Aimee slipped around the other side of the rock.
“Where are you going?” Gordy called.
“The boulders are smaller down here. If we time it just right, we can push together and roll one of these into him…or at least create a big enough distraction.”
Gordy opened his mouth to refute her plan, but considered it with a growing grin. “It definitely would be a distraction,” he nodded. “I like it.”
They crept in tandem behind the quarry until the monoliths were of a negotiable size.
“The guy in the lead is armed, but the Koron is still taking up the rear. It only looks like maybe two or three people between them now,” Gordy chronicled.
Aimee agreed. The man in the lead was taller than the rest. Perhaps he was a young Koron? Whatever the case, these strangers were approaching, drawing close enough that she could see—
She gasped.
“Aimee, are you okay?” Gordy whirled, concerned.
Could it be? Or were the suns playing tricks on her eyes?
Every step he took drew his attributes into focus. Tall. Dark hair. Slightly longer. It was impossible to see his eyes behind the tarnished shield. This man was shirtless, and even from this distance she could see how rugged his chest was—his arms bulging from the weight of the weapon in his hands. Skin bronzed from the sun glistened with a slight sheen of perspiration. Whoever this man was, he exuded strength and conviction, and he made her ache with the memory of Zak.
“Hey,” Gordy whispered at her side, “that isn’t Zak, is it?”
She couldn’t imagine Zak traveling within steps of a Koron. She couldn’t conceive him ever being held captive by his worst enemy.
Dragging her attention from the dominant leading figure, she noticed two men directly behind him. They too were shirtless, but their shoulders were slumped from fatigue and famine. Their waning strength made them trudge through the sand. Finally, she scrutinized the monster in the rear. Far enough away, the sun hugged his grotesque silhouette in a shimmering glove.
“What do we do?” Gordy jarred her. “They’re getting close. We have to shove this rock pretty soon.”
Aimee placed her palm on the cool stone. It was the size of a refrigerator. Enough to make a statement. Taking a discrete step to her left she gauged the trajectory of the hunk of granite.
“What are the chances of us sneaking up behind them after they have passed?”
Gordy snorted. “And do what…tap them on the shoulder and say, hello? No, we need an advantage.”
“Alright.” This was a stupid idea. This boulder wasn’t a bowling ball. And the targets were moving pins. “We shove for all we’re worth. If you feel the rock start to budge—”
She heard voices.
The group below was speaking. Barking was more like it. From the rear, the monster shouted orders. The dark-haired man in front turned his head, but otherwise seemed unaffected. They drew closer, and the time for Aimee and Gordy to make their move was imminent.
...and yet, she hesitated.
“If we’re going to do something, we have to do it now,” Gordy whispered. “They’re heading for this hillside and they’ll see us soon—even if we run.”
“Shhh.”
“Sock. Nud—stup—wahtah.”
Was it the language of the Korons? Zak had told her that they didn’t speak. They communicated telepathically, with the exception of a few grunts. They used weapons to communicate with everyone else.
From the rear, the brute repeated his plea. “Sock. Need—stop—water.”
Aimee’s chest heaved as the talons of vertigo wormed into her head.
Not Sock.
Zak.
It had to be the lack of blood flowing to her brain that accounted for her irrational reaction. Stumbling out from behind the boulder, she was vaguely aware of Gordy’s cry of alarm.
“Aimee!” Gordy shouted, but it was too late. She was in the open, lurching down the hillside.
Below, the group halted like a pack of startled gazelle, staring up at her. The man in the lead took a step forward and hesitated. Initially, he struck a combative stance with his unwieldy weapon raised. His step faltered, however, and the aim of his laser dropped.
Aimee’s muscles twitched. Only twenty yards separated her from the clan. Her chest heaved like each breath was her last. Was there enough oxygen on this planet?
In a silent face-off she stared down the leader. Curse his shield for obscuring his eyes. But everything else was visible...and familiar. The broad shoulders, the long legs, the rich, dark hair gleaming under the dual suns. It was Zak. Never was she more certain of a single fact. His body had matured, and the bare, tan chest looked sculpted with a power that could crush her.
