Crave the Moon

by Lori Handeland

  “Cheery group of people, those Aztecs.”

  His lips quirked. “It would make sense to them to use the weapon of death to symbolize the god of the land of death.”

  “I suppose so,” Gina agreed. “What else?”

  “Uh…” He stared at the pages for several seconds as if he’d forgotten what the pictures meant or perhaps just didn’t know where to begin.

  Gina slid her finger beneath a string of colorful drawings all in a row. “What about these?”

  Teo pushed his glasses up his nose, even though, from what she could tell, they hadn’t moved at all. “Those describe the superwarrior. A glyph can have several levels of meaning—the actual thing it represents, as well as a trait, and sometimes even a letter of the alphabet.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  “You’ve seen those games where you have to figure out a sentence from a string of pictures?” Gina shook her head. “Like this.”

  Frowning, he patted the pocket of his shirt, then his pants, then, muttering, patted the bedroll surrounding them, triumphantly pulling a pencil from beneath his ass, before flipping to the back of the journal and scribbling.

  He offered the page so she could see what he’d drawn. An eye. A heart. An alligator. “What does that say?”

  “Your heart sees alligators?”

  He laughed. She really enjoyed his easy laughter, both the sound of it and how it made her feel. As if she was funny, witty, and smart.

  “Or…” He rapped the pencil’s eraser against the eye. “I.” Then the heart. “Love.” Then the alligator. “Alligators.” He lifted his shoulder, rubbing against her again despite their continued efforts to remain apart. “I don’t, but I’m really good at drawing alligators.”

  “You are,” she said, hearing the laughter in her own voice.

  He turned the page in his direction again, scratched a few lines, and turned it back. “This is the symbol for teeth, called tiantli in the Aztec language. But it was also used to represent the letter t. And this,” he tapped what also looked like teeth, except these had a roof on top, “is the symbol for la, which is used to indicate an ‘l’ sound at the end of a word.”

  “What is that thing?”

  “I don’t know. Something that sounded to the Aztecs like ‘la.’”

  “How could anyone know what was being written with all those possible meanings?”

  “The Aztecs knew, or at least those who could read and write did. And while the Aztec may have been the only civilization at that time with universal schooling for both sexes, the majority of the population was still illiterate. They didn’t need to read or write unless they worked for the government or the church.”

  “So how do we know now what they were saying then?”

  “Some of the codices reconstructed after the conquest have Spanish translations below them.” He frowned. “Of course many of those translations were merely what the Spanish wanted the texts to say.”

  “Let me guess: Any bearded guy was labeled Jesus, even in a story about an ancient god of the sea.”

  “Stop me if you’ve heard this before,” Teo murmured.

  “I did a report on the Crusades,” Gina said. “Imposing their own interpretations on every ancient legend appeared to be SOP for all Christian conquerors. So my question remains—how do we know what the Aztecs were really saying?”

  “We don’t. To make it even harder, Aztecs didn’t write in a linear fashion like we do.” He used his finger to draw a line across the page, left to right. “They drew a picture. Things that were farther away at the top, things that were closer at the bottom. All of them interacting in strange and mysterious ways. To translate, one has to pick through and interpret.”

  “Kind of a ‘Where’s Waldo?’ for the sacrificial crowd?”

  “Yes. Although I’ve never found Waldo in any of them.”

  “Thank God,” Gina muttered. The idea of that bespectacled candy-cane shirt–wearing doofus peeking out from behind an Aztec pyramid was both amusing and a little creepy. “I don’t understand how, with all those options, you manage to figure out anything at all.”

  “That’s why my mom had six possible places where the superwarrior could have been buried.”

  “Did she also have six possible translations for what else a superwarrior might be?”

  His eyes, darker in the dim light and shaded behind the lenses of his glasses, narrowed. “I don’t follow.”

  “If the place of his burial could be one of many, maybe he could be one of many, too?”

  “One of many what?”

  “How should I know?”

