by L. A. Banks
Damali stared at Carlos. He was frantic, his breathing was ragged, and she could barely catch her own breath. He turned away. “I saw it all. I’m not afraid,” she told him.
When he slowly turned around to look at her, her team again raised their weapons. Not even Rider said a word as a collective gasp passed through the team. A pair of red glowing orbs had replaced Carlos’s intense, dark eyes. His incisors had come down, two inches and had not stopped lowering, and his shoulders had increased in bulk.
Something strange was happening to her. She was not afraid as her gaze traveled down his solid chest, studying the brand over his heart, then the tight bricks of his torso, and allowing it to slide over his belly, dipping into his navel, clinging to the silky black wisps of hair that disappeared under his belt. His nostrils flared at the image in her mind that stripped him bare. She registered his anger at her blatant hunger in front of the team, and checked herself. It wasn’t her fault; she wasn’t playing games; it was pure reflex. Dayum, she’d never felt it like this.
“I told you to let me out of here,” he said coolly, quietly, his even tone belying his rage and desire. The need to be with her was so thick in his tone that the statement had come out as an open warning.
“Shut down the lights, JL,” Marlene ordered. “Now!”
“No,” Damali said in a too-calm voice, walking toward Carlos. “I’m going with him. We need to talk.”
The look Carlos gave her was pure electric current, one thousand volts.
“Damali, not a good idea!” Rider said with a frown and worry clear in his voice.
“Li’l sis, he ain’t himself. You’ll make us have to shoot him.” Big Mike spoke in an easy tone, his gaze steady as he dropped the crossbow in exchange for pointing the barrel of his shoulder cannon at Carlos.
“You’ll get hurt, or someone on the team hurt, if you try to attack him,” Father Patrick warned.
“Everybody stay cool, let the man out, and everything will remain chill,” Shabazz said, raising Sleeping Beauty’s barrel above Damali’s shoulder line.
“Dan, talk to your boy,” Jose said fast, his tone urgent. He couldn’t get a clear crossbow aim because Damali blocked his shot. “Talk to him, before we have to do him.”
“Let her out of the trance, Carlos,” Dan begged, clutching a holywater grenade. “Don’t do this, man.”
“She’s not in a trance,” Marlene said in a quiet voice. “Stand down. She’s made a choice.”
“What!” Shabazz turned toward Marlene, but she shrugged away.
The room again went still, the tension in the atmosphere was so tight that the walls threatened to bleed.
“I saw it all,” Damali told Carlos. She moved toward him, following him, until he backed up to the cinder block wall. She continued to come closer until there was only a breath of space between their two bodies. “And you will not hurt me.”
This woman had no idea. He closed his eyes as her hand found the center of his chest. “There’s so much about this that you don’t understand.”
“Then, talk to me,” she said quietly as she laid her head over his heart. “I thought you were gone forever.”
He cringed and pushed her away. “There’s no heartbeat, for starters.”
She noticed his eyes had gone from red to gold. He was coming down. “What else?”
“There’s no future,” he said in a low tone, his fangs retracting.
She could feel relief sweep through the teams.
“What else?” Her voice was slow and gentle, the way you would talk to a wounded animal.
“I’m trapped . . . and I did it to myself.” Carlos swallowed hard. “And I’m so sorry for all the things I did to get here. More than you’ll ever know.” He headed for the door.
Damali nodded. “JL, now you can shut down the exterior lights.”
Carlos turned and looked at Damali as she walked up behind him. Carlos shook his head no, and repaired his ripped shirt as he did so.
“Where are you going?” He was beat, mentally wrung out, hungry. He couldn’t take any more tonight.
“With you.” She folded her arms over her chest, and ignored the stricken sounds of disapproval coming from both teams. “A lot went down. We need to talk—alone.”
“Not advisable,” Carlos said, truly meaning it.
“You heard the man,” Rider said. “He’s being honest, so let’s not—”
Damali held up her hand. “That’s why we need to talk alone. No sidebar commentary. No third-party advice. Me and you.”
