Burning Darkness (20 page)

Her words and agony grabbed Fonda’s heart as painfully as Westerfield could. She hadn’t even realized she’d walked closer to Eric. He was curled up on his side, fingers in tight fists, eyes squeezed shut. His breaths were shallow and rapid.

“I won’t,” she whispered.

The sound of tires on gravel snapped up her head. “Magnus is here. I’ve got to go. I’ll keep in touch.”

She disconnected and broke out of the woods in a run, her gaze going to both brothers getting out of a newer truck. Magnus carried a small box.

She rushed over to meet him. “He’s over there. Come.”

Lachlan followed at a short distance. “What’s his state of mind? I don’t want him burning me up.”

“He told me to stay away from him. He didn’t want me hurt. But now he’s out of it.”

Magnus lifted the box. “We’d better give this to him while we can.”

“I can do it if you want to stay at a safe distance,” Fonda said. “I’ve never given an injection but I’ve seen people do it.”

“Let her do it,” Lachlan said, remaining several yards back. “If she wants to risk her life for him, fine. We’ve lost enough because of these people.”

Magnus turned to him, his expression hard. “We lost our father because of our father. He was the one who introduced this to innocent people, whether on purpose or not. He kept ingesting it without knowing what it really was. Blaming is not going to solve anything.” He faced forward and kept walking. “I’ll do it. If he starts thrashing, you’ll need muscle power to hold him down.”

That thought was startling.

Eric was still on his side. Magnus knelt down beside him and took out the syringe. Those had only represented evil to her, or just plain pain when given in a doctor’s office. Now it could be Eric’s salvation.

Or not.

Would Eric be as bitter as Lucas or Lachlan seemed to be? Would he hate her for disobeying his orders to let him die alone? None of that mattered as much as the worry that this antidote might do him more harm than good. She put her hands on Eric’s shoulder as Magnus injected the bluish fluid into his vein. Eric’s heat made her palms sweat within seconds. He contorted, his eyes fluttering open, his body tensing. He grabbed her arm and squeezed hard, not realizing what he was doing. Magnus tried to pry his fingers off her but she shook her head. “It’s okay.”

The pain felt good but for a different reason: it drowned out the pain inside.

Eric took a sharp breath, like when Westerfield had him at the flea market.

“Is this normal?” she asked, never taking her eyes off Eric.

“There is no normal. Lachlan did his fair share of this, though, and then he slept for twenty-four hours. It was touch and go during that time. He would burn up, then be cold, then scream out as though someone was tearing out his soul. Then fall into something deeper than sleep. When he woke, he was fine.”

“Except for my abilities being gone,” Lachlan added.

She flicked a glance at him, though her gaze went back to Eric. “You guys are so worried about losing your freaking abilities, like they’re part of your identity or manhood. Would you rather have died?”

“As a matter of fact, I would have,” Lachlan said.

Eric’s body went lax. She put her ear next to his chest and listened.
Please, be there.

Yes, a heartbeat.

“Lachlan,” Magnus said, “help me carry him to the truck.”

Would Eric rather die than lose his abilities? She had to hope he had more to live for than that. His people. His sister, who loved him so much.

Not her, of course.

The men lifted Eric up with a groan of effort. She put her hands on his back to lend support. His shirt was soaked and his body still super heated. Heat meant alive, though.

They laid him in the back of their truck. Magnus, she presumed, had thoughtfully laid out a sleeping bag on the bed’s surface. She climbed in next to Eric.

Magnus said, “Stay low. We don’t want to attract any unnecessary attention.”

Lachlan got into the truck they’d been using, and Magnus drove his truck. She stretched out beside Eric, her face at his neck, and breathed him in, earth, the musky scent of hot sweat. She slid her finger up to the pulse point under his jaw and counted his heartbeats.

F
onda looked at the clock in the guest bedroom for the hundredth time. If this lasted twenty-four hours, there were twenty more agonizing ones to go.
If
this antidote worked the same as the others.

