A Perfect Darkness (24 page)

She heard him pulling on his pants behind her. “Lucas is awake,” she went on, trying not to listen.

Eric walked into the kitchen as she took out two bottles of water and turned to find him too close. He didn't look exactly embarrassed, but possibly a bit chagrined. “How is he?”

“I think he's going to be all right. Come see.”

He was asleep again, his head cocked to an angle on the pillow Amy had set behind him. “Lucas,” she whispered.

He didn't answer. She could see a difference in his expression now; he wasn't out, just asleep. He looked content. Secure. She set the bottles on the nightstand and forced herself to turn to Eric. “I'll see you in the morning. Maybe he'll really be up then.”

“Look—”

“Don't.” She shook her head. “Don't worry about it. Good night.”

He left, closing the door behind him. Amy pressed her fingers against her eyelids. Oversexed Offspring males. She took in Lucas. It sounded like he was ramped up sexually, too. Her mouth quirked. She hoped so.

After stripping bare, she lay against him. He rolled to his side and pulled her close, as naturally as though they'd been sharing a bed for years. Something swirled
inside her, curling like smoke through her veins. How long had it been since she'd been held? Physically held? Long, long years filled with lonely months and weeks and days and hours of a yearning she'd buried deep inside her.

No more.

She pressed her cheek against his arm and, with a smile, drifted off to sleep.

 

Petra waited for the guard to walk past the room and turn the corner. She counted to three and opened the door. She was most exposed here, not knowing if anyone was within sight or whether someone would come from either end of the hall. The fluorescent lights washed everything in a harsh glare.

She saw no one. Except for distant footsteps, she heard no one. She crept out and reached for the pin, then ran toward the last office and tried the lock again. She heard someone breathing in the next hallway. Footsteps growing farther away, but another set coming closer. She jammed the pin into the lock as Eric had shown her. This was no flimsy lock. The man had something to hide. She looked through the open blinds in the window. File cabinets. They probably contained information about them. About her mom. About what they'd injected into Lucas.

Footsteps came closer. She spun around and ran back to the room. As she reached the door, a shadow fell at the end of the hall. She flung herself into the room and closed the door. At least she had the pin, this time tucked in her back pocket. She had to figure out how to get out of this place. She walked to the cabinet of medicines, wondering if there were any knockout
drugs she could slip into their coffee machine. Except the cabinet was locked.

She heard voices: two men. She guessed there were rooms on the other side of the wall, in the hallway where Eric had set the fire.

“Are you telling me that that son of a bitch can start fires psychically?” It sounded like the man who'd walked out with the woman earlier.

An older man said, “You may be capable of the same thing.” Darkwell, the man everyone was intimidated by. She'd heard his thunderous voice demanding answers earlier. “What you can do now is just the tip of the iceberg.”

“No, shit…ah, sir. When can I learn that kind of thing?”

Darkwell chuckled. “I like your enthusiasm. As soon as we find the Rogues, you can practice on them.”

Petra shivered.

Their voices got fainter. She heard a door close and strained to hear them again.

Darkwell said, “I'm going to try something that was effective for the prisoner: sensory deprivation. Depriving your senses actually sharpens them, heightening your ability to both locate and remote view.”

“I'm ready. I want to take these guys down.”

Darkwell said, “You can still only see Petra, right?”

“Yes, sir. For some reason she's easy to pull in.”

“That's a start. Let's work on that now.”

He could only see her? Why? Then it hit her: he was going to see her! He'd see the room and figure out where she was. She had to get out of there.

A
my heard a soft tapping noise at the door and lifted her head. She'd been half awake for hours now, keeping her senses tuned to Lucas. She pulled the blanket over her shoulders as the door opened.

Eric peered in. “I'm going to drive out to the asylum so I can stay close in case Petra calls,” he said. He nodded toward Lucas. “How is he?”

“He's been asleep since I returned with the water, but his temperature has stabilized and so has his breathing.”

He nodded. “I'll be back soon. I hope,” he added ominously. “I'm going to pick up some food and supplies, too. Need anything?”

“Can you bring me back some chocolate-covered raisins or cranberries? Preferably cranberries. I'm dying for something to pop in my mouth.”

He choked, which brought on coughing spasms.

“Sorry.” Her cheeks flushed at her faux pas. When he regained his composure, she added, “And a box of Pop-Tarts. Strawberry. No, chocolate. I deserve chocolate. But I should eat fruit, I suppose. And organic yogurt.”

With a salute, he closed the door, leaving her in silence again. She turned on the soft light beside the bed to check Lucas. He was in deep REM sleep. His mouth moved slightly and his jaw clenched. It wasn't a pleasant dream. She had watched dogs and cats dreaming at the animal shelter, their paws and mouths flexing as they chased mice or ran away from abusive owners.

Lucas jerked his head to the right, his body rigid. His eyes blinked beneath his lids as though flashbulbs were going off. Sweat beaded on his upper lip. He grunted as though someone had punched him in the stomach. She touched him, trying to gently bring him out. He pushed at her, caught in the grip of a nightmare. She grabbed his arms and tried to still them as he thrashed.

