by K J Morgan
His skin chilled under her hand, stinging her where they touched. A flood of images assaulted her, blood and death and war, the Necromancer's ancient past streaming through her soul. She fought against it, crying out as the pain and terror overtook her. She saw herself then, the cuts in her skin, her own life draining away in the cold air, Seth whispering her name.
The Necromancer let her go and she dropped to her knees, breathing hard.
"Seth," she rasped.
"There will be no easy escape for him this time. Not as long as you continue to shine so brightly. He will follow you anywhere, even into death."
"No."
"He has lived so many lives in defiance, resisting the call of the Gate, resisting me whenever I found him, but now it is destiny to return."
"No," she repeated, pushing unsteadily to her feet. "I'll force him to leave. I won't let you turn him into this. I won't let you put his name on these walls."
"You think I put his name here?" he asked, his pale eyes glowing. "Beautiful Miranda, his name was written in the Gate for longer than the earthly sun has burned in its infant sky. This is a battle you've already lost."
She shook her head, unable to reply.
A warm tremor passed through the metal floor grates, the whisper of symbols rising in the corridor. The Necromancer paused, then looked down at her with a knowing smile. "He is here, searching for you."
Miranda grimaced, feeling Seth now, his presence in the Gate solid and distinctive. "Leave him alone."
The Necromancer stepped back into the shadows, a soft smile playing on his lips as he disappeared into the darkness.
* * *
The metal corridor stretched out before him, its tight walls and shadowed bulkheads shining faintly in the lantern light. Seth ducked inside, passing under heavy, riveted archways, his gaze narrowing on the row of compartment doors ahead. Where are you, Miranda?
The hallway seemed to grow darker and colder, a gentle breeze threading past him. The whisper of voices echoed from the walls, the words warped and unrecognizable. He turned, searching for the source, but the corridor stood empty behind him.
Clenching his teeth, he focused his attention back on the compartment doors, hoping like hell that he would find her alive and well behind one of them.
He'd tried not to think of what had happened to her after she'd disappeared. The depth of her vulnerability cut him to the core, the madness of what she'd endured. It made him sick, anxious to get her as far away from the Black Rock Desert as possible, as quickly as possible.
He pressed his lips together, pausing at the first door. It had been latched shut, a series of wheels and locks securing it in place. Seth shook his head, glancing over the complexity of the mechanisms. They were far more suited to the interior of a bank vault than an inhabited structure.
"Who built you?" he murmured, reaching out to touch the lock. "Why do all of this?"
A hiss issued from the metal. A door at the end of the hallway unlatched and swung open, spilling a faint gold light into the darkness.
"Seth…" A whispered voice spoke his name.
He narrowed his gaze and walked toward it, passing under the corridor's large curving braces and seams of dark rivets, ignoring the rows of intricate markings along the walls.
A chill of familiarity passed through him as he approached the door, as if somehow knew what was on the other side.
"No," Miranda called from the close space behind him. "Seth, don't."
He turned to see her standing there, her red hair wild and loose over her shoulders, her eyes bright in the thin glow of the lanterns. She wore a short dress of glittering braids and gold chain mail, the metal shining hot against her skin. She drew a dagger from a sheath at her side, deftly flipping it from the handle to the blade, as if she intended to throw it.
"Miranda. Jesus—"
"Don't touch the door. Come toward me. It's not safe for you here."
"Not safe for me?" he repeated in disbelief, leaving the door behind and walking toward her. "Christ, I went crazy lookin' for you last night."
She shifted her balance from foot to foot, grimacing as he approached. "You have to leave. It's not safe."
"I know. I know that."
He drew her close, slipping his hands into her hair and leaning down to kiss her. She was warm, her lips soft and yielding under his. She broke away with a harsh sound, shaking her head. "Now," she said, pulling him down the corridor toward the light of day.