A big if.

She had let the Rogues know when they reached the compound but didn’t tell them it was a different formula. No need to worry them yet. She’d take that on herself.

She sat by the bed and kept dabbing a cold washcloth over Eric’s body. She had stripped off his clothes, telling herself he wasn’t modest. Besides, he didn’t like sleeping in clothing, and he was going to be sleeping for a long time. The sheet covered his pelvis area, but the rest of him was exposed to the cool air in the room. Amy had told her that’s what she’d done when Lucas went through the same thing.

Eric hadn’t moved, not so much as a flicker under his eyelids. Not a moan or an exhalation. He was as still as stone, except for the gentle rise and fall of his chest and for his pulse, which she kept checking.

The room was sparse, clean, done in light earth colors with a king-sized bed in the center and a dresser along one wall. A large window let in the sun and the bright greenery outside. She hardly looked at it.

Magnus appeared at the open doorway. “How’s he doing?”

“No change. I don’t know whether that’s good or not.” She hoped he would provide a clue. He must have watched Lachlan; he had endured this, too, though he probably didn’t remember much.

He stepped inside and passed his hand a few inches above Eric’s body. “Still burning up. Lachlan’s temperature swung back and forth, so when Eric starts to shiver and get chill bumps, cover him and push up the thermostat. Like someone with a flu fever, you need to keep his body temperature as even as possible. He’ll likely thrash around, so be careful as he’ll have no idea what he’s doing, and you could get hurt.”

Lachlan hovered in the doorway.

In a hard voice, Fonda said, “He hasn’t died yet.” She didn’t want Lachlan’s negative energy impacting Eric’s healing.

“I don’t want him to die. I just want him to lose his abilities, is all.” He smiled. “Just because he’s such an arrogant son of a bitch.”

“Get out.”

He raised a thick eyebrow at her. “You’re telling me what to do in my own home? And you the guest, an uninvited one at that?”

“Lachlan, please,” Magnus said, not even looking at him. “They are invited, by me.”

Fonda looked at Magnus. “The antidote you gave to Eric. Why didn’t your father use that one on you? What made him develop it further?”

Lachlan answered with a smug smile. “The mouse went into convulsions and died.”

Her gaze flew back to Magnus. “Is that true? You gave
that
to Eric?”

Magnus shook his head. “Well, it is true that the mouse died, but we don’t think it was the antidote that killed it, not as a whole. She—my father always called them by gender—had a reaction to an element in the antidote. Two other mice died, and my father went on to develop a different version that didn’t use that exact compound. I don’t know what he changed in it, but he felt the previous version wouldn’t harm humans. Still, he didn’t want to take a chance.”

“But you did. You took a chance by giving it to Eric.”

He met her furious glare with his neutral one. “You called me for help. That was the only help I could give you.”

“I’m grateful—I am. I’m just afraid to lose him.”

Magnus took a few steps back toward the door. “I’ve got a video of my father talking about Blue Moon, how he found it. If you want to watch it . . .”

She was shaking her head. “I don’t want to leave Eric. Later. I’d like to watch it later.”

“All right.” He had a curious frown on his face. “When you were here only two nights ago, you made it very clear that you didn’t think much of Eric. In fact, you seemed angry with him, said he’d killed your boyfriend. Now I see something very different in your eyes as you watch him. I see fear and grief and—”

“I forgave him,” she said, not wanting to hear what else Magnus thought he saw. A lot had changed since they were last here, and it was that scene in the closet that had started it.

He nodded, then turned toward Lachlan. “Forgiveness is a powerful thing. It transforms and transcends. You’d be well served to think on that.” He turned back to her. “I’ll leave you to it, then. Press the button on the intercom system if you need me.”

A moment after he left, Eric’s phone rang. It was plugged in to charge, and she walked over to the dresser to answer it.

“Fonda, it’s Amy. How’s Eric?”