“Lucas. Wake up.”

He gripped her wrist as he came to a sitting position, his eyes wide as he breathed in gasps. The sudden movement sent her backward onto the bed. She scrambled up beside him. “Lucas, it's okay.”

He continued to stare ahead, still caught in the dream or somewhere in the confusion between that and reality. He swung his gaze toward her.

“Lucas, it's all right. You're in the tomb, remember?”

He didn't. He looked around the room before coming back to her. He ran his hand down his flushed face, rubbed his eyes, then looked at her again.

She smiled. “Hi.” The word came out soft and shy.

His gaze swept down her, and she remembered that she was naked. He then looked down at himself. Oddly, she felt a bit awkward. They'd never been naked in reality before.

“You had a fever when we rescued you. And you were…well, nearly naked, soaking in a tub to cool you down. I kept cool cloths on you through the night. Then you broke the fever and were cold.” She pulled the sheet over her, feeling really, really naked now. “I gave you my body heat.”

He touched her face, and she automatically leaned into his hand.

His voice was raspy. “You're real. You're here.”

“It's not a dream.” She reached across him for the bottle of water on the nightstand. “Here, drink.” She watched his throat convulse as he gulped the water. “Not too fast.”

He wiped his hand across his mouth, took a breath, then finished the water.

She set the empty bottle on the stand. “Want more?”

“I'm fine for now.” He looked at her in disbelief. “You said you weren't trying to rescue me. You promised you weren't.”

She nodded. “I didn't want to worry you.”

“Eric? Petra? Are they all right?”

She didn't want him to worry about Petra, not yet. She didn't exactly lie. “They're both out right now.”

He was grappling with it all, she could see: her lie, that they had risked their lives for him.

“Lucas, we weren't leaving you there, so don't waste your energy being angry about it.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I didn't want you involved like this.”

“But I'm an Offspring. How can I not be part of it?” She scooted closer, her sheet falling away. “We're in this together. All of us. And you and I…God, Lucas,
how could I leave you there to die?” She brushed her fingers through his hair. It was almost curly, probably because it hadn't been washed in a few days. “So don't you dare tell me I shouldn't have rescued you. Don't you tell me I should have just forgotten you, forgotten everything we shared. You brought me to life. In those dreams, you made me breathe again and feel things I'd never felt. You saved me from being raped and God knows what else.”

His mouth tightened at the passion in her words. “You know about that.”

“I found your sketch. I wanted to know the man who knew me so well.” She shrugged. “I snooped.”

“Only fair. It's been a bit one-sided all these years.”

She touched his scar. “You did that for me. Getting your ass out of that horrible place was the least I could do.” She smiled, trying to lighten the mood.

He reached toward her neck and touched the cross pendant.

“You lost it at my apartment that night…” It seemed a lifetime ago. “I got it fixed. Here.” She raised her arms to unclasp it, but he stilled her.

“Keep it.” He pressed his finger against the cross. “It looks right there.”

He cupped her face in his hands and rubbed his thumb across her lower lip. “I am furious with you, Amy, because you could have gotten killed or captured trying to save me. And I don't know what they put into me, what it's going to do.”

That sent fear through her. “But you're all right. You're here, awake…you.”

His smile was faint. “Me, but different. It's like I'm…bent. Inside.” He leaned forward, pressing his
forehead against hers. “I don't want to talk about that right now. I just want to feel you here with me.”

She took his hand and turned it so she could kiss his palm, all the while looking into the eyes of the man who had captured her heart. She wouldn't believe that he was bent inside, or if he was, that he couldn't be healed with her love.

“I keep thinking I'm dreaming,” he said.

“I know. I've pinched myself twelve times already.”

He smiled and pulled her close, tracing his fingers along her face as he looked into her eyes. Then he kissed her. Softly at first, as though she might break, and then deeper, deeper, and soon she was spiraling into bliss.

Their hands were touching each other, absorbing. His body heat had returned, but for far different reasons. A different kind of fever. She felt his rigid penis pressed against her stomach as he lay her down on the bed. His gaze took her in, and she knew he didn't see that too-straight body she cursed when she looked in a mirror. He saw someone beautiful, precious, someone he desired. The awe in his eyes filled her heart. People said that something was a dream when it was better than real life. This was better than a dream.

They were both sweaty, and their musky scents blended into one erotic fragrance as their bodies intertwined. Their movements were languid, as though they were under water. There was no hurry now. No impending sound to wake her, no terrible thing to yank him away. They were here, together, always. She wouldn't believe anything else.

He slid into her, and she knew that what she'd felt in the dreams was only a shadow of what real love-
making was. He teased her as he did in their dream encounters, filling her body and soul, moving in and out, kissing her all the while. His eyes were closed, savoring her. She wrapped her legs around him and joined his rhythm. She lost herself in being with him at last, her dream lover.

Her emotions pushed her orgasm to the surface, where it burst. She let out a scream and held tight to him. He kept going, moving in and out, bringing her to a second mind-blowing orgasm. He came seconds later, quietly but no less intensely. He ran his fingers into her hair and tilted his head back and lost himself for a few moments. When he came back, he kissed her again.

