Make Mine a Marine

by Julie Miller

  Sarah huddled behind the sheet. "So you make contact with your friend and you save us all from a vengeful spirit. And if you can't get back, we lose you without an explanation, too."

  If Meczaquatl wouldn't release him, then, with the demon trapped in his body, Hawk would commit himself to the land of the spirits. And he'd watch his beautiful world with Sarah turn to shards of ice, and crumble away into nothingness beneath his feet.

  If she could only forgive him.

  A light tapping drew him from his loathsome thoughts. Before he could reach the door, Sarah had flung it open. Rafe stood outside, dressed in similar military gear, his usual glib repartee momentarily stilled.

  "Sarah?"

  "Sarah!" Remembering her nakedness behind that sheet, Hawk snapped into action, wrapping it around her in a makeshift toga and pulling it tight.

  But that didn't dissuade his buddy from flirting with his woman. "Aren't you a pretty sight in the morning."

  Sarah grabbed Rafe's arm and pulled him into the room, overlooking the compliment that punched Hawk in the gut with a jealous fist.

  "Rafe, please. You can't go without me."

  Hawk looked over the top of her head at his longtime friend, warning him off.

  Rafe smiled at Sarah, dismissing her request and turning to Hawk. "Kel has some last-minute instructions he needs to go over with you."

  "I'm ready."

  Hawk shrugged into his vest, expecting to follow Rafe downstairs. But Sarah wouldn't let go. "He's linked so strongly to Meczaquatl that we don't know if he can pull free on his own. I've helped him twice. There's no guarantee that you or anyone else can help him, but we know that I can."

  For a shy woman who struggled to find words sometimes, she seemed to have an amazingly succinct, persuasive effect on Rafe. Hawk closed his hands over her shoulders to pull her away. But she twisted free and tugged at Rafe's shirt.

  "If you're any kind of friend, you won't let him go without me. Promise me, Rafe. Don't let him leave this house."

  Rafe looked from Sarah to Hawk, all traces of humor absent from his eyes. "She makes sense, Shadow Man. There's no guarantee that I can call you back. And I sure as hell ain't lookin' forward to blowing the place up with you inside just to destroy that thing."

  Her shoulders flinched when she heard their alternate plan. But Hawk recognized the quick return of determined steel in her posture. "He knows I'm the only sure chance he has to come home. You want him to come home, right?"

  Hawk sighed wearily, knowing Kel would be a harder sell than Rafe, but conceding that Sarah would not be beaten on this. Against his better judgment, he made a reluctant truce with his friend.

  "You'll stay with the girls? Get them and Sarah home safely if anything happens to me?" Hawk demanded that one concession.

  "They'll be as safe as my own nieces." Rafe winked at Sarah, then looked at Hawk. For all his devilish sense of humor and irreverent attitude, Hawk knew Rafe like a brother, and relied on the bonds of trust forged in battle and shared grief. "I give you my word."

  Hawk nodded his approval.

  Sarah apparently shared that same trust. She turned and hurried to the adjoining bathroom. "Give me fifteen minutes.”

  She was ready in ten.

  And they'd been on the road for five hours, going back into the dark heart of the jungle that had sealed her fate and changed her life forever.

  Sarah stared out the truck's side window, resigned to sharing Hawk's brooding silence. What could she say, anyway?

  I love you?

  Her love could never be enough. She could never be enough.

  I'll always remember you like this, he had said the night before. Sarah knew a good-bye when she heard one. She'd heard too many of them in her life. Through her tears she had poured out her love for this man, knowing it wasn't enough to keep him. She had surrendered her body to his healing touch, and accepted the fleeting gift of his desire, knowing neither his kindness nor his passion could ever be enough for her.

  But she could not deny him his life. No longer the meek, clueless schoolmarm who had started this journey so long ago, Sarah rose to the challenge with her eyes open. She made a conscious choice to accept this danger, to put her feelings aside and leave her sheltered world to help Hawk face that ruthless resurrected spirit. Hawk had inspired in her a passion for honor, and a calling to do what was right—no matter what the personal sacrifice.

  She held the power necessary for his survival. And she would not deny him her help.

