by Ursula Bauer
———
An hour later, safely ensconced in the rear most unit from the road, Gideon finished securing the last knot in the ties that bound Doctor Megan Carter to the heavy desk chair. He’d gagged her as well. Not so much she couldn’t breathe, just enough to muffle the screams he knew would come as soon as she woke and realized what was happening. He recalled the attack in the clinic’s parking lot. She had a great set of lungs. If it wasn’t for the enchantment, half of the city would have heard her cries for help. The memory made him check his knots again. She wasn’t just a screamer, she was a fighter. She had suckered him in and sprayed him down with whatever it was she had in the little dispenser. It wasn’t as caustic as pepper gas, or concentrated tear gas, but it had surprised him enough he let her go. The doc had fire beneath that angelic face and Mona Lisa smile. Fire and grit.
He took a last look at her and moved the chair away from the desk, putting it in the narrow space between the end of the king-sized bed and the beat up dresser. If she managed to get loose she’d have no room to maneuver. A man needed to be prepared for anything when dealing with a woman as resourceful and unpredictable as Megan Carter.
Gideon glanced at the ammonia ampule that sat on the cheap, Formica dresser. Beside it was his Saxe dagger, made of the same enchanted steel as his sword. The mirror above reflected the absurd scene, Meg bound and gagged in the chair, him looming over her like some great beast of prey. It reaffirmed his choice of action tonight. There would be no other real way to convince her of the truth.
Gideon stripped off his shirt and tossed it on the bed next to his jacket. He crossed the small room, tested the locks, moved the gaudy orange curtains just enough to check the empty lot outside for trouble. Then, he got down to business.
He took the ammonia ampule and bent down so he was face to face with Meg. This close, her breath was warm against his skin. He touched her cheek, amazed at how silky it felt. The memories of the past pushed hard to break free, but the iron prison of his will held fast. Yet that will was not strong enough to resist the surge of longing that welled up. He almost gave in, almost kissed her, but at the last second, he held his move. A wave of guilt assaulted him and he jerked back.
“You’re a perv, Gid.” She was tied up, unconscious, helpless because of him, and he had no business touching her the way he did. He had no business wanting…what? Something indefinable and nebulous, something he half remembered from a long forgotten dream. He broke the ampule and the sharp tang of ammonia assaulted his senses. He held it under her nose until she showed signs of rousing.
Gideon discarded the broken ampule in the nearby wastebasket, stepped clear of Meg, crossed his arms before his chest and waited. Whatever idiocy was numbing his brain and plaguing his body would soon be driven out of him by the ordeal he was about to endure.
He watched intently as her eyelids fluttered, then opened. Her pupils were dilated, and she blinked several times before she tilted her head up and focused completely upon him. Awareness filled those wide green eyes with dark shadows of fear followed by blazing anger. She screamed into her gag and fought her bonds like a tigress, trying to unsettle the chair.
For a few minutes Gideon let her carry on. Talking now would do no good. She’d listen better once she realized there was no escape. Color flooded her cheeks, a dark pink the shade of summer roses. Gideon fisted his hands to keep from reaching for her. He held her gaze, enduring the heat until the fury subsided, until she stilled, until a single, fat tear welled up and slid silently down her cheek. It splashed onto the ropes binding her, and it burned him to his core. He felt like a prize ass. He needed her to believe, but to do that she had to see with her own eyes, and there was no way she’d sit by and witness what he was about to do without trying to either run for the hills, or, stay his hand.
“I wish I could do this the easy way, Doc. But we’re short on time and I need you to understand that the world you think you know doesn’t exist. You’re in more trouble than you can imagine, and I’m the one man who can help you.”
Her reaction was a few more weak screams and another tear.
“Sit back, try to relax. I’m not going to hurt you.”
She broke the stare and looked down at the floor.
Mortals. They were never easy. “What I have to tell you will sound crazy, but I assure you, it’s true. My name is Gideon Sinclair. I told you that already and it’s the truth. I also told you the police can’t help you, and that’s true.”
