by Julie Miller
His inky gaze traveled down the length of his arm to the juncture of their hands above her left breast. She wondered if he could feel the hammering of her heart in her chest. She glanced down, too, and trembled at the intensity of her reaction to this intimate touch. But before she could decide whether to protest or welcome him, he rolled onto his back, carrying her on top of him. He swallowed her up in a crushing hug, breathing raggedly in a sporadic rhythm that sounded almost like crying.
Draped like a rag doll over him, from his chest to his ankles, Sarah wondered if she had the backbone to allow him this comfort without giving in to her own simmering needs.
"Hawk?" She tried to scoot away, but he squeezed her tighter, locking her in his desperate embrace.
"No." He buried his nose in the crown of her hair and breathed in deeply. "You’re real. You’re warm. Just let me hold you for a minute. Please. I was cold. So damn cold. I need to hold on to you."
The husky plea in his voice couldn't have spoken more eloquently to her heart. Allowing herself the rare privilege, Sarah laid aside her doubts. She refused to think about the past or worry about the future. Right now, for these few moments, she let her love for Hawk shine through. She freed her arms and wound them around his neck, clinging to him with the same fierce possessiveness with which he held her.
"As long as you need me," she promised, her voice shaky with the emotion behind that vow. "I'm here for as long as you need me."
Three hours later, with the predictably heavy thunderstorm caking the dust on his boots into mud, Hawk roamed the perimeter of their makeshift camp. The solid wall of rain that blocked out the light from the stars and moon would also keep the predators at bay.
If they were man or beast.
A nagging apprehension propelled his footsteps through the darkness. Something was pursuing them. Something far more dangerous than smugglers. Far more unpredictable than the hazards of the jungle.
Alive with hatred and grief and confusion, yet not alive.
Attuned to Hawk and his accursed intuitive powers.
Afraid of Sarah.
He pulled the black band from his forehead and laughed, a deep, hollow sound, devoid of real humor. Sweet Sarah, that little slip of a thing, dainty and delicate and delectable, from the soft new curls that framed her face down to the demure pedicure on her toes, shouldn't be able to frighten anything more annoying than a fly.
Yet she’d stood up to seasoned criminals. She’d risked her life to protect her children. She had cleansed the vengeful spirit from Hawk's sensitive aura.
She had turned his solitary life upside down and made him fall in love.
Hawk stopped beneath a canopy of milk vine and slowly exhaled. Did she have any idea what kind of impact she had on the world? On him?
As long as you need me.
She'd been talking about Meczaquatl's influence over him. She'd stay at his side and fight the demon she couldn't possibly understand because it was necessary for his survival, and therefore for hers. She saw him as a protector, said she believed in him. And maybe, on that level, she did. She depended on him to be an anchor in her time of crisis, a rudder to steer her safely back to civilization.
But he was more than that. He was a man.
A man who terrified her. Even before de Vega had assaulted her, she'd been afraid. Despite a physical attraction, or maybe it was naive curiosity on her part, she'd been afraid. It radiated with the bitter tang of copper from her aura.
For a moment he considered that he'd been too rough with his kisses, too frank in his admiration for her. Too unsettling with his strange abilities. But he suspected there was more to her reticence in accepting him than old-fashioned, ladylike shyness.
As long as you need me.
The man in him wanted her forever. But he sensed she wouldn't be willing to give him that. Did he even have the right to ask? Maybe he could give her the time and space she needed to work through whatever troubled her. Court her slowly and keep a respectful distance until she was ready to trust him.
But concessions had never worked in the past. His job with the Corps or his shaman spirituality or his guilt over losing Jonathan had always gotten in the way of lasting relationships. Would he be content to share a few brief encounters of genuine passion with Sarah and then move on?
Would he be disappointed in her if his sweet, shy lady said yes to such a decadent proposition?