“You’re serious?” Carlos laughed wearily. His gaze shot to her team. “Tell her again, people. It is not in her best interest.”
“I’m going,” Damali stated plainly. She didn’t raise her voice, just walked over to where she’d dropped her sword and calmly picked it up. “You won’t kill me, or rip out my throat. That’s not what you have on your mind. I can see again, remember?”
Carlos nodded as a shudder of anticipation ran through him. “Then you’d better bring the blade . . . if all you want to do is talk.”
Their gazes met, and she smiled a slow smile, and carefully abandoned Madame Isis on the weapons table, never taking her eyes from his.
“Oh, no, no, no, no, no, no no!” Rider fussed. “Hell no! You are not rolling out of here without your blade! Are you crazy?”
Damali nodded.
“Let it go, Rider,” Marlene said in a weary voice. “Man, for once, just let it go.”
“Listen, D, there are watchers everywhere, especially at night,” Carlos warned, scanning the terrain outside the cabin safe house.
“If they saw you leave your compound,” Father Patrick said, “and get into the Jeep with us . . .” His gaze darted toward Carlos. “Carlos can then enter the building at will after us—but the watchers will assume that we have taken you to higher ground, that you’re on the move, and it won’t blow his cover . . . understood? It has to always appear that he’s deceiving us, had found a way in through a weak line—but it can never appear that he’s colluding with us.”
She nodded. She needed to get out of the Jeep, away from these well-intentioned, but babbling men, and into Carlos’s arms so badly she thought she would scream. Carlos wouldn’t even look at her. She could feel him pick up the thought and knew what it had done to him. She tried to retract the sensation, issuing a mental apology as they sat in brief silence. His hands were almost trembling and he stared out the window at nothing.
Truth was, there was no need for him to travel by Jeep, but he hadn’t left her side since she’d walked out the front door of the compound with him. They were both messed up—had been that way for years.
“You should eat first,” the cleric named Asula warned, glancing at Carlos with concern. “You’ve always been trustworthy in this . . . and our assumption is that the Neteru is sacrosanct with you as well. Therefore, we will have to muster faith that this conversation to purge old wounds and emotions between the two of you will be worthy of such continued trust and faith. Correct?”
“You ask a lot of a dead man,” Carlos said, his gaze remaining fixed on the darkness beyond the passenger-side window.
Damali watched Father Patrick’s body language. He was tense, but he wasn’t nervous.
“Perhaps a better plan would be for our team to take up our post outside the safe house, to guard it for any possible breach by these sniffers you told us about?” The older man smiled. He glanced at the other older priests who smiled and looked away with a nod.
“Yes, this would be best so you may talk and also develop a strategy,” Father Patrick pressed on, glancing at Father Lopez who seemed stunned.
“Padre,” the older priest said. “Calm yourself and have faith. This is about safety. Our detection systems are not as sophisticated as the Neteru’s compound, and I would have felt better if she brought her sword. On my honor, I pledged to her seer guardian that we would return her unharmed. Damali, you should have brought your sword.”
“Sh
e brought me,” Carlos said, his voice a low rumble. “You think I would let anything hurt her?”
The old cleric smiled and shook his head. “I suppose not.”
Remember, baby, how it used to be?
When we were just kids and so free.
“Remember Baby” by Damali Richards
CHAPTER EIGHT
CARLOS WATCHED her walk around the clerics’ spartan quarters, noting the way she took everything in. He kept his distance, just to be on the safe side. She had a totally destabilizing effect on him, one that he enjoyed and yet feared. This was not the place, and there was too much heat between them—had always been that way . . . but not here. He owed the old priests that much respect. But damn she was fine . . . and he’d missed her so much.
“You wanted to talk,” he said quietly. “We need to do that, fast, and get you back where you belong.”
She didn’t answer him, but went toward the refrigerators. “You need to eat.”
He shook his head. “Don’t. I don’t want you to ever see me do that.”