Dammit, take off the shield.
He reached up and hefted the silver band onto his forehead.
Zak.
She whimpered as she connected with those familiar eyes. Gold, like the blazing surface of the sand.
So long. She had waited so long.
Zak’s athletic frame jerked when he saw her. He staggered a step in her direction. Then, still swaying, he dropped to his knee. Aimee rushed towards him, but froze when he raised his weapon—and aimed it at her.
Chapter Nine
Not again.
He thought that he was healing—that the desert dreams had ceased. But here she was—descending towards him from the suns on a bridge of diamonds. Curse the Korons for toying with his sight...with his mind. The mere thought that it could possibly be her staggered him. It sapped his strength as he fell to his knee. For all he knew, it was one of them standing before him, their grotesque shape reformed by a trick of the light.
They would not destroy him. He would not go down without a fight.
Zak hauled the shield back over his eyes, hoping it would shatter the mirage, but still, she remained. Raising his solar ray, he was prepared to use the last trickle of ammunition to abolish this demon. The mountain was close. Refuge in the cave was a short hike away. This specter would not stop him.
Zak’s finger grasped the arch of the cylinder.
“Zak!”
What? Now his hearing was going as well?
He raised the solar ray.
“Zak, no. It’s me. It’s Aimee.”
His head twitched. He wanted to wipe the sweat from his brow, but he dared not lose his grip on the solar ray. Dropping his glance to the hands of the wraith before him, he noticed the weapon...a pulse slayer, maybe?
The phantom lowered the device, resting it against a sleek thigh clad in a phosphorescent material. The material flattered the feminine curves and made his stomach clench in need.
No! It was not the soft curve of a female thigh. It was a slab of rock hell bent on destruction.
“Zak,” the voice gentled and tugged at something deep in his soul. “It’s me.” It paused, and then repeated softly, “It’s me.”
“Zak—”
Now it was Zuttah’s guttural call he heard from behind. “Lower the ray. She’s a mecaw.”
A human?
A rebel? One of the suns was behind her on its trek behind the mountain. It eclipsed the feminine figure.
Say it again. Speak again. Let me hear your voice.
“It’s me,” she whispered as she stooped to set her weapon on the sand.
Another figure flanked her. Zak tightened his clutch on the solar ray, but the form was human. Male. Zak’s eyes snapped back to the woman. She took a tentative step forward. Gravity on the incline caused her to stumble, but he would not move to assist.
“I don’t think I’ve changed that much,” she said. “Maybe I lost a little weight, and my hair is longer. Yeah, I guess it has a lot more red in it since you saw it. My mom said that comes from my great grandmother. She was a stoic old Ukrainian woman who laughed as often as one of those British guards at the Tower Of London. My parents went to London a few years ago and made the same observation—”
Zak lowered his weapon. He hauled the s
hield up into his hair.
“Stop.” he ordered in a dry voice. “There is only one person I know who talks that much when she is nervous.”
The woman’s lips smacked tight. She remained motionless, her breath held.
“Come here,” he whispered.
Limbs quivered. Hesitant steps turned into ground-eaters as she let gravity haul her down the slope. The impetus landed her with a pronounced smack against his chest.
Cool palms splayed atop his warm skin. He had to close his eyes against the sensual assault. When he opened them all he saw was his own earnest gaze reflected in the silver band.
“Take your shield off so that I can see you,” his voice was hoarse.
Tremulous fingers rose from his chest to draw the reflective band back into thick auburn hair. He wanted to touch that hair—to feel that soft waterfall glide over his fingers, but the shield was gone and long brown eyelashes rested against high cheekbones. Those lashes flew open and he nearly lost the power in his legs again.
“Aimee,” his voice croaked.
Wide blue eyes gazed up at him. When he had last looked into them they were filled with tears and declarations of love. It was an image etched in his memory...and now, here she was, standing before him—on his planet.
