Prodigal Son

by Debra Mullins

  Wheelchair height.

  “For your brother,” his mother confirmed. “Of course he doesn’t use it as much now, not since he started walking again.”

  “Yeah.” He tried to swallow past that damned lump in his throat again. “How long has he been out of the chair?”

  “About nine months or so. He never gave up, always swore he would walk again. He spent a lot of time meditating, working with healing energy.” Her lips curved. “That stubbornness of his came in handy this time.”

  He just nodded, his vocal cords unresponsive, as his mother stepped into the vault and flicked on a light.

  He almost expected laser beams or a three-headed dog to come after him as he crossed the threshold. But nothing happened. She went to one of the many long, slender drawers lining the walls of the vault and opened it.

  “This is what I wanted to show you.” She moved aside so he could see inside the drawer. Lined side-by-side on black mountings were clear blocks of some kind of glass, and preserved within each block were documents—ancient sheets of some kind of curling parchment yellowed with age. “This is our history, Rafe—all that is left of it, anyway. And here is the one about the Stones of Ekhia.”

  The document illustrated three pyramid-shaped stones being set into some kind of triangular frame. Another sketch showed hands hovering over the stones, and in a third, the stones seemed to change, become clear, with power streaking from one to the other like a ricochet, meeting in the middle, then shooting skyward. Descriptions accompanied each picture, though he could not understand the strange alphabet to read them.

  But a symbol in the corner of the parchment caught his eye. Three triangles connected by a circle with a wavy line in the middle. The same design as Adrian Gray’s tattoo.

  “What does it mean?” he whispered, uncertain whether his hushed tones were due to reverence or emotional overload.

  “Much of our written language has been lost over the ages,” she said, regarding the parchment as if she could will its secrets to reveal. “My grandmother’s mother used to speak of a great wrong done to the Seers, a wrong that resulted in the destruction of our perfect utopia and the theft of our heritage.”

  “What wrong? By whom?”

  “Someone who wanted the power of the Seers.” Her lips curved in a sad smile. “Of course we cannot give our powers to anyone; it is not our choice. But the legend goes that this evil being—some say he was of Atlantis and others say he was a foreigner—tried to seize the key to the power of the Seers by force and the backlash of its misuse destroyed the city.”

  “The key being the Stones of Ekhia?”

  “So legend has it.”

  “The thing about legends is that they become enhanced over time.” He eyed the parchment again. “For all we know, this could be a picture of the pyramids of Egypt.”

  “I don’t think so.” She closed the drawer and moved to a cabinet hanging on the wall in the middle of the vault.

  “Why? Because of the stuff you never told us? About the other Atlanteans?”

  She paused with her hand on the handle of the cabinet, her back to him, her shoulders tense. “From what I was told by my grandparents, the people hunting Seers have something to do with the one who destroyed Atlantis. That’s all I know.” She shook her head and opened one of the cabinet doors. “I prefer not to think of that time. We have been safe all these years, but those men murdered my mother.”

  “I thought your mother died in a fire.”

  She glanced at him over her shoulder. “Who do you think set the fire?”

  He hadn’t put the pieces together. With one simple question, she cast a new light on a childhood story. He’d always known his grandmother had died in a house fire. But knowing that the fire had been deliberately set by a group of people who wanted to exterminate Seers gave the old tale a sinister twist.

  “I want you to see this,” she said, opening the other cabinet door so that the entire contents were revealed. “It was the last relic our ancestor saved as Atlantis was sinking into the ocean.”

  He’d expected shelves or more documents. Instead the shallow cabinet functioned more as a showcase, lined with royal blue and covered in more of the glass. Shining brightly against the lining was a triangle of the same reddish-gold metal as the chain around his neck—orichalcum. The thing had to be over a foot long, solid throughout, and in each corner of the triangle were indentations of a smaller triangle about the size of a woman’s palm, as if something was supposed to be fitted there.

  “What is that thing?” he whispered.