  He'd saved her life. He'd saved her soul from the clutches of second-guessing and self-doubt. She could do no less for him.

  They stopped only once. And when she climbed back up the embankment with Queen Prini's crown tucked safely in her backpack, Hawk thanked her. Then he apologized.

  "Forgive me someday," he said beseechingly. "For putting you through this."

  He kissed her then. Briefly. Hotly. With a sense of predestined sorrow that left her numb inside. When they reached Las Lagumas, Sarah climbed out of the truck, chilled by the effect of being frozen in time. Everything stood much as they had left it those few short days ago. Shattered bits of the radio were strewn among the charred remnants of her clothes in the fire pit. The door to the mess tent swung open on its hinges.

  And through the trees, the moss-shrouded basalt pyramid of Meczaquatl's tomb rose like a black mountain against the low-hanging sky.

  "Let's unload everything," said Hawk. "Then you can fix yourself something to eat while I start the ceremony."

  "Aren't you eating dinner?"

  He stared at her from the bleak depths of his eyes, and she wondered if he thought taking in food now seemed pointless to him.

  "I've fasted all day in preparation for this. But you can bring me some water when you're done."

  Relieved that his refusal of sustenance had more to do with ceremony than fatalism, Sarah set aside her misgivings, picked up a small crate, and followed him up the steps into the tomb.

  "I feel him. He knows I'm here."

  Sarah huddled in her blanket at the tomb's entrance, chilled by the ominous certainty in Hawk's voice. The only light inside the chamber came from the fire near Hawk. Through the pungent haze that rose from the fire and filled the air, she saw him clutch his spirit stone at his chest.

  He'd removed his clothes at sundown and lit the fire. He’d wrapped a blanket around his hips, and, facing the open wall of Meczaquatl's burial chamber, he sat down cross-legged before the growing blaze. Cautioning Sarah to stay back, close to their source of fresh air, he tossed a handful of powder into the flames and chanted something in his native Pawnee language. The flames burned blue, red-orange, then pure white. The smoke changed colors, too, as it filled the chamber and made the air heavy with its tangy scent.

  Awed by the simple ceremony, Sarah watched with the rapt fascination of a scholar, respecting Hawk's unique mysticism while filling her heart with a powerful, protective prayer of her own. Hawk continued to chant, tipping back his head and inhaling the smoky fog like an aphrodisiac. He sat like that for nearly half an hour until the cloud began to dissipate. Then he bowed his head and fell into a silence broken only by the atmospheric rumblings of the gathering storm.

  "He's coming."

  Sarah pressed herself into the wall, finding small comfort in the cold stones at her back. At Hawk's request, she maintained a silent vigil. He'd invited her to observe, but not to interfere. If Meczaquatl perceived her as a threat in any way, then he might turn Hawk against her, or even possess her himself and force her to fling herself down the stone steps. Or he could stop her heart, causing her death as he had with Salazar and his men.

  Hawk wanted Meczaquatl's spirit inside him. He wanted to conquer the demon's will with his own, and guide the restless spirit back to his rightful resting place.

  Hawk jerked his head up. His midnight eyes scanned the darkness. A subarctic shiver rippled along Sarah's spine. Some sixth sense kicked in, a feeling of being watched. She slowly turned
and glanced over her shoulder.

  A chimera of light hovered in the passageway, its sparkling shots of color winking on and off in the air beside her.

  "Stay perfectly still," Hawk warned her. "Come here, you bastard."

  The glacial challenge in Hawk's voice snared the miasma's attention. It floated across the room, its prismatic colors fading as it moved. It lingered around the fire a few moments, recoiled, paused, then slowly blended itself into the hanging mist

  The flames of the fire grew hotter, whiter. A searing flash blinded Sarah's eyes.

  When her vision had recovered and she'd adjusted to the comparative darkness once more, she saw Hawk writhing on the floor. The blanket tangled with his legs, capturing him instead of covering him. Centuries-old dust and dirt stained the sweat on his skin. His eyes were squeezed shut, his face a twisted expression of agony.

  "Hawk?" She mouthed his name, tortured by the anguish he must be experiencing.