Hawk squeezed the excess water from his headband and tied it back in place to help shield his eyes from the rain. Avoiding her hadn't changed the truth any. He loved her. He wanted her. And like the prophecy in his vision, he understood that he needed her.
Forever had never been a real possibility for him. He couldn't give it himself; he couldn't expect it from others. But for the first time since he was a child, having forever with someone mattered.
With Sarah, it mattered.
He smelled her rain-soft scent moments before he heard her speak. "Hungry?" she asked, pointing a misshapen, foil-wrapped bar of chocolate in his direction. "You didn't eat anything at dinner."
She stood beside him beneath the overhang, close enough to be shielded from most of the rain, far enough away so he couldn't touch her without moving. Despite the friendly overture, he felt her cautious distance like a verbal reprimand.
She'd withdrawn into her shell again, protecting herself as best she could. But from what? If he said he needed her, would she drop those defensive walls again?
"I'll save the trail mix for you and the girls. I grabbed a snack when I was out on patrol."
"What did you eat?" she asked, tightening her wool blanket around her shoulders. "Bugs?"
Hawk did know of several varieties of edible grubs and arthropods, but he'd opted for a vegetarian meal over their obvious source of protein. Sarah's dubious scowl gave him the boyish urge to tweak the crinkled tip of her nose. "Not this time," he answered.
"Will we have to eat bugs?"
The look of absolute ick on her face was priceless. And irresistible. He reached out, and with a single finger tucked a toffee-rich curl behind her ear. "It won't come to that for several days," he reassured her. "And we'll be home by then."
Her shoulders lifted and sank with a sigh of relief. And though she hadn't resisted, he pulled his hand away.
She had no reason to stay, now that he'd rejected her offer of food. But he wasn't ready for her to leave just yet. "The main thing is that we don't dehydrate. A person can survive several days longer without food than he or she can without water."
"I wish we had a better way to collect some of this rain," she said. "I told the girls to set out their cups, but it's coming down so hard, the water splashes back out. I just want to turn my face up to the sky and let it wash down my throat."
She imitated her words, and the graceful arch of her neck drew his awareness like a winged raptor spotting its prey. Hawk clamped down on the talons of desire that stabbed through him and forced his gaze away, not wanting to scare her off. "Water isn't the only liquid source out there. But I don't want any of you sampling anything natural unless I check it out first. There's a lot of poison out there. But there's also a lot of good."
Seeing that he had her attention, Hawk took out his knife and pulled down one of the overhanging vines. He hacked it twice, cutting a deep gash down to the core. He sheathed his knife and broke the vine in two. A milky white substance dripped out. Hawk tipped his head and shook several swallows of the bitter, sticky liquid into his mouth.
"Its nickname is milk vine. It's a good way to quench your thirst. Here."
Hawk pulled the vine down to Sarah, and squeezed and shook it until a steady stream of sap trickled out. The first drop hit her chin, but then she stepped closer and caught the drink in her mouth.
She made a face and stepped away. "It tastes like a tree."
"It'll taste like manna if you're truly thirsty." Hawk helped himself to another sip of the reviving fluid before tipping the ends up and tucking the vine out of the way.
/>
"You're sure you don't want any of this?" Again Sarah held out the candy bar, an innocent gesture that bordered on temptation for Hawk.
"Only if you'll share it with me," he countered.
His agreement earned him a smile. "Good. I want to get rid of the taste of that milk vine. Besides, what goes better with milk than chocolate?"
Sarah sat down on an outcropping of rock and divided the candy in half. Hawk settled on the ground beside her. He took a bite and watched as she quickly devoured three sections of chocolate.
"Mmm. Much better aftertaste," she critiqued between chews, politely covering her mouth with her fingers. She must have felt the milk vine's residue then. Stretching her cheek, she tried to wipe it clean. But Hawk had a better view of the mess than she did. He reached up and touched her jaw, then rubbed his thumb across her chin and bottom lip.