They crossed from the darkness of the Gate into the white glare of the desert. Miranda led him across a wooden deck and down a series of stairs to the soft ground below. She didn't slow her pace or glance over her shoulder once, negotiating a zigzagging path through the tents and out of the camp as she headed for the crowded heat of the playa.
In the full sunlight, she seemed to catch fire, the copper red of her hair blazing, a faint shimmer of gold warm on her skin. Her beauty was surreal, and yet they were surrounded by people in masks and sequins, painted skin and exotic costumes.
"We're clear," he said at length, resisting her for the first time. "It's okay. We're clear."
She came to a stop, casting an uncertain glance back at him, then at the temple of the Rathvam in the distance.
"We're safe."
A motorized flying carpet rumbled past them, rap music thumping from its speakers as a line of belly dancers tossed beaded necklaces to people walking in the sand. Alien looking kites dotted the blue sky overhead, streaming bright strands of iridescent color against the watery sweep of clouds. Hundreds of bicyclers pedaled along in the dust.
Miranda shook her head, her gaze narrowed on the towering sculptures and art pieces littered across the playa, their forms rising like mirages in the heat. "This is why he came here, because no one suspects, nothing stands out. No one thinks anything of the Gate, or the people worshipping it. It's just another attraction, a thing that lures our fears and desires to the surface, our destruction hidden in plain sight"
"Miranda," he said softly.
She looked at him, her green eyes glistening under the bright sweep of her lashes, her breath drawn through her teeth. In her hand, the dagger glinted in the sun.
"You trusted me last night," he reminded her. "You can trust me now. Just come with me. Talk to me."
"You have to leave this desert. That's the only thing we have to talk about."
"Okay," he said, slanting a thoughtful look at her from under his hat. "That's a start."
Chapter Nine
Miranda followed Seth back to his camp, walking briefly in the dusty wake of a double-decker party bus decorated with jungle vines and stuffed animal parrots. Its passengers stood on the roof and whistled at her from above, waving before driving off across the pale sand.
Themed villages spread out between the tents before them, offering exotic worlds to explore, giant domes and temple buildings, metal towers and catwalks, neon bars and hookah lounges carpeted with Oriental rugs and dotted with hanging silver lanterns.
Seth clasped onto her hand, drawing her into a garden of gigantic fabric lotus flowers, their pearlescent petals open to the hot sunlight. Miranda ducked into the colored shade between the blooms, holding onto him as he navigated a tight path through the labyrinth.
She shook her head, grimacing as they emerged from under the arching flower petals and stepped onto the dry silt of another road. The dust stung her throat and her eyes, dry and acidic in the heat. There was no refuge here, no mercy from the baking desert and eternal sky, no break from the assault of color and carnival.
He led her through thumping camps and between parked cars, somehow emerging by the steps of his RV a few minutes later. Fishing the keys out of his pocket, he unlocked the vehicle and ushered her inside, locking the door behind them. She glanced out the windshield, searching for anyone who might have followed. She saw no one. Looking back at Seth, she found him standing in the center of the room, his hands propped on his hips as he studied her.
"Are
you hungry?" he asked.
"No. Thank you."
"I'm good with omelets, less so with sunny-side-up."
"I'm not hungry."
He frowned, as if the answer disappointed him.
"You need to leave this desert."
He sighed, considering the dust on the inside of his palms. "Actually, I need a shower. I spent some part of the morning under the RV. I didn't think anything of it when I was out looking for you, but now that you're found, it's getting harder to ignore."
She shook her head. "You're stalling."
He granted her a tired smile.
"We had the same tactic in FBI. Take more time. Slow down. Put the victim at ease. Make them feel safe. Convince them that you know what's best for them."
"Did you ever take a shower with them in the next room?" he asked, sliding his cowboy hat from his hair and tossing it onto the couch. "Because I think that's original."
She held his gaze for a moment. "You do this well. You react, but you never overreact, never treat me like I'm broken beyond repair."