  “Here.” Teo scooted closer again, flipping pages until he found what he wanted. “These are the glyphs my mom interpreted for the superwarrior legend.” He pointed to an obvious soldier. “You see how this drawing is much bigger than the others?”

  “Yeah.” It was, in fact, twice as big as the others. “Like I said, maybe they labeled him as super just because he was taller than everyone else. I read somewhere that the reason David was able to fell Goliath was because the giant wasn’t exactly gigantic, just larger than the average Philistine.”

  “David was still a pretty good shot. The smaller the head of the giant, the better that shot becomes.”

  “Good point,” Gina agreed. She studied him a moment. “You believe the stories in the Bible?”

  “Yes,” he said, shocking her. As he was a scholar, some might even say a scientist, she’d expected him to say no. He was just one surprise after another.

  “If I don’t believe those stories, how could I ever believe these?” Again he tapped the notebook.

  “You said you didn’t believe the superwarrior was a sorcerer.”

  “That doesn’t mean I don’t believe he existed at all.”

  Gina’s gaze returned to the extremely large stick soldier. “So you think the super part of the superwarrior was his size?”

  “Maybe. Or it could just relate to his personality, his essence, his spirit. In many of the codices, glyphs relating to royalty were also drawn larger than everything else. The Aztecs used size not only to mean size but also to indicate a largeness of intangible things. A largesse of being.”

  Gina wasn’t exactly sure what largesse was, but she got the concept from the drawing.

  “What about these?” She indicated a string of symbols beneath the great big warrior.

  “We think it describes his attributes.” Teo moved his finger from icon to icon as he explained. “The wind, which also means strength. A lizard, which indicates endurance, the rabbit for speed, a dog for loyalty; the monkey symbolizes agility. No other warrior in any codex was ever described with this many superior traits.”

  Gina studied the glyphs. In her opinion that dog looked far too vicious to symbolize loyalty. Perhaps he’d been viciously loyal.

  “Maybe the super part of his warriorhood,” she pointed to the final image: a skull, which loomed larger than all the others, “was not just that he was a very big boy, but also that he was fabulous at killing people.”

  “The skull does mean death,” Teo agreed. “But it can also indicate life force and vitality.”

  “So he was either king of the killing,” Gina said, “or just larger than life.”

  “Or both.”

  “You said the pictures could actually mean what they represent.” He nodded. “What if the army just ran into a dog, then a rabbit, a lizard, and a lot of skulls on their trip?”

  “How do you explain a monkey this far north of the border?”

  “Maybe it was a pet. Were there monkeys somewhere in the Aztec empire?”

  Teo nodded as he considered the row of glyphs. “If that’s the case, this could be nothing more than a travelogue.”

  His eyes had lost some of their light.

  “Would that be bad?” Gina murmured.

  He didn’t answer for a long time, just continued to stare at the page until Gina touched his elbow. “Teo?

  He came back
to the here and now with a start. “Uh … well…” He pushed his glasses up again. “It’s an interesting concept. Perhaps the large soldier merely represented a large army. Nothing earthshaking there.”

  “But you said this,” she pointed to the bumblebee knife, “indicates north. And this.” She tapped the big water. “The Rio Grande.”

  He sighed, and his chin lowered toward his chest. “It could mean anything.” He slapped the book shut. “It could mean nothing.”

  Gina felt like she’d kicked a kitten.

  “Even if the so-called superwarrior didn’t exist,” she argued, “the translation still points to the Aztecs traveling north of the Rio Grande. Isn’t that important?”

  “Not if there’s no way to prove it. Without that tomb, I’ll never be able to vindicate any part of my mother’s work or my own.”

  “Well, what do I know?” Gina asked. “You and your mother have been translating this stuff for decades. I never saw it before today.”

  Although, strangely, she felt like she understood it. That with a little practice she could read those writings and, even more strangely, that she wanted to. Perhaps Teo’s enthusiasm was catching.