He froze when she did, his thumb on the sensuous curve of her smile, his fingers on the delicate arch of her throat. Her breathless gasp provided the only sound beneath the steady drumbeat of rain around them. The storm cocooned them on three sides. With their backs to an unbending wall of rock, Hawk felt detached from the rest of the world, secluded from the Salazars and spirits and ghosts from their pasts that threatened to rip Sarah right out of his world.
"Are the kids asleep?" He eventually found his voice, but the rest of his body couldn't seem to put any distance between them.
Sarah nodded. "They were out almost as soon as we put up the tarp."
"You should be with them," he cautioned her. "You've got a hell of a long walk tomorrow."
"And you don't?"
He locked onto her hazel eyes and glimpsed a stubborn determination glowing in their depths. "I'm used to the rigors of survival, Sarah. You're not."
With an arrogant tip of her chin, she broke the connection between them. But the way she huddled inside her blanket spoke of a vulnerability her bold words couldn't hide.
"I couldn't sleep if I wanted to," she said, staring into the dark. "This has been the longest day of my life. I don't think I could ever go back to… to… "
Her words faltered. She glanced down at him, her eyes and aura beseeching him in a way that no man could resist.
Instinctively protecting her, loving her, Hawk stood up and pulled the poncho he'd been wearing off his shoulders. He spread it on the ground and then reached for her. She walked into his embrace without a protest, without a single word of doubt or a flicker of mistrust in her eyes. He palmed the side of her head and pressed her cheek against his heart.
Her folded arms between them kept him from pulling her as close as he would like. But he crooned soothing words to her and stroked her back, treating her with the same tender patience he'd use to calm a skittish wild animal. Gradually he felt the stiffness drain out of her. She shifted, and he felt her fingers clutching at his vest and shirt, searching for a grip that suited her. The blanket fell from her shoulders and she shrugged, trying to catch it in the crook of her arms. She grew fidgety, restless. She couldn't be comforted.
Hawk stepped back and clasped her shoulders, stilling her struggles. She looked up at him, her aura alight with a spectrum of color. But he could read the turbulent emotions in her hazel eyes, flashing green and gold at the same time. Her gaze sought something from him, something he could read and understand more easily than she even knew how to ask.
He dropped his hands, but maintained unblinking contact with her eyes. He unzipped his vest and dropped it to the ground. He untangled the blanket from her arms and then knelt at her feet. She angled her gaze to his uplifted hand, and after several silent moments, folded her own hands around it and knelt on the poncho beside him.
Such shaky trust. But a courageous gesture all the same. Hawk shook the blanket, then wrapped them both inside it, pulling Sarah into his arms as he sat back against the rock. She nestled against him, tucking her head beneath his chin. She splayed her fingers across his chest, digging the tips in slightly to anchor herself, finding peace.
"A little body heat won't hurt us tonight," he whispered. "I can't risk your going into delayed shock or exhaustion."
She burrowed closer, as if his words upset her or made her think when she didn't want to. He waited in silence for several minutes, treasuring the opportunity to hold her this way. Though they were relatively dry in their makeshift shelter, the dampness in the air around them brought out the dank smell of wool and the uniquely feminine scent of soap and freshness in Sarah's hair. Something deep inside Hawk unclenched and dropped its guard. If he could dream himself to a contented place, this would be it. The soldier and the schoolmarm. Man and woman. Hawk and Sarah.
"Can I ask you something?" she murmured.
Her lips whispered like a caress against his neck. That unguarded place shivered with awareness. "I don't know if I can be as objective as a counselor needs to be with you. But if you need to talk, I'll listen."
Her lips moved again, and he imagined he could feel her smiling. "I don't think it’s the counselor I need to talk to."
Hawk closed his eyes to block out her aura. He wanted to be able to listen to what was in her heart, and not judge her by any subtext she might not wish to reveal. "I'll still listen," he offered.
"What happened this afternoon at the truck?"