  His body stiffened and his eyes snapped open—wide, glazed, a wild light splitting the darkness there.

  "Hawk?" She called to him again, then shrank back and hugged herself tightly. She blinked back the sudden tears that stung her own eyes, and fell silent as he had asked.

  Wherever Hawk was now, he couldn't hear her anyway.

  Hawk circled around again, the impermeable mists spinning around him in opposition to his reeling equilibrium. He clutched at his head, planting his feet in the quagmire that seeped up to his ankles.

  When the retching dizziness in his stomach had calmed and he could focus his eyes, he realized he was not alone.

  Bathed in a brightness that shone from a nameless point above him, Hawk stood in a circle of light. Beyond the blinding circle a creeping growth of dark green leaves and ebony shadows, hung with the heavy mists of death, surrounded him.

  His nightmare place.

  The jungles of Tenebrosa.

  Haunting him from this world into the next.

  He blinked away from the swirling shadows and anchored his gaze in the light. With him stood a smaller man, bronze skinned, dark haired, his shoulders set with a royal carriage, his sharp eyes primed for battle.

  "Meczaquatl." The slurred name tripped over his swollen tongue.

  "You seek Me." The words rang clearly in Hawk's ears. "As I seek you."

  Hawk bowed his head, humbled by the power of this great leader. "I am a man of peace."

  "You are a warrior. Like Me."

  "Only if I have to be." Vague shapes outlined themselves in the mists surrounding them. A silent warning pricked at Hawk's neck. His limbs were leaden extensions of his body. He concentrated, willing control back into his arms and legs and mind. He stood straight, his thoughts and words clearing. "You don't belong in my world. The men who raided your temple—"

  "They do not honor My name!"

  A gold-tipped staff of polished teak appeared in the king's hand. With grim, quick eyes, he studied the weapon. "You have returned what is Mine."

  "Those men did not honor your immortal slumber. They were common thieves. Greedy bastards who did not respect your name, your right to lie in state, the treasures of your kingdom."

  "I can take back what is Mine. It is of little meaning." The circumference of light widened. Solid forms stepped from the mist. Warriors. Men like the king, armed with staffs and spears, bowing down and taking their place at the king's right hand.

  "I mean you no harm," said Hawk.

  "He will make a fine prize." Meczaquatl ignored Hawk's entreaty. Six more warriors circled Hawk, closing in on him.

  "The men who dishonored you are dead," Hawk urged. His head throbbed with the effort to remember his purpose.

  "They do not honor My wishes. They must be punished."

  "No."

  He felt a weight around his neck and looked down. A golden breastplate, like those the king's men wore, weighted him down in the mire.

  "They defiled her!" cried the king. "I took her as a slave and made her My queen. And they keep her from Me!"

  A staff of teak appeared in Hawk's hand. The light expanded and he could make out the forms of slave girls kneeling low to the ground, each carrying trinkets of gold and jewels to lay at Meczaquatl's feet. The king waved his staff above the treasures, offering them to Hawk.

  He finally understood. "I don't belong here."

  "You have fought for what is Mine."

  "I fought to save those I love," Hawk protested.

  "You have come to My world. You will make a worthy vessel."

  "I am leaving your world!" shouted Hawk, trying to remember his own home. A pair of tawny eyes floated through his vision, cherished, yet forgotten as quickly as he recognized them. "You're staying here. I have shown you the way home."

  "Silence him!"

  Hundreds of hands touched Hawk's shoulders, pulling him down. The muscles in his legs melted like molasses beneath him. He tried to fight off the warriors, but his hands grew numb. He swatted at his attackers, his fingers slicing through the mist of their bodies.

  "No!" he shouted, his mind turning to mush. He must concentrate on his purpose. He must remember to go back.

  Alone.

  "I will punish the infidels for keeping My queen from Me!"

  Hawk felt himself sinking. The light surrounding him stretched farther into the mist, transforming the nightmare jungle into a gruesome reality. He felt the humidity of it in his pores, smelled the damp stench of it in his nostrils.

  "No." His protest sounded weak, even to his own ears. "I can't stay here."

  Other faces took shape. Faces from the king's time. Fallen comrades from his own time. A black-haired Marine in desert-colored fatigues from a time in-between.