That got her attention. She glanced shyly back up at him.
“I’ve been sent to save you, Meg,” he lied. “I can keep you safe but you need to trust me. You need to believe me. I’m an immortal soldier. I serve justice and nothing else.”
She actually had the audacity to roll her eyes.
He smiled. “I know. Sounds nuts, right? You’re a doctor. You believe in science. You believe what you see.”
He picked up the dagger and she moaned, fear clouding out any sense of reason in her soft eyes. She thought the blade was meant for her.
“Don’t worry. I’m not going to hurt you. I need you to believe so we can get on with business. I wasn’t kidding when I told you we’re short on time.”
She settled down and he steeled himself for what was to come. He knew shapeshifing wouldn’t be enough for her. It was too much like an illusionist’s parlor trick. He had to go for blood with this one. He pointed to the space between two ribs and felt his heart pulse strong beneath his finger. Her eyes widened in question.
“You know what sits below these ribs, Doc. My heart. You know if I was mortal and this knife slipped between these two ribs it would pierce my heart and I’d be stone cold dead.”
She nodded quickly, her movements panicked.
He had a feeling she got the drift of what he was about to do. He took a deep breath. “Good thing I’m not mortal.”
Before he could think too hard he drove the blade deep into his chest, then jerked it free and let it drop to the floor. Pain flooded his senses, but as in the past, there was surprisingly little blood. He dimly heard Meg scream, then he fell to his knees and gave in to the agony.
Chapter Three
Meg screamed bloody murder as tall, dark and crazy drove a wicked looking knife directly into his heart. She pulled in vain at the ropes holding her fast to the chair. At first she’d wanted to kill him. Now that she was witness to his suicide she wanted to save him. He was deranged. No sane man thought he was immortal, no sane man kidnapped a woman and stabbed himself in the heart.
She yanked her wrists and legs until her skin rubbed raw, all to no avail. He was on all fours, blood dripping onto the hideous green shag carpet. She gave up fighting the ropes and tried to move the chair closer to him. With fits and jerks she was able to move so her knee touched his shoulder but the last jump tipped the chair too far and it toppled sideways. She knocked into him and he sprawled back on the floor.
From this position she could see his magnificent, injured chest. She watched it rise, then fall, as if he still breathed. She shook her head, and refocused. It wasn’t as if he still breathed. He was actually breathing. Nice, slow, deep breaths. Not shallow gasps, not labored, hollow death rattles, but good, lusty lungfuls of oxygen that would feed his blood and nourish his brain. Certainly not the actions of a dead man.
Then he groaned.
Impossible. No one could survive that wound. Meg fought the bonds some more but she was wedged between him and the end of the tacky dresser, leaving her little room to maneuver. Her struggle brought her close against his warm, solid body, and he gave another bear-like growl.
“Easy, Doc,” he rumbled in that sexy, gravely voice. “Don’t hurt yourself. I’m the immortal, not you.”
He pushed himself up into a sitting position and slowly got to his feet. She turned her head and watched as he stood. The wound was already closed, the edges pink and well approximated. Impossible.
He grabbed her chair and righted her with a single move. His bare
, muscled arms flexed with the action in a raw display of masculine power. He retrieved the knife and wiped the blood off on the edge of the yellow floral bedspread. She followed his every move, a study in sinuous grace.
He came close enough so his leather clad legs grazed hers and gazed down upon her with those inscrutable black eyes. “Do I need to show you a second time or do you believe?”
Believe what? That he was immortal. It was impossible. Yet he was living proof otherwise. She couldn’t argue, gagged as she was. She couldn’t believe, but she couldn’t disbelieve.
“You think it’s a trick.” He half grinned, and for a moment the look in his eyes softened. “It’s not. I’m the real deal.”
Slowly, Meg nodded. A strange warmth spread throughout her body and as she analyzed it, a startling realization hit her. For the first time since walking out of the clinic, she didn’t feel afraid. Perhaps her natural curiosity helped her overcome fear, perhaps it was because he could have hurt her at any time, and hadn’t. Perhaps it was something deeper.