"Because you're not broken beyond repair."
"How can you think that? I've told you what happened. I bled to death on this playa, Seth, exactly one year ago. Since it's obvious you don't believe me, how can you not think that I'm insane?"
He kicked off his boots, giving a half-shake of his head. "This isn't about sanity. You're as sane as your situation has allowed you to be."
"Last night, you saw the blood."
He ducked behind the bathroom door, loosing a stream of water from the shower faucet with a screech of pipes. "I'm not certain what I saw," he said above the noise. "Other than a piece of the nightmare you've been forced to live."
"The nightmare," she repeated, realizing that there was no way to make him understand.
Steam began to rise from behind the open bathroom door, swirling hot in the confined space. She saw slices of Seth caught in the mirrors above the tiny sink, his broad shoulders bare, the thick circlet of his bicep tattoo dark against the tanned skin of his arm. He disappeared behind the white shower curtain with a scrape of metal hangers.
Almost disappeared.
She frowned, focusing on the calculated gap he had left between the curtain and the wall. He glanced back at her through it, his gaze seeking hers in the reflection. Whether he had intended to simply check her presence in the room, or issue an invitation, was unclear. Miranda felt her lips part, the lush smell of steam and soap permeating the air.
They were safe in the RV, she knew. After all, this what the Necromancer wanted, what he claimed she couldn't resist. She was supposed to take Seth as her lover, use him and draw him into whatever trap had been set.
She pressed her lips together, considering the reflection of the man caught in the mirror. The pitch of falling water changed as he moved under its hot stream, allowing it to pour between his shoulders and down his back as he roughly lathered soap into his hair. He shot another intent look in her direction, sparking a memory of those large hands pressed against her, stroking along her skin. Her breath seemed to burn away in her throat.
She couldn't remember ever suffering with desire, but it was different now. She was different. The Necromancer's insight proved accurate. Even as she struggled to think of a way to get Seth off the playa, she couldn't help but stare at him, her gaze fixed. She pressed her lips together, watching him duck under the spray of water from the showerhead, his black hair flowing thick to his shoulders.
The sight of him invoked something pure, raw, and carnal, the memory of the pleasure he had given her now dizzying. She could feel her pulse quicken, her mouth suddenly dry, the skin of her palms slick with sweat.
It had been so good with him, beyond anything she had experienced in her mortal life, and the ghost she had become couldn't turn away from it now, couldn't let it go. She wanted to draw that strength from him again, to feel the thick energy of his soul reforming her with its touch.
A shudder passed through her.
If intimacy can be used to draw him into a trap, then it can also be used to draw him out of one. It can be used to save his life.
She walked forward, stepping into the wet embrace of steam. Unwinding the delicate mesh and braids of her dress, she heard them fall to the floor with a soft jingle. Only her arm bands remained, their red jewels glinting darkly.
Seth looked up, catching sight of her as she reached for the curtain. A look of satisfaction glowed in the gold depths of his eyes, water glistening from his black lashes, glossing the thick length of his hair.
He was incredible looking, strong and powerfully built.
"I want you more now than before," she said, an edge sharpening her tone. "I want to feel what you feel, what you are, everything that you offer me. I can't fight it and I can't ignore it. I don't want to."
"You don't have to," he replied, reaching out to stroke her cheek with wet fingers. "I'm yours, Miranda. I can be as gentle as you need me to be."
"I don't want you to be gentle," she replied harshly. "I don't want your restraint. I want to feel how strong you are, how alive you are. I need to feel it."
He watched her from under half-closed lids, the warm hazel of his eyes lit with arousal.
"Make me feel it," she whispered.
"My pleasure."
He slid his hands around her naked waist and lifting her against him. His kiss was hot and possessive, the burn of steaming water spilling down his cheek, searing the contact of their lips and tongues. He pulled her closer, sliding her against the ridged plane of his stomach, his cock jutting hard and thick between them. She made a raw sound in her throat.