“The same. When you gave Lucas the antidote, did he sweat and not move and then all of a sudden thrash around?”

“Yes, though he didn’t stay asleep for twenty-four hours solid. He was groggy and fell back asleep a few times over the next day.”

“He’s mad at you for giving him the antidote, isn’t he?”

“
Was
mad,” Amy said. “Whatever you said to him earlier softened him. What did you say?”

“Just that I didn’t want Eric to die, and wasn’t it worth doing whatever I could to save him?”

“It is worth it. Eric’s never been keen on the antidote either, but hopefully he’ll understand and get over it. Then again, I am talking about the most stubborn man on earth.” Silence for a moment. “You care about him, don’t you?”

Fonda looked at him and felt something in her heart shift. “He saved my life. I owe him.”

Amy chuckled. “Oh, so that’s the reason.” She didn’t sound convinced, but before Fonda could say more to convince her, Amy said, “Talk to him. I told Lucas how much I loved him, to please come back to me because I needed him. I don’t know whether it helped or not, but I’d like to think it did.”

“I will.”

“Eric wanted me to ask my uncle about anyone else who was in the original program. Cyrus is dead, but I can talk to him when I’m brave enough. He said there were no others in the program besides the ones we know about. So whoever this Westerfield is, he’s something entirely different.”

“Great.”

“Yeah, isn’t it? Keep in touch. We’re so tense around here, a sneeze could blow us apart. First those guys out there and now Eric. We need him—and you—to find out what’s going on. Tell him that. And tell him we love him.”

“I will.”

Fonda disconnected and sat back down next to Eric. She dipped the cloth in the bowl of cool water and wiped it across his brow. “Eric, you’d better come back. In one piece. Mentally.”

That last word struck fear into her. What if he came back but was not wholly himself?

“Magnus seems fine,” she went on. “And it sounds like Lucas and Amy are okay, or at least a little better.” She leaned closer to Eric’s ear. “You’ll be fine, too. Amy sends her love. And Petra. All of them.” She laid her head down next to him as she sat in a chair beside the bed. “You are loved, Eric. And I . . . I need you. Don’t make me do this alone.” She stroked the line of his jaw, willing him to feel it. “I’m scared. There, I admitted it. I’m scared of these people who are hunting us, and of you dying, and I’m scared . . . of never talking to you again. Never kissing you again.”

There was something about seeing a big strong man in a helpless position that reached beneath all her defenses, like smoke creeping under a door.

She started to run the washcloth over his head but stopped and put her hand on his forehead. He wasn’t hot anymore. She pressed her finger against his pulse point. Still beating. Relief washed over her, even though she hadn’t let herself think he was . . .

She dropped the cloth into the bucket and watched him. Just as Magnus had predicted, chill bumps rose on Eric’s skin. Progress. Maybe. She turned the thermostat up to a higher setting, then returned and pulled up the blanket and tucked it over his shoulders, which left her face-to-face with him. Nose-to-nose. She kissed it. Even his nose was cool. His cheeks. His lips.

His mouth moved slightly beneath hers. Just a reflex, but it still sharpened her heartbeat. Maybe he could feel her. She kissed him again, over his face and then on each eye. Her earrings jangled as they brushed against his neck. She’d never kissed a man like this, and it felt odd. She’d never do it if he were awake. It was too . . . she couldn’t even put a word to it, but if she had to find one, it would have been
uncomfortable
.

She smoothed back his hair. He took a deeper breath and turned on his side, in a fetal position. For warmth, she guessed. She slid beneath the blanket, wrapping her arms around him from behind. He wouldn’t remember any of this. Even if on a deep level he felt her or heard her, he wouldn’t consciously remember.

She tucked her chin over his shoulder, molding her body to his. The warmth in the room stole into her senses, drawing her eyes closed. All of her fear and worry had worn her out. Her fingers flexed against his bare chest, kneading him like a cat. Strange, she’d never done that before. Somehow it gave her comfort, maybe the same way it did for a cat. She didn’t want to fall asleep, in case he needed her. But damn, she was so tired.

