall, a door, something. She bit back a silent plea. Hadn’t Meredith taught them long ago about the uselessness of prayer?