by Angie Fox
“Come on,” he said, leading me forward, waiting a second while I reached back for the torch. “I worked hard on this.”
I offered up a quick prayer that he was still talking about a prank.
We walked until we came out of the side path and onto the main one. We waited a moment before emerging.
Father McArio lived just down the way, supposedly for the peace and quiet. I knew it was because he liked to minister to the lost souls that lingered just beyond the wards.
I didn’t want to wake him, or more to the point, be in a position where he was asking where I was going with Marc. The rocks just beyond the minefield were a huge make-out spot.
Marc took my hand and silently tugged me deeper into the darkness, toward the rocky plain beyond. Damn it.
Unlike some couples, we didn’t need to go to the rocks in order to be alone. Marc and I shared a tent. That was enough of a commitment for me right now.
Marc had never been as much of a risk taker back in New Orleans. Now that he was stuck in the wilds of limbo, that had changed. Lots of other things had too. Give me a few years and I might be able to figure him out again.
My nerves tangled as he led me onto a path that lay just beyond the largest outcropping of rocks. We’d never been this way before. Sweat dribbled down my neck. I was aware of every single step as my boots crunched against the rocky soil.
He led me down into a hidden enclave. It was cooler than above, as each step took us farther from the surface of the desert.
We found ourselves in a low, rocky clearing. I planted my torch in a holder near the edge.
Marc continued on to a large stone slab at the center. Shadows danced across the hard planes of his cheek and jaw.
The fire caught a dark red wine bottle and two glasses. I blew out a breath. I could do this.
He reached down and withdrew a wrapped black bundle. A grin tickling his lips, he unwound it to reveal a single, red rose. The soft petals were just beginning to open.
I was taken aback by the completely unexpected beauty of it. Nothing grew in the dusty red soil of limbo.
“Happy birthday,” he said, holding it out to me.
Relief and gratitude whooshed over me. My birthday. “It’s not until next month.” I didn’t care.
He shrugged a shoulder, obviously pleased. “I couldn’t wait.”
I brushed my fingers over the delicate petals, smelled the sweet fragrance. I hadn’t seen a flower in eight years, since I’d left home. “How did you get this?”
His eyes shone with pleasure. “It wasn’t as hard as finding this.”
Marc pulled a small red box from his pocket and I froze. It looked just like the box I’d found in his dresser when we worked together at Tulane.
He’d been ready at that time to give me a ring. And then he was kidnapped by the gods, brought down here to fight an eternal war. I’d lost him.
And now?
I was afraid to move, terrified to think.
Please let it be a necklace. I’d love a necklace. I’d wear it everywhere. I’d never take it off. I’d cherish that necklace until I went old and gray.
He stood over me, his expression earnest.
My heart stuttered and I felt my desperation rise as he bent down on one knee and opened the box. It held the simple diamond solitaire from so many years ago.
I squeezed my eyes shut.
“Hey.” He touched my hand. “Look at me.” When I did, I saw the worst thing of all—hope, happiness. His sincere belief that this was a moment he’d want to cherish. I still couldn’t believe this amazing man was kneeling in front of me. “I know I only just found you again, but Petra, I love you. I can’t imagine life without you.” He stood, a smile tickling his lips. “Will you marry me?”
Hell and damnation.
I would have. I should have. But that didn’t matter now.
Yes, he’d been my first love and I’d been overjoyed to find him again, but I’d just found him again.
I wet my lips, realized I was shaking. He’d been gone for ten years. Now we were in the middle of a war. We couldn’t expect it to feel like it used to feel.
Or maybe I was just a complete commitment freak. Marc was a good man. He was smart and considerate and he had that annoyingly beautiful adventurous streak. He came from a warm family, a loving home. And he wanted to re-create that here, as much as we could. I loved him. There was no reason not to want to be with him.
For the rest of my life.
“I can’t.” I said it quickly, before I lost my courage. My head buzzed and it almost felt like someone else saying the words.
He sat back, shocked. “Why?”
I froze as my brain searched frantically for an explanation. There was nothing either one of us could say that would make this right.
God, I wished he would just get up off the ground.
My eyes filled with tears. Marc was loving and strong and smart and, I hiccupped, gorgeous. He was perfect on paper. But that didn’t mean I should marry him.
I owed it to him, and to myself, to take a step back from this. For now, at least.
My fingers trembled as I gripped the stem of the rose, like a lifeline. It snapped in half. “Damn it,” I said, focusing on the broken stem, unable to look at the man in front of me. “I’m sorry,” I said, as if that would somehow make it whole again.
But it was broken.
Pebbles rained down from the ledge above. It took me an extra second to even feel them as they landed on our heads and scattered at our feet.
I wheeled around to see Horace the sprite. He was about half the size of the average man, with golden wings fluttering on his heels and at his shoulders.
“Finally.” He exhaled, planting his tiny combat boots on the stone slab. “Do you know how hard you were to find?”
Marc stood, eyeing Horace. “Not hard enough.” His eyes were guarded, his expression stony.
“Hurry,” the sprite said, ready to take off again. “It can’t wait.”
I tried to wrap my head around whatever Horace wanted. “What’s the matter?”