Even without his powers, he sensed she was avoiding something. Or maybe this was her roundabout way of getting to what she needed to discuss. "To Hernandez or me?"
Truth be told, he didn't think the causes were all that dissimilar.
"You're the one I worried about."
"Me?"
Her right hand moved on his chest, tracing random circles. Nerves, he told himself. "When you held that crown in your hands, it was like you were… possessed. Your eyes looked so dull and lifeless. I didn't think you were with me anymore."
He covered her hand and stilled it. He didn't want to answer these questions. Didn't want her to know these things about him. But how could he be anything less than honest when she was so bravely opening herself up to him?
"I wasn’t. One of my powers as a shaman…" He tilted his face up to the heavens and willed his spirit guide and Creator to strengthen him on this difficult journey. "I'm attuned to the spirit world. Through many of my visions I have visited there. It makes me one with them sometimes. They can channel through me to this world. I can feel their presence, even when they don't wish to communicate. Much like I can read the energy fields that surround people."
When he dared to open his eyes and read the skepticism on her face, he found Sarah propped up on one elbow, looking at him, her eyes shimmering an iridescent green beneath a veil of unshed tears.
"They use you?" she asked.
"Oh, honey…" He brushed her cheek and caught a teardrop where it began to fall. He’d expected censure or skepticism or more curious questions. He’d never expected compassion. He never realized how much he needed it.
He tunneled his fingers into her hair and brought her closer. He kissed away the salty moisture from her eyelids, then lowered his head to her mouth. The kiss was gentle, healing, reverent. And the shy pressure of her response catapulted him from the role of healer to patient. He held her close and gratefully accepted her restorative touch on his mouth.
Humbled by her generous gift, Hawk ended the kiss and brought her to rest on top of him, hugging her slender form in his big arms until he thought she might snap. He didn't have the words to thank her for believing in him
The tremulous flutter in her whisper told him that the kiss had been as soul-shattering for her. "At the tomb, the king's spirit was using you to see into this world?"
"He felt violated." Hawk feathered her hair through his fingers and begged apology for his actions there. "He thought you were the intruder who had disturbed his rest. That's why I tried to kill you."
"He tried to kill me. You saved my life by getting me out of there." The distinction in her words thawed a hurtful place around his heart. He almost missed the hesitancy in her next
question. "So why didn't he try to hurt me at the truck?"
"He's awake now. Fully aware. He knows that Salazar and his men are responsible for stealing his treasures and disturbing his eternal rest." Despite the melding of their bodies beneath the blanket, Hawk felt the blood run colder in his veins. "I believe he killed Hernandez somehow, and he's pursuing the others. I felt the resonance of his presence in that crown. It’s something important to him. Something that, if he were a physical entity, he would never leave behind. He wanted me to take it somewhere, back to the tomb, I guess."
"So when I took it away from you, that broke the connection?"
"You touched the crown?"
She nodded. "I pried it from your fingers so I could lead you out of there. It seemed to hypnotize you as long as you held it."
He'd been cold before, but now his soul bottomed out like Arctic ice. Sarah must have sensed the change in him. She stiffened as if his chill touched her, too. "Didn't I do the right thing?"
Hawk captured her head between his hands, roughly framing her face and forcing her to look at him. "You didn't feel it? His hatred? The pain? That need for retribution?"
Her eyes widened in fear. "No. I just set it down. I wanted to help you."
"And you did. I couldn't break free. But…"
"But what?"
"I don't know." Hawk sighed deeply and loosened his hold. Sarah trembled above him. Only a real bastard would scare Sarah the way he just had, and he never wanted anything or anyone, especially himself, ever to cause her to doubt herself or be afraid. He relaxed and rolled over, laying Sarah on the ground cover. He lay on his side next to her and tucked the blanket securely around her.
"There's an answer there somewhere," he tried to explain in calmer tones. "Something about you makes a difference to Meczaquatl. He may never rest until we figure it out."