  “My mother did spend her life on those translations,” he agreed.

  Gina suddenly saw what she’d done. He’d been doubting himself, doubting his mission, and she wanted him to doubt. She wanted him to give up and go away. Instead, she’d managed to turn him back to the idea that what he believed about this place was true.

  What was wrong with her?

  Teo’s head lifted. “There is the part about the tree of life springing from a land awash with the blood of the sun. And we both know that’s here.”

  “There’s nothing underneath that tree,” she lied.

  “Gina,” he murmured, voice both soft and rough. “If there was nothing there, you wouldn’t be trying so hard to keep me from it. Why don’t you just tell me what happened?”

  Her eyes, though she tried to make them stop, flicked to his. He was closer than he should be, or maybe she was. Their knees knocked. Their faces hovered a foot apart. She didn’t want to tell him. She didn’t want to tell anyone, ever. Instead, she touched her lips to his.

  He stilled, and for an instant she thought he might pull back, might stick to his promise of not touching. So she flicked out her tongue. Just a quick swipe along his slightly parted lips and he was as lost as she was.

  He came to his knees; she came to hers, and they were touching thigh to thigh, hip to hip, chest to breast, mouth to seeking mouth.

  His palms rested at the curve of her waist; his thumbs stroked the fluttering muscles of her stomach, chasing them across the taut skin, first above her shirt and then blessedly, thrillingly, below. His calluses scraped, and she caught her breath.

  “Sorry,” he murmured, but as he began to withdraw, both hands and mouth, she nipped his lip, snatched his wrist, and he swept his hands upward, cupping her breasts along with her bra. Despite the chill of the night, they both wore far too many clothes.

  Gina’s fingers went to his shirt even as his went to hers. But there were too many buttons, too many fingers, too many arms criscrossed every which way.

  They broke apart, breathing heavily, mouths damp, eyes dark. Then, as one, they unbuttoned their own shirts.

  “You first,” he said, his hanging open, revealing a far too small slice of chest and torso.

  Gina shrugged free of the flannel. His gaze hung on her every move. Slowly, she undid her bra, letting the straps slide down her arms the same way the shirt had.

  Though the tent was cool, his eyes had gone hot, seeming to warm her flesh wherever they touched.

  “I can’t breathe,” he murmured. “You’re so beautiful.”

  Right now she felt beautiful.

  “Your turn.” She indicated his shirt with a lift of her chin.

  The flannel fell away with one quick shrug, revealing gorgeous, gleaming skin. She wanted to touch him so badly; she licked her lips and reached out.

  He grabbed her wrist, pulled her close, but being on her knees, she wasn’t very graceful, and she fell forward, crashing into him. They both tumbled to the bedroll, then lay there all tangled together, breathing hard. Gina began to giggle.

  “Why is it every time I see your bare chest I fall?”

  “I don’t know.” He touched her cheek. “But don’t ever stop.”

  The light shone off his glasses like a beacon; she couldn’t see his eyes. Lifting her hands, she touched the frames. “Can you take these off?”

  “Sure.” He set them atop his mother’s notebook. “You mind if I turn off the light? Everything’s fuzzy now.”

  Gina reached over herself, the movement rubbing her breasts against his chest in new and enticing ways, then flicked the switch. Navy-blue night settled over them with an audible hush.

  His hair brushed her cheek; she buried her face in his neck and took a taste. Something that had been slightly hard against her hip became definitely hard and she smiled into the velvet darkness. Reaching down, she slid her thumbnail up his length, and he choked.

  “Sorry.” She pulled her hand away, but he caught her wrist and tugged it back.

  “Don’t be.”

  He let go of her wrist and slid his palm up her body, cupping first one breast, then the other, rolling each nipple until they hardened like him. When his mouth closed over one and his teeth worried it, she muttered a word she’d learned from the Hurlaheys and slid her hand inside his jeans.