Her hand fell from the door, and her eyes held so much sadness that he had to look away. He folded his arms over his chest, leaned on the door frame, then studied the floor.
“No, don’t,” she said.
He couldn’t take it. She was standing there pitying him, knowing what he was, but still not afraid.
“Say what it is that you couldn’t say in front of the others . . . please. Let’s not drag this out.”
“Then look at me, so I can,” she whispered.
Couldn’t she understand that just watching her move in that dress was painful, knowing he couldn’t have her . . . shouldn’t. He continued to look away, remembering he was in a clerical safe house, and tried to tell her things that were off the too-hot subject. The situation was beyond ludicrous. He still had shaky borders, and to whisk her away to a lair would put them both at risk to other males until he reestablished his line authority.
“You scared me, girl,” he said quietly, his words absolute truth. “When I came out from behind the clerics in your compound, if I was someone else, I’d have used them as body shields before you could even throw your weight behind your Isis. While you were trying to pull your blade out of an innocent’s chest, you wouldn’t have had swing time to come at me again. That’s why you have to focus through the pain . . . even when there’s a hard loss, baby. You, of all people, cannot afford to ever go blind. Not doing what you do.”
“I know, but I . . . Going temporarily blind isn’t the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.”
He sighed, his gaze now riveted to her. “Yes it is. Ask me how I know.” He found a neutral point on the wall that was safe to stare at. “I’ve put down my own boys . . . even my brother, D. Buried so many friends . . . But even while I was still alive, my territory was dangerous, and I couldn’t lose focus. It’ll change you, no doubt. But that’s the only way you can survive this shit. Going blind ain’t an option, D.”
Her pull was greater than he’d imagined, as she made him look at her again. “I know,” he said gently. “We’ve both lost a part of our hearts to the graves along the way. Regardless. Don’t let anybody take you there—not even me.”
He shoved away from the place he was leaning and walked deeper into the dining area, just to put more space between them.
“There are so many things we need to discuss, Carlos. If you’ll just listen, and stop pushing me away because of what I am.”
He let his breath out slowly. She was so naïve and still so damned blind it wasn’t funny. She didn’t even have her Isis on her.
“I’m not blind, anymore,” she said quietly, openly reading his thoughts. “I didn’t walk through this door naively either. I left my blade for a reason. You’re the one that’s blind tonight, Carlos. Always have been. That’s what’s made you vulnerable. Now look at me.”
He honored the request against his better judgment, glancing up slowly to allow her gaze to capture his. “Talk to me,” he said in a low voice, nervous as hell that she might take him somewhere he couldn’t come back from.
Her mouth didn’t move. He felt her mind grip his. It wasn’t right what she was doing, probing the most erogenous part of him, getting all up in his head until images of laughter and good times created flashes of sensation within him. He was forced to close his eyes. He felt himself smiling as he saw her dancing, dropping a bandanna to start a drag race. “I remember that souped-up Chevy.” He laughed as she nodded. “Oh, girl . . . I miss those times.” His voice had become far away and gentle. Please stop.
“I still have it,” she murmured. “Kept that old red rag since you gave it to me.”
Her admission pleased him beyond measure, then she rocked him with the memory of an argument that entered his mind, stealing the joy, sending a rush of defensive anger through him that was quelled with the touch of her hand on his jaw. He hadn’t heard her move toward him. He opened his eyes and saw that she was still across the room. She’d sent the gentle caress from her memory, touching him with her mind—not fair. He nodded. Yeah it was fair, they’d argued from day one about his life, and she’d told him where it would lead . . . if only he’d listened. Hindsight. Perfect vision.
Carlos sighed. He couldn’t argue with her now. It was the truth. Tough, but gentle, that’s what she’d always been. Tears filled her eyes as he stared at this woman standing across the room, a vision he couldn’t have because of what he was, what he’d become.
