Heart of Stone (7 page)

He closed his fingers around hers. Her flesh was feverish, her tattoos searing like brands. He could sense her consciousness, still embedded in earth and stone. He squeezed her hand and spoke her name, with his voice, with his mind. “Faith.”

She opened her eyes, and he could tell part of her was yet distant, miles away and buried in the earth. Her singing trembled in the air between them. Faded. Her cloudy eyes slowly cleared to gemlike green, her fingers quivering beneath his.

And the stone glowed as if lit from within, warming their palms with healing power.

“We're taking off,” he murmured. Her skin had taken on a translucence that mirrored the amazonite. He stroked a hand over the spidery tattoos on her hands, watching embers of energy sparkle along the inked lines like an electric current. His body hummed with the echoes of what she had done. Somehow she had jump-started the amazonite like a car battery, and the nearly drained stone throbbed with new, vibrant energy.

The hunk of rock wasn't the only thing throbbing.

She met his gaze, and his spit dried up. Their hearts beat together in the same rising rhythm, blood heating, awareness like a live wire between them. She licked her lips, and he focused on her mouth. The emotions she'd sparked tasted like cinnamon and bourbon, spicy and sweet, woodsy and tangy.

The intercom crackled. “Prepare for takeoff.”

Faith jerked at the pilot's voice, breaking eye contact. She pressed back in her seat, her hands clutching the armrests, and stared out the window. He sensed her defenses slam down. She thought she'd broken their connection.

But her feelings flowed free, like warm water beneath ice. The attraction he'd been fighting had flared flame bright between them, touching an answering fire in her. She'd felt the chemistry between them just as he had, and knowing it existed forged a bond neither had sought. Five years ago, he might have acted on the passion that flickered between them. But now he knew that wasn't possible, not for him.

He closed his eyes and opened himself to the healing power of the newly charged stone.

*   *   *

They called him Azotay, those who dared speak of him. The name meant “whip's lash,” and it pleased him, for it summed up his existence nicely. He was the weapon of Jain Criten, a stinging and sometimes deadly reminder that Criten's will would be done no matter what the cost. As he regarded the two soldiers cowering before him in his spacious office at the Mendukati camp, he pondered their fates.

“Tell me again,” he said, “why you failed to recover the Stone Singer.”

“We were ambushed,” stammered the one called Erok. The youth tended to emphasize his own importance in a loud and frequent manner, but had seemed competent enough—at first.

“Explain,” Azotay said. The young pup had bungled badly, but Azotay did not betray his growing ire in either voice or body. Control of oneself was a path to power too often overlooked by most.

“It was Seers,” the whelp spluttered. “They did something to Corinne.”

Azotay glanced at the female. She'd serviced him with great enthusiasm his first night here with the Western unit. He knew well that most of her hunger had stemmed from who he was more than physical attraction, which pleased him. He stroked a hand over the carefully groomed stubble that couldn't quite hide the thick scar beneath his jawline. They'd both found release and had gone their separate ways, satisfied.

But this … The whimpering creature with matted hair and broken nails crouching on the floor, rocking back and forth with her arms wrapped around her bent knees, bore no resemblance to the sexually adventurous wildcat who'd left bite marks on his thigh.

He walked over to her and lifted her chin, peering into her wild eyes despite her futile struggles to smack him away. He speared both hands into her hair. “How many?” When no one answered, he turned his gaze on the cowering cub. “I said, ‘how many?'”

The young man startled, paling. “Sorry, sir. I thought you were talking to Corinne.”

“Hardly.” With a quick twist, Azotay snapped the female's neck. She crumpled into a heap. Azotay spared her a glance, one second of regret for the waste of future raunchy sex that would never come to pass, then signaled to one of his guards to remove the body. When he turned back, the runt was, literally, shaking.

Azotay smiled, wondering if the kid would piss himself before the night was through. “Now,” he said. “You were telling me about an ambush.”

