Abandon The Night (27 page)

Quent offered to take the first watch, but after some discussion, they agreed that there was no need for a guard. The
gangas
couldn’t sneak up on them, for even if they managed to find their hiding place, the moans would betray their presence soon enough. An arsenal of bottle bombs would chase them away should they come close enough, and predatory animals couldn’t make it through the closed front door or intact windows on the ground floor.

Nevertheless, Quent settled himself near one of the floor-length windows where he could keep watch as he lay on his pallet. Despite his plan to stay awake, or at least alert, he must have dozed off because something caused him to waken.

Not the sudden jolting of coming to consciousness, but a gentle, slow awareness. A spiderweb brushed his face or some insect, and he pushed it away. And connected with solid warmth.

He reached for the Taser beneath his pillow and his eyes sprang open, just as he inhaled a breath of cinnamon. And he caught himself, his heart suddenly slamming.

“Am I dreaming?” he murmured, reaching for her, closing his eyes again. “If I am, don’t wake me.”

She eased on top of him, her body aligning with his. One leg slid between his, caressing the inside of his thigh as she held his face in her palms, arching her body over him. Her hair brushed his face, her weight settled low on his belly. Their mouths met, hot and fierce at first, then eased into a long, languorous kiss.

Desire rolled through him like a barrel downhill, fast and crazy. His breath stole away, lost in the rush of soft lips and the slick, deep tangle of tongues, the gentle click of teeth and the welcome feel of her warm curves against his.

His eyes closed and he concentrated on her taste, the length of her waist and hip, the curve of her arse as he rode his hand up over her trousers and settled her against his cock, straining beneath the thin blanket. And then he suddenly remembered where he was.

And that only a few meters away, Fence and Theo slept in the darkness.

Quent froze, his eyes springing open, and he pulled his mouth away from Zoë’s delicious one. “Hold on,” he managed to breathe into her ear, even as he sampled the warm skin beneath her lobe. But she wriggled her crotch more heavily against his, and he had to draw in a deep gust of air as his own body responded with a great big
Who the fuck cares?

Her hands had moved beneath the shirt he still wore, slender, calloused and confident, and her mouth nibbled at the edge of his jaw and down to his neck. He couldn’t find it in himself to release her hips and shift her
off
him, where she belonged…the pressure, the grinding pressure, felt too damn good.

Instead, he concentrated on remaining silent, on holding back the rough breathing, the gut-deep groan when she reached between them and tugged his shorts halfway down his thighs. His cock shifted free and ready, and the next thing he knew, she was shimmying out of her own trousers.

Oh, luv.
He had the presence of mind to glance over at the two lumps that were Theo and Fence, presumably sleeping. He hoped they were sleeping.

But for the life of him, he didn’t care at this point, especially when he felt Zoë lift up, and her sleek, hot channel slide down over him.
Yes.
Quent closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, and just managed not to let go right then, even when she plastered herself torso to torso with him and began to shift her hips. Slowly. Cockteasing in a most delightful way.

Fogged with lust, he grabbed blindly for the blanket she’d discarded and managed to tug it over the top of them, just in case someone got curious about the rustling noises.

And then he dragged her against him for a deep, serious kiss. She moved her hips slowly, and he felt her smiling against his mouth when he tried to speed things up. Zoë shook her head against his, murmuring into his ear, “not so fast, genius,” and settled back down against him, holding steady while he tried to collect the pieces of his brain. But they were scattered and all he knew was the warmth of her skin against his, damp and hot, and the smooth rise and slide of her hips above him.

She held him off, keeping the rhythm slow and long, with great pauses in between whenever he felt like he might start to rise close enough, and then a sudden fast stroke, down and hard, taking him by surprise and nearly forcing a groan of desperation. He saw the curve of her cheek—the woman was smiling as she fought him silently, sending his eyeballs rolling back as he tried to keep quiet and at the same time, let loose…and just when he thought he’d give it all up and slam her onto her back, sleeping companions or no, she gave in. The long easy strokes became faster and more serious, and he was able to rise and meet hers the way he needed to…on and on until he lost track of where he was.