  “Legend says this was a frame for the Stones of Ekhia.” She shrugged. “But as you said, legends become distorted over time. Before today I’d assumed the stones were another myth. But somehow our ancestors used this frame and the stones to communicate with the Creators. And now someone else wants that power.”

  “You should have told us.”

  She stiffened and whirled to face him. “I was trying to keep us alive. I made the best decision I could at the time.”

  “But our lives were in danger. Every minute, someone out there wanted to kill us. And we didn’t know. Do you realize how dangerous that was? We could have done something—”

  “Don’t you mean you could have done something? Even after all that’s happened, you still want to be the hero, Rafe.”

  “No,” he said. “I don’t. But I can handle this thing, so why not let me try?”

  “Because you have no control.” She slammed the cabinet doors closed and turned back to him. “When the Hunter comes, Rafael Montana goes away. You have no knowledge of what happens during that time, and that is dangerous. Can we trust your other side to make the right decisions?”

  “I don’t have to go full throttle. I can use my powers without losing myself. So you can trust me—the side that is Rafe Montana—to make the right decisions.”

  “How can you say that?” She marched out of the vault, implying with one hard look that he should follow. “You had not transformed yet when you decided to interfere in the Quintana matter, so it was truly you who made the decision to charge in there like some superhero. Darius had the situation under control.” She waited for him to exit the vault, then pushed the heavy door closed, and turned to face him. “A man died, and your brother almost did as well. All because you wanted to be a hero.”

  “I wanted to work on the Team. I was trying to show Dad—and Mendez—what I could do.”

  “And so you did. But at what price?”

  Her judgmental tone grated. “Maybe if I’d known there were other Atlanteans out there, I could have found someone with a similar power to train me over the years. Then maybe no one would have died.”

  She gave him the aristocrat look again. “So you are saying it is my fault?”

  “I’m saying you judged me and excommunicated me unfairly.”

  “We did not send you away, Rafael. You did that to yourself.” She let out a slow breath. “This has been a very long day. Perhaps we all need to sleep on what we have learned.”

  He hesitated. Fueled by righteous anger, the Hunter chafed to continue the fight, but his other self recognized the wisdom in a strategic retreat. He gave a nod. “Agreed. I’m beat.”

  “Then we will talk about this tomorrow.” She led the way through the temple.

  He followed, a million questions in his mind, scraping his churned-up emotions like sand in a windstorm. But she was right. Enough secrets had been dragged into the light today. Better to go back to his room and think about the next step.

  “By the way,” his mother said, pausing in the doorway leading to the hall. “I like Cara very much. It’s about time you took a mate.”

  “What? A mate?” Her words literally stopped him in his tracks. “I mean, we have a thing going, but—”

  His mother shook her head, an amused smile playing around her lips. “Have you forgotten my power, Rafael? Ezkonta. Matchmaking. I knew as soon as I looked into Cara’s eyes that she was your mate. And
it’s a good thing, too. My father told me that Hunters need mates to balance them and keep them grounded in the here and now. She can be a great help to you.”

  “She’s not my mate. She can’t be.”

  “Are you sure?”

  The question echoed back to him off the temple walls as she disappeared into the hall, leaving him alone to wrestle with the answer.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Rafe entered the silent bedroom. He didn’t turn on a light; he felt at home in the dark.

  He could make out Cara curled under the covers of the bed, her blond hair flowing across the pillow and gilded by the soft glow of the moonlight. Unable to look away from her, he slipped his T-shirt over his head, barely aware of what he was doing. He’d walked into this room with his emotions scraped raw from interacting with his family, but for some reason seeing Cara in his room, in his bed, soothed the sting with a salve of pure male satisfaction.

  It made him think about what his mother had said. Made him want it to be true.

  His mate.

  What would it mean, to have a mate? He sat on the edge of the bed and bent down to untie his sneakers. He’d been alone so long he could hardly wrap his head around the idea of a woman just for him, a woman who would wait for him and sleep with him and hold him. A woman who would stay with him and not fear him. He’d never dared dream of such a thing before.