As soon as she could breathe, she said, “I love you, Lucas.”

A shadow passed over his features, and he buried his face by her neck. “Don't.”

That word she'd heard before stabbed her. She pulled back to look at him. “I don't care if you're bent inside. Don't try to protect me. I don't want anyone to protect me anymore. Cyrus died trying to protect me. You got captured trying to protect me. I can take care of myself.”

“I don't want to hurt you.”

She planted her hands at her waist. “What, you going to cheat on me?”

He smiled at that, shaking his head. “Never.”

“I saw your sketch. Of you, dead.” She shivered, thinking how close he'd come to that. “But you're safe now.”

“What I saw…it wasn't necessarily me dying in that hospital.” He took a deep, halting breath. “Amy, I don't want to hurt you by leaving you.”

“Too late,” she said, her fear making her words sound like broken glass. “I already love you. Stopping now isn't going to make one bit of difference. And you know what? You do love me. I could feel it in our dreams, even when I couldn't see your face. I can see it now.”

He rubbed his thumb over her chin. “Eric's right. You are a pain in the ass.” He tempered his words with a soft smile. “You seemed so soft and sweet when I first came to your dreams.”

And lonely and inadequate. “I was. That girl is gone now.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Don't be. I like this Amy much better. I'm alive now. I wouldn't trade that for anything.”

She wasn't quite convincing him. A shadow still hovered in his eyes. Was he not telling her something? Then she remembered Cyrus's words about the Ultras:
They're likely to become psychologically unstable.
Was that what Lucas meant when he said he was bent? She didn't want to think about that.

“Let's get a shower,” he said, giving her a quick kiss.

He was still shaky as he got out of bed. He looked gorgeous, even after all he'd been through. She suspected that he hadn't eaten much, though; he looked too thin.

“Did they feed you?” she asked.

“I don't want to talk about that place.”

She felt that shadow inside her. What had happened to him? Why wouldn't he share it with her?

He reached for the doorknob but paused. Turned back to her. Held out his hand. She took it, and they walked into the bathroom.

 

With heartbeat thudding, Petra crept to the door and listened. Footsteps came down the hallway. Closer. She shrank back beneath the desk. Eventually someone would come in and use this desk and she'd be discovered. Was this the person? She held her breath as the footsteps stopped outside the door. A doorknob turned. She expected to see light from the hallway flood in. Nothing.

A door opened. Not the door for her room but the one across the way. Releasing that breath, she listened. The person shuffled papers, and then a few minutes later she heard the keys on a phone beep. “Hello, this is Sam Robbins. I need someone to come out as soon as possible and fix a fence. A car accidentally ran through it…Ten feet high…Asphalt…Monday morning? Is that the earliest you can get out?…Uh-huh, I see…Your truck will definitely be repaired by then?…All right.” He gave the man directions and hung up.

A few minutes later more footsteps came down the hallway, and Petra shot back into panic mode again. She had to get out of there. The stress was eating at her, and speaking of eating…she was surprised they hadn't heard her stomach growling. Any minute now the enemy Offspring was going to remote view her, and
wham
, they'd find her. She kept trying to imagine a shield all around her, as she'd imagined that ball kicking him out before. So far she hadn't gotten that eerie feeling.

Again footsteps slowed just outside her door.
Please, please, go on.

Darkwell's voice. “Are we getting the fence fixed today?”

Robbins said, “Monday's the best we can do. The only company that answered was Calistoga Fence. The man promised they'd be out in the morning.”

Darkwell made a disapproving grunt. “The guards will make sure no one gets through, but I want it fixed as soon as possible.”

“You don't think they'll come back, do you?” Robbins asked, an undercurrent of fear in his voice. He was afraid of them.

“They got what they came for. Lucas could be a problem; fortunately, he won't live long. I've got my star Offspring working on locating them. It'll be over soon.”

She was still caught on his words about Lucas not living long. What had they done to him? Even more frightening, that man would do the same to her if he caught her.

Have to get out.

She got the first inkling of the
feeling
. It tingled along her skin. She closed her eyes and concentrated on pushing him out. The tingling subsided for a few moments but came back again. She pushed. How long could she hold him off?

I've got to get out of here. Oh, God, I'm wigging out. I am totally wigging out.
The air got thicker, harder to get into her lungs.

The older man said, “Let's get started with the other prisoner. I don't think he's as talented as Lucas, but he's all we have right now. What did you find out about him?”

Robbins said, “He's got a grandmother who raised him, lives in Baltimore. He sends her money every week.”

“Good, an attachment.”

She felt the tingling again. This time it was more of a struggle to push him out, as though she were pushing against a huge balloon.

Wigging out. No, not wigging out. Can't wig out. If I wig, they'll catch me, so stop using the word wig, Petra.

And stop talking to yourself.

The two men's footsteps and voices faded as they moved away. She had to move herself, and made a quick call to Eric. “I'm getting out of here,” she whispered, and disconnected.