Zoë gave a soft gasp in his ear, deep and husky, and as she pulsed against him, that was the last barrier. Quent’s restraint shattered and he slammed up inside her one last time, holding her hips in place, his body taut with relief.

She sagged down on top of him, their bodies half clothed, moist and warm, tangled together. Panting, Zoë smiled into his throat, smoothing her hand over his chest and trembling belly as though she owned him.

She did. Oh, she did.

“What the hell took you so long to leave?” she demanded softly in his ear.

“Leave?” Quent gathered his wispy thoughts together, one arm curled around Zoë, the other splayed lifelessly above his head.
Bugger it.
His toes still curled, his vision blurred, his body lay empty and loose. “What?”

“Leave Envy,” she said, her lips brushing against the shell of his ear. “I’ve been watching for a damned week. Waiting for you to get your ass going.”

“Why?” he murmured back, smoothing his hand up along her spine to the curve of her shoulders, then down over that very fine arse.

She shrugged against him. “I thought you’d be sharing your room with Marley.”

He stiffened, and not in a good way. “I’m not screwing Marley.”

“No shit,” she snapped tightly. “But you’d be hiding her in your room. You promised to keep her safe, didn’t you? I didn’t want a damned audience.”

Quent closed his eyes. “But I wasn’t. So you tortured me for a week by staying away because you thought she was in my room?”

“Torture?”

Damn her, she sounded much too pleased with herself. “No, you’re right,” he said, kissing the soft skin in front of her ear. “That wasn’t torture. Tonight…that was torture. With a fine ending.” Except that…
hell
. He’d neglected even the most rudimentary of protection again.
Fuck.

He glanced over at the human lumps outlined by the faint moonlight. They were either still sleeping, or being very polite. Since one of them was Fence, who didn’t have a prudent bone in his body, Quent assumed the former.

He returned his focused to Zoë. “You could be pregnant.”

“I’m not,” she said. She pulled away and straightened her tank top, pulling it down to obscure those tight, perky breasts. And then she began to fasten up her cargo pants.

“After tonight, you could be. What would you do?”

She looked at him. “I’d tell you.”

Despite the fact that she was dressing, pulling away from him, her words were a balm. He believed her. “I’d want to know.”

“I know that.” She held his eyes for a moment, there in the dim light, and he believed her.
A baby? With rubbish-mouthed Zoë?
His mouth ticked into a little smile.

“Thank you for the weapon,” Quent said, sitting up. The blanket fell away from his chest, and he noticed that her attention seemed to snag on his bare shoulders. “It’s bloody brilliant.”

He could make out the curve of her smile in the dark. “Damn right.”

He reached to touch her arm, and when his fingers brushed it, she winced. And he felt something rough and sticky. “What’s that?” he said, barely remembering to remain low-voiced. “Are you hurt?” Without waiting for an answer, he tugged her toward him, where a pool of moonlight glowed on the floor.

Though it was dim, he could clearly see a wide, dark patch on her bicep. “What happened?” The blood was dry, but still crusty and the way she caught her breath when he gently probed told him it was fairly fresh.

“Had a little tangle with a bounty hunter,” she said. “It’s fine.”

“What happened in this little tangle, exactly?”

“Be quiet, you’ll wake them,” she whispered.

“Fuck that. What bounty hunter? Marck?” He hadn’t let go of her arm, though she tugged at it.

“A guy named Seattle. He thought he was going to catch me, but I gave him the slip.”

“There’s a bounty hunter after you?” Quent’s heart thudded. As far as he knew, the Marcks hadn’t ever been tracking Zoë.
As far as he knew.
Of course, he didn’t know bloody much about her, did he? “How long has he been after you?”

“I don’t fucking know. I didn’t ask,” she said, clearly finished with the topic. But that didn’t mean he was.

“You’re staying with me,” he told her. White fear shuttled through him.
Gangas
were one thing, but being tracked by smart, gun-toting, daylight traveling bounty hunters was another. “It’s too dangerous.”

Zoë made an annoyed sound and pulled back. But he didn’t release her. “Let go.” She sounded wary, and her voice was too loud.