“This is no stage prop.” He jammed the blade point down into the dresser and the blade held. “It’s not retractable. And you already know how sharp it is, right, Doc?”
She bobbed her head in agreement. She tried to tell him “release me”, but it came out sounding like a bunch of gibberish.
“So maybe I am what I say I am. Maybe you’ll be quiet if I take off the gag.”
What choice did she have? Meg knew she was in deep. At some point, just after leaving the sanctuary of the Russell Clinic building, she and reality parted ways. What if Gideon was an immortal? What if there were more of those sick, nightmarish things waiting beyond the walls of the outdated motel room? Now she knew how Alice felt falling down the rabbit hole. What if Gideon Sinclair was her only hope of finding her way back to her normal world?
The softness she’d seen earlier in him vanished in the blink of an eye. “Are you ready to listen to my story?”
She stayed very still as he judged her, that hot, black gaze burning deep into her soul. How sad to meet such an incredible looking man under such dubious circumstances. He was built like a god, with wide shoulders, a broad, deep chest, and a narrow, tapered waist. Corded, solid muscle stood out on every male inch of him. His skin was golden tanned and an ornate sword tattoo covered the inner right forearm.
She considered his words and her few options, then nodded in agreement. Maybe this was just a dream?
His long, calloused fingers grazed her cheeks as he released the gag. His touch sent shivers to her very core. No, Gideon Sinclair was no dream. He was a flesh and blood man, and he was all too real. She was crazy to be thinking of her kidnapper as some kind of sex god. Not only had she lost reality, she’d lost her mind as well.
“So, Doc, do you believe?”
Meg licked her dry lips. “You can’t expect me to believe in immortality.”
“Take a moment, think of everything you’ve seen tonight. Does it add up to any reality you’re aware of?” He sat down on the edge of the big bed and the mattress groaned beneath his bulk. “Have you ever seen the like? Of me, or them?”
The horrific scenes played through her mind, the macabre creatures, Gideon’s stabbing and survival.
“I’m a doctor. A scientist.” Her brain turned over the scenes again and again, and reason attempted and failed to supply answers. “There is no such thing as immortality.”
“There is.” He reached back onto the bed, grabbed his black T-shirt and shrugged into it, taking away the spectacular view. “There’s magic. There’s old Gods. There’s feuds, wars, demons, creatures that go bump in the night. Boogey men exist. Nightmares are real. So am I, and I’m one of the guys who makes the dark a safer place. I’m one of the guys who works to keep the shadows to themselves, so the average mortal can go on with life and never worry to much about what’s really lurking just one step behind and slightly out of focus.”
“I can’t accept that, Mr. Sinclair.” If she did, it meant everything she thought she knew was suspect. It meant the anchor of science that kept her life from casting adrift was gone and that she was floating now in a storm she couldn’t control or even begin to understand. There was nothing Meg hated more than being out of control. “Please, let me go. Let me go home, I’ll forget all of this. I won’t tell the authorities.”
He cracked that half grin again, giving his harsh visage a suddenly boyish look. Then, before her very eyes, he faded into mist. The mist rose and swirled around her, carrying that scent she first experienced when she opened her balcony door to the sultry night. Every nerve in her body flared to life. Her skin electrified as the mist danced across her like a light, silken rain. Heat pooled low in her belly and for a moment she forgot her situation and surrendered to the delicious, alien sensation.
When the air around her thinned, she opened her eyes. He stood before her, looking down at her with hooded, sleepy eyes. “Still don’t believe?”
“You’re impossible,” she breathed, her throat tight and dry, her body hot and wet. “This is crazy.”
“I couldn’t agree more. But it’s the truth.” He reached out and brushed her cheek with his knuckle. “I’m immortal and I’m the only chance you have at staying alive in a very nasty, very deadly game.”
Her body responded to his touch even as her mind recoiled. “Please. Let me go.”
“I’ll release you but I want your word you won’t run. You’re not safe out there.”