But she had mercy in her mind. He heard the beach, waves pounding the shore; smelled salt air chase away the burning rubber and exhaust fumes from the drag race; he saw the sunlight catch her cheek and fire it bronze, red, gold; his finger traced it in the air. Yeah, he remembered that day . . . when a small thing like a button on her blouse drew his attention. The mental collage she sent was so beautiful, then she put music to it. The last refrain of her slow song from the concert . . . Remember, baby. His lids slid closed. No, he’d been right. What she was doing to him wasn’t fair. This was an outright seduction, and he couldn’t do shit about it.
Carlos opened his eyes and looked at her. She moved toward him and stopped so close to him that he could feel the heat rising from her skin.
“When I thought you were gone, I kept those memories of you tucked away to keep me whole,” she whispered. “I was so angry at you for allowing yourself to—”
He put a finger to her lips, his mind weeping, trying to let her know that he understood, and no one regretted his path more than he. Picking up the end of the last vision she’d sent, his mind sent her his hopes . . . the dreams that could never come true. He was standing in a church watching her walk down the aisle toward him, then they were in a house, laughing, wearing T-shirts in bed—he rubbed her tight, round belly as the life they’d created kicked inside it.
“You’re right. I was the one who was so blind for so long, Damali. Forgive me. I’m so sorry, baby . . . you just don’t know.”
His mouth found hers, and she tenderly returned his soft sweep against her lips. She covered his hands as they trembled against the sides of her face. He backed up an inch, his fingers touching her hair, his eyes searching hers for forgiveness, acceptance.
“I don’t ever want to hurt you,” he whispered, “and I have already.”
“I’m immune,” she said, sending a double message with the brief statement. “You can’t.” Then he watched her take out the silver earrings from her ears and let them fall to the floor. He stared at them, understanding what that meant, but almost not believing.
His hands found her shoulders. He glanced out the window, then he shook his head no.
“I’m not afraid,” she said quietly, reading the conflict in his mind.
“I know . . . that’s why I am.”
She sealed the small space between them, tilting her chin up to him. The action caused near-delirium. Her skin made his catch fire. The scent of her flooded him and drowned the rational side of his brain. His grip on her sho
ulders slid to her upper arms and tightened. This was not how it was supposed to go down. This was not how he’d ever envisioned being with her. Not like this, not under heavy guard . . . not . . .
Damali put her finger to his lips. “Shush . . .”
The rush of her voice fractured his resolve as he lowered his head and found her mouth. The sweetness within it drew his hunger, and his tongue found hers, dancing in an urgent duel. His tongue plundered those hidden places, pulling a moan from her, which he swallowed, making him move against her as the sound lit him up inside.
When his hands found her back, he let them revel in the feel of her skin. Delicate knit allowed baby soft flesh to tease his fingers in intermittent patterns. Each vertebra he revered as his hand slid down to her round backside and her shudder of desire entered his body, shaking him to his bones. He had to let her go.
He pulled back. “Baby—”
Her mouth sought his again, harder this time, halting his protest. Her hands found the sides of his face and held him firm until he surrendered. He grabbed her wrists, intent on sending her home, but soon his palms covered her knuckles, his fingers twined with hers, making him lower her arms to guide them to his waist. She felt so good; his hands couldn’t touch enough of her. He filled his fists with velvet soft locks, every texture she owned summoning a new wave of need.
He’d known hunger, but tonight she’d driven him to ravenous. What she offered was all-consuming, beyond mere flesh. She offered her mind and her spirit along with her body, and demanded the same in return . . . He’d never experienced anything so profound. There was no way to resist when her mind opened wide and trapped his with the truth . . . Carlos, just once. For my first time, I always dreamed it would be you.
There was no decision to be made. All of a sudden she was in his arms and with the speed of thought, he’d taken her down into the lair. He locked the steel door and he’d set her down easy on the hard, clerical cot.
She stared up at him with her big, brown doe eyes, but this was no passive prey. It was innocence with a burn beneath it, seeking. He could feel her desire hunting him as her chest rose and fell with shallow sips of air. She was past the point of guessing what could happen, just like he was. He looked around the room of what had been his prison cell. No, this was not how it was supposed to be with his woman . . . she deserved way better than this.