  He rose, palms at her back, lifting and holding her to his lips as he teased and taunted and took. Her jeans fell away, as did his. Though the tent surrounding them was dark, the night beyond it ever darker despite the distant rumble of thunder, nevertheless, Gina saw in her mind’s eye the contortions of their bodies, the slide of legs, of hands and fingers, of lips, and it excited her.

  He urged her onto her stomach so he could run his mouth from her ankles to the soft curves at the backs of her knees, then up her thighs, across the swell of her buttocks, where she felt again his teeth, then to her spine. His fingernail ran gently upward, over each ridge, before his hands spread across her shoulders, down her ribs to her hips. Her skin on fire, she began to turn, but his voice stayed her.

  “Ever since you crawled across this tent, I’ve had this image I can’t get out of my head.”

  “Me, too.”

  “I wonder if they match,” he said, and lifted her onto her hands and knees again.

  Then he waited, touching her nowhere but his palms at her hips. She felt his heat, the pulsing weight of his erection so close but still so far. She wanted him inside of her.

  “Yes,” she said, then, as he pushed fully within, “yes.”

  Though this had begun as just sex, rooted in a need to forget, to avoid, perhaps even to break free, it changed. One instant she reveled in the sharp slap of flesh, the pulse and the push that ground so deep. The next he had curved himself over her, chest to back, fingers to breast, lips to neck, and her chest, her belly, her very being, stilled.

  “Gina,” he whispered in a voice full of wonder, as if he’d seen a shooting star, a meteor, or maybe just her.

  His other hand settled atop hers where it rested on the ground, and without thought she linked their fingers together.

  The catch in his breath rushed along her skin, giving her goose bumps despite the seeming heat, then he throbbed, once, twice, again, and she was falling, rising, coming as she reached for a place where she no longer remembered anything but him.

  * * *

  He shouldn’t have touched her with so much strife between them. But one look into her endless eyes and Matt had been lost.

  Or maybe he’d merely been found. Because making love to Gina had felt like coming home.

  Ridiculous. He’d never had a home. How could he possibly know what coming back to it would feel like?

  Gina stirred at his side, and he tightened his arms around her. He didn’t want her to move. Not now. Not ever.r />
  He kissed her and again experienced that tug in his chest that made him want to hold on, to never let go. She’d told him that she’d rarely had a second date with a man; he’d rarely had a second date with a woman.

  Because no first date had ever felt like this.

  She licked the seam of his lips as she lifted her mouth. He could see nothing beyond the slightly darker outline of her head, but her breath brushed his cheek, her hair stroked his chest, and his body yearned all over again.

  “I need to check the horses,” she said.

  “I’ll do it.”

  Her laughter flowed across his skin, and his penis leaped. He reached for her, but she was already rolling away, grabbing her jeans, her shirt. “I won’t be long.”

  Matt lay back, hands beneath his head, and listened to her move about the tent. His mind wandered, as it often did, and he remembered what he’d asked right before she’d suddenly kissed him.

  “What happened?” he repeated. “Beneath that tree. You can tell me.”

  The rustling stopped. The tent flap opened. She stepped out; the scent of rain rushed in.

  It took Matt several minutes to realize she wasn’t coming back.

  CHAPTER 13

  A loud crack sounded directly above; then rain fell in a deluge and the heavens erupted with lightning. Gina caught a glimpse of the horses, standing with their butts to the wind, heads down but calm enough, right before the world went dark again and she ran.

  You can tell me. In other words … you can trust me.

  But she couldn’t. Mateo Mecate was after one thing, and it wasn’t her. It had never been her.

  Sure, she’d been the one to kiss him. She’d wanted to forget. And she had.

  Until he’d made her remember. Now all she could think about was the time she’d spent underground.

  The wind battered her face, whipped her hair, sang to her a name.

  “Giiii-naaaa!”

  “Hell,” she muttered. One of these days she was going to have to either figure out why she kept hearing that or check herself into a place where she couldn’t.