  Still couldn’t dream it now. Not when he was still a danger to the people close to him.

  He set his sneakers aside and stripped off his socks, dropping them on top of the shoes. Maybe he was reading too much into it. He knew there was something special about Cara, but hell, anyone would know that within thirty seconds of meeting her. She was so warm, so loving, so damned loyal. If his life were different, if he were different, he’d give serious thought to a long-term relationship with her. As things stood now, he was lucky she was still talking to him.

  He was lucky anyone was still talking to him.

  The covers behind him rustled, and her small hands slid around his waist. She snuggled closer, her hair brushing his arm. “Penny for your thoughts.”

  “They’re not worth that much.” He turned his head just enough to inhale the lemony scent of her shampoo. “I thought you were asleep.”

  “I tried. My brain wouldn’t stop.”

  “Make it. You need to rest.” He covered one of her hands with his. “It’s been a long day.”

  “I can’t. I can’t stop thinking about Danny.” She buried her face in his back. “Those jerks took my cell phone. I haven’t been able to call him.”

  “You can use mine.”

  “You don’t understand. I don’t know the number. It’s in my contacts.”

  “It’ll be okay.”

  “Usually I just memorize phone numbers, but Danny’s been through so many phones over the past couple of years that I couldn’t keep them straight anymore.”

  “Cara, not knowing his phone number doesn’t make you a bad sister.”

  “Feels like it.” Her voice sounded muffled against his skin.

  “Hey, cut that out.” He twisted around to face her. “I’m a worse family member than you are, and I know my family’s phone number.”

  “You cut it out.” She shifted back a little, giving him more room on the bed. In the sleep shorts Tessa had lent her, her legs seemed to go on forever. “Your family is still here. There are issues to be worked out, sure, but they’re all still in your life.”

  “Just like that, huh?”

  “Not quite.” She touched his hand. “How did it go with your mom?”

  “Okay. Or maybe not okay. I don’t know. It’s confusing.”

  “That comes with the family package.”

  “What I need is an instruction manual.”

  “It’s not that hard. You’re both angry, both feel betrayed, and both love each other.”

  “Betrayed!” He scowled. “I didn’t betray them.”

  “You went away.”

  “To protect them!”

  “And your mother kept her secret to protect you.” She raised her gaze to his, her eyes luminous in the moonlight.

  “That’s different.” Even he could hear how halfhearted that sounded. “My ‘betrayal,’ as you put it, saved their lives. My parents not telling us of a threat this dangerous did the opposite. It put our lives in danger.”

  “Oh, yeah, I can see that.” She glanced around the bedroom. “Living in a castle in the middle of the desert with enough security to put Fort Knox to shame. I can see how that would paint a target on your back.”

  He tugged a lock of her hair. “Quit with the sass.” Instead of releasing her, he let his fingers linger on the silky strands. She didn’t push him away.

  “Just saying it like it is.” She closed her eyes as he slid his fingers deeper into her hair and stroked. “Might have helped if you hadn’t left this amazing fortress to run off into the big, bad world. Probably gave your mom some bad moments.”

  “I’m not going to win this argument, am I?”

  “We’re not arguing. We’re discussing your perspective.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Winding her hair around his hand, he tilted her head back and leaned in until his mouth hovered above hers. “My perspective says you’re in my bed.”

  “Yeah.” He dipped his head to nibble her neck, and a slow, shuddering sigh slipped past her lips. “I am.”

  “So what does that mean?” He nipped her jaw and raised his head to look at her, caressing away the sting with his thumb.

  “Does it have to mean anything?”

  “With you, yeah. You’re not the type for one night stands, no matter what you try to tell yourself.”

  “Well.” She tilted her head, her hair falling away from her shoulder and giving him more access to her neck. “Technically, this is a second night stand. Already I’m breaking the rules.”