I’m not safe in here. Not with a man like you. And yet, she did feel safe. On some strange, deep level, she’d never been safer. She was shocked by that thought. A part of her believed this insanity. How much more could she witness and not believe? She didn’t feel drugged. He didn’t appear to be a magician. He’d turned to mist, for God’s sake. What if he was right? If there was magic, if there was someone, or something out to get her, no one she knew, not Bill Russell, not the police, no one could keep her safe but him. She’d need to trust this man Gideon Sinclair. She let out a deep breath. “Fine. I’ll stay. I’ll listen. But if I don’t like what I hear, you need to promise to let me go.”
He appeared about to reply when someone knocked on the door.
Gideon spoke a word that sounded like twelve consonants rushed together without the benefit of vowels, and the sword tattoo vanished from his forearm. In its stead, a sword appeared his hand.
He walked cautiously to the door, every muscle tensed and ready for lethal action. “What?”
“It’s Roy. Got the food you ordered, Gid. Want me to leave it at the door?”
“Yeah. Thanks. Put it on the tab.”
“Will do, brother. I won’t forget to add my tip, either.”
Gideon waited a moment, spoke another one of those weird words, and the sword vanished. He brought in a pizza, an amber bottle of beer, and a couple of bottles of clear, sparkling spring water.
“That’s a fancy trick you do with the sword.” Meg wondered if he did it for safety, effect, or a combination of both.
“I’ve been with that blade since I was twenty-eight. We’re real comfortable with one another.” He grabbed the knife and made short work of her bonds, freeing her in seconds. Then he turned it over and handed it to her, hilt first. “Go ahead. Check it out. You’ll see. No tricks.”
She took the knife but she knew as she did he wasn’t lying. There were no tricks. A man didn’t stab himself in the heart, turn to mist, and bring a tattoo to life with tricks. The reality she thought she knew began to crumble to dust around her. And as the old world passed away, curiosity for the new world bloomed. She handed back the blade.
“How old are you now?” He appeared to be a rugged late thirties, but there was something ageless in the obsidian depths of his eyes. They reflected an old soul. “Or shouldn’t I ask?”
“Let’s just say I’ve been around the block a few times, and then some.” He slipped the knife into a sheath strapped to his calf and lowered the leg of his leather pants. “You’ve been th
rough a lot tonight. Before we start, why don’t you have a drink and some food.”
“I’m not hungry but I’ll take a drink, thanks.” She reached for one of the sparkling waters. Her hands shook as she opened it, belying her anxiety. She wanted to brazen it out and she tried to summon as much courage as she could manage, but she found herself running close to empty. How did her patients manage? They faced off against death and the unknown everyday. They weren’t adults, either. They were young kids who should be planning birthday parties and going to little league games, who instead spent hours taking in toxic chemicals trying to poison the poison and gain just a few more days, a few more weeks. The science was as much magic to them as what Gideon showed her tonight, and still they endured. Surely, she could do the same?
Meg took a deep drink of the cool water and felt it go down like ice. She couldn’t fathom what she’d done to get mixed up in this madness. She never did anything out of the ordinary. She was a doctor with a very scant social life. Where had she gone wrong?
She stretched out her legs, crossed her arms, and gave her sexy captor what she hoped was a cold, hard stare. “So tell me, Mr. Sinclair, why exactly am I in such danger?”
———
She looked like a frightened kid one moment, an angry angel the next. Her hands grasped the bottle of sparkling water like a lifeline. She might still try to bolt. She was clearly still poised on the edge of panic.
He’d have to ease her into this, control the information in a way to get him what he needed without completely freaking her out. Or, letting her know the real truth of why he was sent for her. If she knew he’d come to kill her it would be hard to sell her the hero story.
Gideon twisted the cap off the lager bottle and sat on the edge of the bed. “There’s a war going on, Doc, between good and evil. Right now, you’re caught in the middle of one of the skirmishes.”
There. It was the truth. Kind of dressed down. He wasn’t lying either, just not telling the whole story.