Of course it was a hallucination. It had to be.
“As our leader seems to have lost his tongue, allow me to introduce myself.”
Zuttah stepped forward and thrust his hand out. Zak caught Aimee’s curious glimpse of the inert form draped across the man’s brawny shoulder.
“Zuttah,” he introduced in a rough voice.
Aimee accepted the hairy mitt, but no matter where she looked, her eyes always returned to Zak. Still locked on him, she spoke to Zuttah, “You speak my language? Do you have a translator?”
Zak knew she was being polite. The towering pile of Zull furs certainly did not harbor the intricate translation system that the Horus implemented in their uniforms.
“He taught me.” Zuttah nodded at Zak.
Zak felt the magnetic tug of her gaze. He was afraid to meet it. He was afraid to yield to this vision. It could not be real. It was a rebel communicating with Zuttah, and nothing more. In his fractured mind Zak was seeing what he wanted to see.
“Really?” Aimee asked. “He doesn’t seem to talk too much, so I can’t imagine how you learned.”
It was good to know that his fractured mind was still dead on. That would be the blithe type of humor he would expect from Aimee.
Zuttah glanced at him and grunted. “Yes, well, he is a tad off these days. Your uniform—where did you come from?”
Before she could respond, Zak was aware of the approach of the male who had been eclipsed by sunlight. No. Could it be?
“Zak!” Gordy jogged down the hill and stopped a few feet away with an enthusiastic grin.
Zak almost felt his lips jerk up in response.
“You people know Zak?” Zuttah asked with a frown. “You are from his ship then?”
“Yes,” Aimee nodded.
Tears began to form in the corners of her eyes. The sight caused his chest to restrict, but still, he could not move. He could not speak.
“Wow, Zak. You look different,” Gordy remarked.
He did? How much different? Was he repulsive? When had he last seen his reflection?
“That woman,” Aimee nodded at the unconscious figure on Zuttah’s shoulder. “Is she okay?”
There they were again. Even after focusing on the ailing female, Aimee’s eyes found their way back to his.
This was all just so impossible. Had he not lost a bit of his sanity the last time he looked into those eyes? To have found someone so beautiful, so perfect—a person he wanted to share his life with...and to watch her go...
“The Korons attacked,” Zuttah spoke, but it came to him in echoes. “These rebels were kidnapped. Zak saved them. We need to get this woman to the caves, though.”
The echoes grew louder and the shadow realm reached for him with seductive black fingers.
“Zak?” Aimee’s voice filled with concern.
That was his Aimee—always worried about him. He closed his eyes. With the light gone, the real world could return. He needed the caves. He needed the dark.
“Zak has not been well,” Zuttah’s deep timbre returned. “It is important to get back to the caves. Important for you as well. They will be coming soon.”
“The Korons?” Gordy inserted.
“Yes, those pieces of rock dung.”
Zak still had his eyes closed, but he felt an arm slip under his to wrap around his back. A slender, warm contour splayed against his side. Support. He never had support. There was survival or death. No support. He kept his eyes tightly shut. Opening them might dispel this wonderful sensation.
“Let’s go,” Aimee stated. “I have you,” she whispered for him alone to hear.
Zak’s hand curled around her shoulder. So dainty, and yet so determined. If only she was real. But, he was too tired to fight this bantam being. Zuttah was still speaking calmly. Apparently they were not in danger. Zak kept his eyes shut and enjoyed this dream he had created.
* * *
The banter between Zuttah and the others continued as Zak felt the muscles in his thighs contract with the ascent. Already, the temperature dropped, and the air held a trace of precipitation. He tipped his head back to feel the divine drops. It was not rain. It was a fine mist stirred by the wind across the snow caps.
Beneath his feet came the familiar crunch of gravel and grass. Other treads blended with his, but he listened to his own steps, knowing his proximity to the cave by the alteration of the terrain.