  “Yeah, you’re a real rebel.” He took advantage of the unspoken invitation, gliding his tongue along the sweet flesh of her throat. He couldn’t get enough of the taste of her, and her tremor of reaction shot straight to his groin.

  She stroked her palm along his arm. “I’m on your side, Rafe. You can talk to me.”

  “Enough talking for tonight.” He took her hand and tugged it lower so her fingers brushed the cotton of his sweatpants and the stirring hardness beneath it. “Show me how rebellious you are.”

  Her lips curved. Instead of yanking her hand back, she traced the stiffening contours. “You don’t scare me, Mr. Bounty Hunter, even if you are mad at just about everyone in this house.”

  “Not you.” He swept his hand under her loose T-shirt, up along her ribs, and cupped her bare breast in his hand. “Does this feel mad to you?”

  No, it feels like you’re hurting. He wouldn’t admit it, but she could sense how deeply his feelings for his family went. Had she really believed he’d simply walked away from them without a second thought? He cared too much, and for a man more comfortable with action over words, that had to bug him.

  He stroked his thumb over her hardening nipple. “Stop thinking so loud.”

  “I’m not.” The words slipped out on a sigh as he pulled the shirt over her head and tossed it aside, leaving her clad only in her shorts.

  “I can practically hear your thoughts in my head.” He pulled her down on the bed and rolled onto his back, arranging her limbs until she straddled him, his hard cock nudging her butt through the thin layers of clothing. With his hands around her waist, he leaned up and took a nipple in his mouth.

  She whimpered, arching her back as her eyes slid closed. Heat shot through her body, pooling between her thighs. She fell forward, catching herself with her hands on his chest. Her thumb nudged the crystal.

  White light streaked through her mind, followed by a wave of arousal so primitive that she nearly came right there. She shook with the hunger rippling through her body, the tightening of her nipples, the moisture between her thighs. She rocked against him, imagining riding him, i
magined that hard cock sliding inside her. She was already so wet, so ready.

  He released her nipple on a groan, arching his hips. “You want to play, baby? I’m game.” He tugged at her shorts, and she wiggled to help him get rid of them. He threw them aside and slid his fingers between her legs, stroked the damp flesh. She shuddered.

  “You’re so ready for me.” He shoved at his sweatpants. She helped, jerking the pants down his legs with hands that trembled. He kicked his legs free, and she tossed the garment away, returning quickly to stroke his newly freed erection.

  He groaned, arching his back. “You’re killing me.”

  “I hope not.” She brushed a teasing kiss on the smooth head of his cock.

  He grabbed the back of her head. “I have an idea.”

  “So do I.” She flicked her tongue against him, his groan vibrating straight to her core. “Betcha they’re the same.”

  “I think I like your idea better.”

  “Let’s see.” She took him in her mouth, savoring the strength of him against her tongue. She teased him with mouth and fingers until his hands fisted in the sheets, her name a plea on his lips as he begged for release. She pulled back seconds before he got one. “Was that your idea?”

  “It’s a damn good one, whose ever it was.” He blew out a hard breath. “You drive me crazy, woman.”

  “Good.”

  “Come here.” He dragged her up and over him. “If I’m right, this should blow both our minds.” When she straddled him, he took her hand in his, wrapped it around his crystal, and slid inside her in one swift thrust.

  Her brain exploded, colors and light nearly blinding her mind’s eye. Passion rushed through her like liquid fire, surging into him and bouncing back at her. Heat seared her where their bodies touched, and his every move stoked it higher. Waves of hot and cold rippled along her skin, the flesh prickling with exquisite sensitivity. She didn’t think she could handle it all; she couldn’t breathe. Surely she would burn alive from it. Surely she would die.

  The orgasm flared up out of nowhere, melting rational thought and turning her inside out, stretching her across eons, shaking her free of the fetters of humanity. She went up in flames like a phoenix reborn. She screamed, but he swallowed the sound with his kiss; controlled the flames before they devoured her.