  "Father?"

  Hawk had stopped reaching out now. He fought only to keep his eyes open.

  "You don't belong here, son."

  “I have to stop him." The protest gurgled in his throat.

  Another face materialized. A criminal. He'd tracked that face down to Tenebrosa.

  A muffled roar growled through his consciousness. But the sound died in the mist, and the recognition escaped him.

  He heard the bellowing call of a wild animal from across a distance, so far away it sounded like the last remnant of an echo. He turned toward the dying sound.

  A familiar uniformed man stepped from the mist. He reached for Hawk with a broad, capable hand. "You don't belong here, my friend. Nobody could have stopped what happened that day on Tenebrosa. Not even you, Shadow Man."

  "Jonathan?" Hawk tried to latch on, but his fingers had grown too weak. "Wait. I don't understand." He felt himself slipping.

  "It's all right, my friend. I need you back home. You and Brodie and the others, I need you to take care of my girls."

  "I will. I promise."

  "Seize him. Now!"

  King Meczaquatl stepped into the hottest part of the light as Hawk slipped away into the darkness. He felt the hands on him again. Pulling him up this time.

  But it was too far, and he was too weak. The hands left him and he fell. He heard the roar again, a distant imagining through the cotton inside his head. But he recognized the sound this time.

  The call of a bear.

  He tried to answer, but the mists swallowed his voice.

  He felt the broad, hard pads of the bear's paws on his chest, bearing down with a heavy weight. He felt its long claws digging into his skin.

  The bear's golden brown fur danced through-his vision. It bellowed again, closer this time, calling to him. He felt its warm breath on his face.

  He tried to breathe in its reviving warmth, but the pressure on his chest vanished. He reached out, finding nothing but mist and darkness in his grasp, and he began to sink.

  "No." He reached for the bear again, calling to it, willing its great power to guide him back home.

  But other hands reached for him now The king's hands. Warriors' hands. Pulling him down to them. Trapping his soul in the murky pit of mist and darkness.

&nbs
p; A blinding light exploded around him, inside him. A circlet of gold inlaid with precious jewels swam before his eyes.

  "Take it!" someone shouted. His ears unstopped. His vision spun in a dizzying eddy. "Give him back to me!"

  The claws snatched at him again, digging into his chest, tossing aside his armor.

  "You've had your true love." The voice was a woman's, faintly familiar. "Give me mine. I love him. Give him back!"

  Something pressed against his mouth. Soft. Hard. Urgent. Breathing life into his body. Giving him strength.

  The pressure eased. "Hawk, I love you. Don't let him win. Fight him. Come back to me."

  Something brushed across his face, across his shoulders, down his arms. He felt the pressure at his mouth again, felt hot, moist pinpricks dotting his cheeks. An odd warmth swelled inside him and radiated through his limbs.

  The faces of his father and Jonathan and Meczaquatl shimmered across his vision. Ten clutching talons dug into his flesh, and the circle of light shrank

  "No! He must stay!" Meczaquatl shook his staff. But even now his image grew faint. The swirling mists picked up speed, swallowing up the image of his father.

  A dark-haired beauty he did not recognize came into focus.

  Jonathan vanished.

  "Wait…" Hawk called weakly, but his friend did not return.

  The pressure at his mouth distracted him again. He tilted his head, seeking its source, and a warmth pressed the underside of his jaw. He curled his fingers into fists and savored the rush of blood pumping into his hands. Blindly he reached out, needing an anchor to hold on to. His fingers brushed against soft brown fur. He dug in and held on, turning his mouth to the hot, beckoning warmth that had grazed his chin.

  "No!" Meczaquatl’s icy grip clutched Hawk's shoulder and he fell back, his breath frozen in his chest. "He must stay. I need him!"

  "I need him!" A tawny gaze whispered into his mind. The Kodiak's eyes. No. Something much more precious.

  "Husband, come to me." The dark-eyed princess spoke. Meczaquatl released him. Hawk collapsed. His eyes drifted shut and he plunged into the pit.

  But something halted his fall. His shoulders jerked in their sockets. Something hard and rough rasped along his back.