“Two critical cases,” he said, his pointy ears twitching. “Both stabbed. Most likely poisoned as well.”
I didn’t understand. “Did the attending on call send for us?” They should have been able to handle two casualties.
Marc and I needed to focus on what had just happened. I owed it to him to talk this through, to try to explain why I’d put a bullet in his heart.
Horace shook his head so hard that glitter rained down. “The attending surgeon is unaware. Absolutely no one can know about this.”
It was unheard of. “Why not?”
Horace’s wings trembled as he hovered above us. “It’s Galen.”
chapter two
Cold shock washed over me. “Galen is gone.”
He’d cut all ties. Never mind that I was madly in love with him. I’d never felt for anyone what I’d felt for Galen. He was everything to me. Hell, probably the reason why I couldn’t say yes to Marc.
Once upon a time, I’d been ready to promise Galen anything. And he’d walked away.
Horace frowned. “Not anymore.” The sprite tugged on my sleeve. “Hurry.”
God. Two critical cases. Stabbed. Possibly poisoned.
“Is there something I should know?” Marc asked, studying me.
“There is,” I said, dreading it with every fiber of my being.
“Now!” Horace demanded.
“Right,” I said, as we took off after the darting sprite. Soon. I’d tell Marc soon.
My pulse pounded and my legs felt like rubber. Galen was mortal because of me. He was injured, possibly dying.
Shit.
I couldn’t imagine a world without Galen in it.
Marc stayed with me, next to me, as we cleared the rocks.
Goose bumps skittered up my arms as we dashed into the minefield. We ducked past hulking skeletons of buildings and dodged piles of debris on either side of the path.
>
The last thing we needed was to trip a booby trap. Horace darted in and out of the mess. “What happened?” I called out. “Why is it a secret?” Worry clawed at me. Just what kind of trouble was Galen in?
Horace’s flight trajectory wavered as he glanced back, his face pinched with worry. “I don’t know. He’ll only talk to you.”
“What the hell?” I missed a step and would have gone tumbling to the ground if Marc hadn’t caught me.
Get it together. Galen needed me. That was the only thing that mattered right now.
In a few minutes, I’d be face-to-face with the man I thought I’d love forever. If I made it there in time. I was such a mess.
I didn’t know how I was going to pull this off. Why couldn’t Galen see Marius? Rodger? They’d be more objective, more clinical. They could talk to him without the anticipation, the fear, their heart pounding in their ears.
Galen had insisted I leave his memory behind and that I love again.
My stomach dropped into a large, black hole.
And so I had.
I skirted a beat-up VW bus, my foot catching a trip wire in the dark. Horace screamed as the door flew open. Hickey horns shot out like crazed bats. Half animal, half plant, their spindly bodies writhed and their sucking appendages waved like the legs of two dozen octopi.
One landed hard on my back. Before I could react, Marc swiped it off, knocking it into Horace, who already had two on him.
“Run!” the sprite screeched. “Leave me!”
I started to go, but Marc pulled me back. “What’ll they do to him?”
“He’ll live,” I said, urging Marc to follow. Horace would just look like he’d been making out under the high school bleachers.
We rushed out of the minefield and down through the cemetery to the MASH 3063rd. The low-slung buildings usually comforted me. Now I was acutely aware that every supply hut, tent, and torch post we passed brought me closer to Galen.
I blew out a breath, determined to get a choke hold on my emotions as I headed for the OR, with Marc at my side.
He didn’t know Galen had been my one and only lover besides him. I glanced up at Marc. Now certainly wouldn’t be the time to tell him that.
“Don’t worry,” he said, his breath coming in harsh bursts as we passed the recovery tent and rounded the corner toward surgery. “I’ve got your back.”
God. I’d broken his heart and he still wanted to help me. I was insane for not being able to feel more for this man. Had the war hardened me that much?
Jeffe stood watch at the entrance to pre-op. He wore his guard’s collar and the earrings he’d won from Holly at poker last night. Somebody should tell him modern guys didn’t wear dangly pearls.
“None shall pass,” he thundered. “Except for you, Petra,” he added happily.
No way. “There are two casualties,” I said to the cross-dressing sphinx. “I need Marc in there.”
Jeffe held up a paw. Darned if he didn’t have the matching bracelet. “Galen of Delphi’s orders are—”
Not worth anything if I was going to save his hide. “The handbook says you have to listen to me,” I insisted, thankful for military protocol for once in my life.
Jeffe tilted his head. “You actually read the handbook?”
“Told you I’d get around to it eventually,” I said, starting past the sphinx.
He blocked me, baring a lion’s mouth of teeth and two sets of razor-sharp claws.
Fuck. “Don’t you even think about slicing me with one of those.”
Jeffe’s snarl dropped. “It is just that it is a secret that Galen is even here and I’m not allowed to tell anybody but you and Horace.” He ducked his head around me. “And now he knows.” He gestured at Marc.
Yeah, well, Marc was about to find out a whole lot more. “We don’t have time for this.”
Marc rubbed at his temples. “What if I defeat you?” he asked. “Quick. Ask me a question.”
The sphinx perked up. “What is the nature of man?”