Seth raised her higher and turned under the shower of water, pressing her forcefully up against the wall. Miranda gasped, pinned by his muscular weight.
"Yes," she whispered. "Like this."
"Like this," he repeated, his breath hot against her ear.
She grabbed onto his arms, feeling his biceps flex under her fingers. Her head fell back to the wall, her hair heavy with water, her naked body arched against his. She wrapped her legs around his waist. He slid his hands under her hips and lifted her higher, his teeth clenched and his body held taut. He watched her expression as he positioned them, then carefully slid her down on his cock.
Miranda caught her breath, feeling him stretch the tight skin of her sheath. He pushed deeper, pulling out and thrusting until he had sunk his entire length inside her.
She gave a soft groan, closing her arms around his neck, feeling the slick brush of his hair against her cheek. He drew back slightly, allowing the spill of water from the showerhead to course between them, slipping hot over her breasts and pouring over her clit as he penetrated deep.
"God," she rasped, lost in the feel of him sliding inside her, his thrusts pushing her roughly back against the plastic wall of the shower stall. His hands gripped her, his strong arms held tight, his teeth bared under the sensual turn of his lips. The water pelted her budded nipples, running trails of fire between her legs. She arched her back, digging her nails into the skin of his shoulders. He hissed, ramming his cock into her.
She cried out as an intense orgasm swelled and broke inside her, flooding heat and pleasure through her veins. He didn’t stop, his hands crushing her against his hips, his long erection stroking deep, drawing out the feeling.
Her head fell back, her grip on him easing as her limbs lost their strength. He slowed, then pulled himself from her body and lowered her into a kiss, the caress of his lips still rough and hungered.
Reaching behind her, he closed the faucet.
She stood in his arms, her body flush with the release he had given, his breath a harsh whisper in her ear.
Beads of water formed like diamonds on their skin, pooling where they touched, streaking down between the close press of their bodies. Miranda looked up into the richness of his eyes, finding them warm with intent.
"You didn't finish," she said, spreading her hands against the muscle of his arms.
/> "No," he admitted, the corner of his mouth hinting at a smile. "But I will."
* * *
He carried her into the small bedroom, lowering himself on top of her as they fell together on the old mattress. The heat in the room was stifling, sunlight glowing in the dust covering the closed windows. The sheets underneath her carried the scent of long afternoons, of time passing in the warmth.
Seth kissed her breast, his mouth open on her skin, drawing the water with his tongue. His hands slid under her back, arching her toward him as he sucked on the tight bud of her nipple, teasing and devouring.
Miranda closed her eyes, running her hands into the cool wealth of his hair, feeling the wet tendrils slide through her fingers. Clasping onto them gently, she urged him lower, guiding his mouth to the swollen pink skin between her legs.
A rough purr slipped under his breath. He nudged her, his mouth finding the sensitive folds and drinking the water from them. He rolled her clit under his tongue, taking it into his mouth and teasing it. She gave a harsh cry, the muscles in her stomach tensed and coiled, her legs spread wide, her heels digging into the mattress.
He drew back, his strong hands closing on her waist, rolling her onto her stomach with languid ease. She looked back, but he was behind her, positioned slightly out of sight.
She heard the foil rip of a condom packet, the slick roll of plastic. She wet her lips, feeling him come back to her and lower his head to the soft curve of her rump. He rubbed his hands over the cheeks of her buttocks, spreading them wide for the taste of his mouth. He kissed her, his breath hot and wet, drawing sensation from the skin.
Then he was over her, his hard cock sliding into her, her body welcoming the squeeze. Miranda pushed against him in ecstasy, her hips rolling and her fists tightening in the damp sheets.
He drew it out, keeping a languid rhythm, the water on his skin drying in the heat, replaced by a cool sheen of sweat. She skimmed the edge of orgasm over and over again, her body strung with sensation, yearning for completion.