“You’re staying with me.”

“What the fuck? Do you think you’re my father?”

“No, I’m your
lover
. Or hadn’t you noticed?” He spoke from between gritted teeth. Someone shifted across the room, but he didn’t care. Didn’t she fucking understand? It was dangerous. This world was goddamned dangerous, and at any moment, she could be trapped or captured or torn apart.

Of course she didn’t understand. She’d made him a fucking special weapon to use when he went in after his father—a bon voyage gift for a mission that would most likely result in his own demise.
Good luck, genius. Have fun storming the castle!

The sweep of a chill washed over him. Didn’t she worry about him? Didn’t she care? Why wasn’t she begging him not to go?

Or was this all really just a lot of great sex? Spiced with a bit of intrigue, her sneaky comings and goings? Was that the attraction? The danger?

“Zoë,” he began, knowing at that moment, the whole situation blinding in its clarity, that if he never saw her again, he’d be lost. “I don’t want anything—”

“If you don’t fucking let me go right now, I’m going to scream.”

What the hell was the point? He let go, and had a malicious little twinge that she had to catch herself because she’d been tugging so hard.

“Nice way to blow a perfectly good afterglow,” she said, crossing her arms over her middle, unobtrusively rubbing the one he’d gripped.

Quent didn’t trust himself to say anything, for he knew it would come out…unpleasantly. To say the goddamn least. “So where are you off to now?” he managed from between numb lips.

She seemed to catch herself, then replied, “Wherever.”

Where the fuck ever.

He felt the weight of her eyes settle on him, then whisk away. He fought for something to say, something that would come out right—not too pathetic, not too overbearing. But for once, words, tact, diplomacy failed him.

It was as if she’d sneaked out of his room all over again—that same hollow feeling. The feeling grew deeper, gouging his innards, as she pulled to her feet.

“Good luck, Quent.”

She might as well have been saying good-bye. He fought the urge to drag her back down next to him. He refused to debase himself any further. And why pursue something that could be moot anyway?

He figured there was an eighty percent chance he’d never make it back out of Mecca. So he said, “Be safe, Zoë. Stay away from those bounty hunters. They’re not as friendly as I am.” He forced a little laugh and watched as she straightened and walked away, melting into the shadows.

Just as she disappeared, he glanced out the window and saw that the sun had started to light the sky.

And so began his day of reckoning.

That went well,
Zoë thought to herself as she climbed silently down the rope ladder. Her lips, which only a short time ago had been swollen from kisses, now felt tight and hard. Her belly churned and she tried to dismiss her memory of Quent’s expression.

He’d thank her in the end.

She wasn’t playing a damned melodramatic martyr. That wasn’t what this was about, leaving Quent for his own good, that sort of thing. Zoë’d read two books where the man did that, and she’d ended up throwing them against the wall—and then giving them to Fang to chew on.

It wasn’t like that.

She wasn’t
leaving
Quent anymore than she’d done in the past. She’d never been with him, and maybe if things had been different they might have been able to build a home like the one she’d grown up in. A twinge in her middle turned into a sharp pain.

But what she could do was give him the gift of freedom. And life.

That was what she intended to do. Hers was already destroyed. His didn’t need to be as well.

Her horse was where she’d left him, a nameless black-splotched mustang who flew like the wind over the terrain. Fast and sure-footed, he’d get her to the meeting place in plenty of time.

And then she could put her plan into action.

3 May 2011

7:00 P.M
.

I suspect that the baby will come tonight or tomorrow. I haven’t said much to Devi for I don’t wish to worry him after what happened with Marie, but I’m certain I’m having contractions. They seem to be fairly regular and growing more painful as the hours go by.

There was another one. A bit stronger this time. Perhaps I had best put this journal away and tell my beloved doctor to prepare to bring his child into the world.

There are no zombies out tonight. It would be a good night to be born.

—from the diary of Mangala Kapoor

Quent’s first sight of Mecca came filtered from between thick trees and the rise of low hills. His first impression of the place was that, from a distance, everything was white. Clean and pure.