“Eric, come back,” she whispered against his skin.

His body pressed into her with his every breath. She breathed when he did, in and out, in sync. She drifted into sleep, dreaming of the cold, of waking to find him dead, of being alone in a snow-covered plain. Then the sun came out from behind the clouds, filling her with warmth. The snow melted, and flowers bloomed across the field.

A figure in the distance walked into view, and she watched as he came closer. Eric! She ran toward him, through waist-high grass and flowers. He held out his arms, and she threw herself into them. Strong, big arms wrapped around her. His erection was hard against her thigh, and she pressed closer, wanting to feel all of his body.

Eric, Eric, Eric, you’re here.

His hands slid up beneath her shirt, stroking her back. Finally, a good dream. It amazed her how the dream aroused her physically. Her whole body was alive with energy, flowing through her veins and down to places that throbbed with wanting. She became aware of her body, of the heat and electricity.
Aware. How can I be physically aware if I’m asleep?

I’m not!

Her eyes flew open. Not a dream. Eric was holding her, sliding his hands over her body, and he was still totally, completely out of it. Well, not completely . . .

“Eric,” she whispered, and he kissed her, bracing her face with his hands as he had earlier.

Or . . . Sayre? He’d said that if Sayre came in, his eyes would look blank. Eric’s eyes were still closed, and his body was hot again. The gesture of his holding her face, that was something Eric did. So it was Eric, only Eric.

No one had told her about this possibility. Hot, cold, but not amorous.

The room was dark, which meant it was nighttime. She couldn’t see the clock from her angle.

He felt so good, wrapping her in his arms, kissing her neck and the place beneath her ear. He let out a soft groan and slung his leg over her, pinning her within the bounds of his body. His hands slid down her back, all the way down beneath her pants, each hand nearly covering the whole cheek, and he squeezed. She let out a soft moan.
Touch me.
They slid back up, and one hand threaded up into her hair, anchoring there. The other wrapped around her waist. She was surrounded by his heat, his skin, his scent. Earth, fresh air, and Eric.

“Eric. Wake up.”

How wrong was it to want him even if he was deep asleep? She wanted him. Her body was electric, hot and wet with it. She knew he wanted her when he was conscious. Deep in his unconsciousness, he still wanted her.

Eric, I’ll give you whatever you want. Anything if it might bring you back.

He kissed her neck, across her collarbone, and then pulled up her shirt to kiss her breasts. She helped by pulling off the top and unhooking her bra. She dug her nails into his shoulders, so ready, so on the edge, that even his tongue swirling around her nipple was about to send her over.

She watched his face, waiting for some sign that he was coming out. His hands skimmed down her sides, her hips, under the waistband of her pants. She pushed them down, kicking them off with her feet. His fingers found her.

“Eric,” she whispered.

Still no sign that he was waking up. She gasped as he traced her folds, slick and ready, then dipped his finger into her. Even in his mindless state it was as though he were preparing her for him. How far would this go? How far would she let it go?

He groaned and murmured her name. A sweet sound, because it meant he knew her. He hadn’t lost his mind. She wrapped her legs around his waist, which pressed his hardened penis against her pubic area.

She put her hands on either side of his face. “Eric, we shouldn’t do this . . . Unless it’ll bring you back.”

She did a quick mental calculation, sure she was past the time she could get pregnant. He’d said he always used condoms. Still . . .

Okay, she’d let him take it as far as he wanted, go along for the ride and hope it would bring him out. The feel of him grinding against her, oh hell, she wanted him inside her. She wrapped her fingers around his penis, rubbing the tip of him against her opening. With another groan, he pushed in. Slowly, at first, but she slid down on him. Pleasure far outweighed pain. He stretched her, just like he did in other ways. He filled her in a way she’d never felt before. The pleasure radiated out through her whole body, and she arched to press against him even more.