The warm presence still hugged his side, often whispering words of encouragement. An angel? His mother had spoken of celestial beings, their bodies as wispy as the clouds that embraced the crater walls. This body felt solid though, and he relied on it as they climbed.
The suns crisscrossed to score an X across the white peak. Once he had considered that a beautiful sight—nature’s emblem, marking the new home of the Ziratak people. Now, that light caused him to recoil. Shortly, the suns would drop behind the peaks of the Zorgon mountain range. The dark was his ally. In the shadows he could hone in on the smallest creature stirring in the distance. In the dark, he could find his way when others would falter. In the dark, he was in control, and the madness abated. In the cloak of night, he would be able to see for sure whether this warm presence at his side truly was Aimee.
* * *
It was hard not to stare. Hard not to stare at the man she supported with her own weight. His eyes were aimed straight ahead and his expression was intense. Once, his dark hair had been cut so short, almost military style. Now it curled over his ears in a disheveled chocolate blend of strands highlighted from the sun. His jaw, now shadowed with the hint of stubble pumped a familiar muscle. He was nearly six inches taller than her so she gaped up at that chiseled jawline. This was her Zak. A bedraggled, wounded version—but ever the Warrior, and ever-handsome.
She stumbled on loose rocks reminding her to focus on the path ahead. Had Zak’s hand just cupped her waist to assist? Maybe—but other than that he had done little to indicate he even recognized her. Heck, he had tried to shoot her. It didn’t take an engineer to deduce that something was drastically wrong. But, she didn’t care. She was here. She was holding him. Zak was alive, and a huge hole in her heart was slowly filling up.
As they entered into a narrow channel—a chasm carved between steep slopes, Aimee swore she heard the sound of rushing water. It couldn’t possibly be a waterfall. They were locked inside an impenetrable granite stockade, and it appeared as though they were marching to a dead end—a conflux of slate walls adhering into a solid mass. In that juncture, a tiny fissure appeared—a mere slit in the mountain face. The gaping shadow drew taller as they approached it.
“So you are the woman Zak sees in the sun?”
“Excuse me?” Aimee was startled.
S
he glanced over her shoulder to find the burly caveman at her side. He maneuvered the narrow channel with grace despite his girth and the burden of the woman in his grasp.
“Ahm-heeee?” He considered aloud, nodding at his recollection.
“Aimee. Yes.” A glimpse towards Zak revealed that he was alert and listening, but his eyes were trained forward. She even felt his hastened pace as if the fissure drew him like a thirsty man to water.
Tilting her head away from Zak, she issued a sideward whisper. “What is wrong with him?”
Zuttah leaned in conspiratorially. “Solar ray. He doesn’t see well in the light.” His voice dipped lower. “And with the head trauma, what he does see—isn’t there.”
“But his ears work just fine,” Zak quipped.
Aimee jerked her head back in his direction.
“Then you can hear your girlfriend,” Zuttah barked, “can’t you? You haven’t even acknowledged her except to use her as a crutch.”
A shiver traveled through Aimee as she connected with Zak’s stare. For a moment she saw recognition—and then pain. He wrenched away, slipping his arm from her shoulder to reach out to the narrowing walls for support.
“Zak,” she pleaded.
She felt a tug on her sleeve. “Give him time,” Zuttah soothed.
“We’re almost there,” Zak spoke over them. “We need to attend to this woman and feed these men—” he glared at the furry giant, “then you can go into great detail about my mental state, and then I will come to grips with this vision—” his eyes slid to Aimee, “—that can’t be real.”
“Zak!” she cried. “I am real.”
But they were forced into single file by the narrow gap. Aimee glanced up at the sliver of blue sky far above. Like giant fingers, eaves of snow clung to the tops of the ravine. She was no fool. Hollering was likely to jar their precious grip and send that blanket plummeting down on top of them. Somewhat subdued, she trained her eyes on the broad expanse of Zak’s bare shoulders. Five years ago she had thought him so strong, but then he had still been young. Now he had grown into the full range of muscles that ruled his tall physique. Zak had become a man, and she was in awe of him.
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