“An easier one,” Marc snapped.
“How hard would it be to strangle a sphinx?” I mused, not really expecting an answer.
“Oh, I know.” Jeffe brightened. “Are you getting married?”
My heart stuck in my throat.
“Not today,” Marc growled, shoving past him.
I followed, wincing.
“What?” Jeffe asked as he let us pass.
“Come on,” Marc said as he pushed open the door to pre-op.
I followed him. “I wish you’d just get mad.” Anger, I could deal with. Guilt was something else.
We stopped at the long sink by the entrance to the OR.
Marc handed me a flat, orange bar of soap. “I’m not going to get mad at you,” he said, scrubbing hard with his own bar. “I’m going to talk to you. Something’s holding you back and I need to know what it is if we’re going to move past it.”
I’d always tried to do the right thing, but these days, I wasn’t sure if I knew what that was anymore.
Anticipation hammered at me and, on its heels, shame like I’d never felt before. I dug the soap against my skin, as if I could scrub myself numb.
Marc was watching me. “This Galen of Delphi. Do you know him?”
In the biblical sense.
“He was a patient of mine before,” I said, not exactly lying. “He stayed in camp and a lot of us got to know him.”
Extremely well.
To the point where every instinct I had screamed at me to rush to Galen, to see how badly he was hurt.
But we didn’t have that luxury. He needed me to keep it together. For years, I’d prided myself on my cool detachment. Galen seemed to be the only one who could strip me of it in an instant.
Marc watched me, worry sharpening his features.
When he spoke, his tone was even, well thought out. “Let me handle this one. We’ll tell this Galen that you can’t treat him.”
The last thing I needed was Marc protecting me from Galen. “Thanks, but I’ve got it.”
He didn’t respond, but he watched me ominously, as if he could sense a threat.
He was right.
Without nurses, we helped each other into our gowns and masks before hurrying out into the OR.
Galen stood against my table, bloody and bruised. His expression was hard, his black special ops uniform torn, exposing a muscular shoulder.
Despite the dirt and the gore, he was strikingly beautiful.
I knew his strength and his power. I’d seen the scars slicing over his chest and abs, the old ones white against his deeply tanned skin, the new scars pink and raw. Once upon a time, I’d been the one to comfort him, to touch him.
He was fighting for every breath, most likely battling poison, as he cradled a gorgeous woman. She might as well have been naked as she swooned all over him in a minuscule bikini top that did nothing to hide her thrusting nipples. He had one hand wrapped around her bare midriff, the other tangled in the gauzy skirt that was cut all the way up to the vee between her legs.
I couldn’t have been more shocked if he’d started fucking her right then and there. “Who the hell is she?”
His eyes caught mine. “Her name is Leta.”
I didn’t realize I’d spoken out loud.
He was close to passing out, but he clung to her as if he’d never held anything more precious.
“I need you to save her,” he said, almost desperate.
My pulse pounded in my ears. “I will,” I promised automatically. It was the only thing I could do.
chapter three
“Help me get her on my table,” I said, as Marc and I pried the woman from Galen’s arms.
His impossibly blue eyes locked with mine. Naked excitement rushed through me. I could see the love there, the longing.
Get a grip.
Most likely, it was for her now.
“Well, good thing I brought a friend,” I remarked as I adjusted the large silver light over my table.
“Petra,” Galen began, as if he too hadn’t expected the raw shock of being together again.
“What happened?” I asked, schooling myself, assessing her condition. One thing was certain—she wasn’t regular army.
His expression hardened. “We were attacked crossing the lines. Short daggers and three-headed hounds.”
Marc joined me. “She’s got a bite on her neck.”
I glanced back at Galen. “He’s about to fall over.”
Galen grimaced against the pain. “I took a few hits. It wouldn’t have been anything if I were still immortal.”
I examined the gash on his arm. “Yes, well, it could kill you now.”
His eyes blazed at me, bloodshot and hard. “Save her, Petra.”
“We need to give you a shot,” I said, tamping down my emotions, finding the syringe in my cart.
Galen gripped my shoulders as he struggled to stay upright. I staggered sideways under his weight. “Let him do it. You said you’d save her!”
“Fine,” I ground out, as Marc took hold of Galen, steadying him.
“Punctured carotid,” Marc said, as if he couldn’t quite believe we were switching places. Me either.
Since when did patients dictate treatment? They hadn’t, until Galen of Delphi came along. His years in special ops had made him way too used to giving orders.
And my weak heart made me listen.
Marc half lifted, half shoved Galen as he collapsed onto the table.
Hades. We’d gotten here just in time.
The poison was tearing through his system, eating away at his vital organs. And he was right—this time, he wasn’t immortal.
Marc worked with quiet efficiency.
It drove me crazy that I couldn’t control this, that I couldn’t help him.
I took stock of the woman on my table.
“My name is Dr. Robichaud. You’re safe with me.” I didn’t even know if she’d heard me. Her almond eyes were wide, her olive skin pale.
Her neck showed round, biting scars along with fresh puncture wounds. She’d been shackled with some sort of collar that drove spikes into her flesh. She had to be a shifter. Kept against her will.