 

CHAPTER THREE

Darius hadn't said a word the rest of the flight, not when they were in the air and not when they'd climbed into the chauffeured black SUV that picked them up at the airport.

Maybe it was better that way. After she'd charged his healing stone, Faith had sunk into a light doze, recharging her own energies. She couldn't imagine what waited for her at the other end of this journey, but the money and the opportunity to finally escape the Mendukati could not be denied. Besides, Ben trusted these men, so she would go along with it. Unless they proved themselves untrustworthy.

She hoped that day would never come.

The SUV wound its way upward, the mesas of Sedona masked by the inky night, mere hulking shadows against the stars. Around them pine trees stretched to the skies, at times hiding the heavens from view. They turned left into a well-concealed driveway, passing a pair of stone pillars as they continued up the mountain. The road curved right, and suddenly iron gates blocked further progress. Their driver stopped, lowered the window, and reached through to hit a button on the speaker box outside.

“Yes?” came a disembodied voice.

“Darius Montana,” the driver replied.

The gates rolled slowly, silently, open.

Faith tensed as they passed through the portals, her stomach sinking as if she were entering somewhere from which she would never return. She glanced back over her shoulder and watched the massive gates close behind them.

“Don't worry,” Adrian said from beside her in the backseat. “Everything's going to be fine.”

She gave a rough laugh. “Then why do I feel like the fly walking into the spider's parlor?”

The Warrior's teeth flashed white in the darkness. “Could be worse.”

“Says you.” She caught her first glimpse of the house, well-lit from the tall lamps around the circular driveway. “Wow.”

The place was enormous, with what looked like a multi-car garage and a fountain that ran even this late in the day, clever lighting changing the water's color from blue to pink to green like something out of a Disney movie. The luxury of a running fountain existing here in the desert spoke of the family's wealth and status, but the house's many windows blazed with warm welcome.

The SUV pulled up in front of the door, which immediately opened. A middle-aged Hispanic woman wearing jeans and a simple, short-sleeved pink blouse stepped out, pushing a wheelchair. She wheeled it down what appeared to be a ramp cleverly concealed by shrubbery, and stopped at the edge of the driveway. As soon as the vehicle stopped moving, Adrian was out and moving to open Darius's door.

“Darius, come on. You're home, pal.” He shook Darius's shoulder.

“What…?” Darius stretched his legs and hissed in obvious pain. “Aw, hell.”

“I've got you. Can you get out of the seat belt?”

“Yeah.” Darius pushed the button and shrugged out of the harness. “I feel like I went ten rounds with the world champs of wrestling. All of them.”

“You're home now. Let's get you inside.”

Faith climbed out of the backseat and stood by as Adrian helped Darius down from the high vehicle. Darius landed with a jolt, and his knee buckled. Adrian swept in, quick as lightning, and slung Darius's arm around his shoulder before the Seer hit the ground. Faith darted forward.

“No.” Darius stopped her with the sheer force of his gaze. His features hardened, like the stone of the mountains around them. “I've got this.”

Left with no choice, she trailed after them as Adrian helped Darius hobble the few feet needed and eased him into the chair. The sight of such a strapping man in a wheelchair, all wide shoulders and broad chest, struck her as
wrong
. When she'd met him just a couple of hours ago, he'd seemed so vital, so capable. He'd fought beside her and won. He'd rescued her, at least for the moment, from Azotay. Brought her to a temporary sanctuary.

Now he could barely move under his own power, dependent on an appliance that seemed an insult to everything he was. An old injury, he'd said. From where she stood, that injury appeared to be way worse than a simple bad knee. The grimace creasing his face every time he moved any part of his body made it clear the damage was extensive. And the fact that his home had a wheelchair standing by spoke volumes.

Their shared connection with the amazonite on the plane told her he was a proud man. It must be torment for him every time he had to use that chair. Her heart ached for him.

He jerked his head up and glared at her as if she had spoken aloud. His ferocity stole her breath, and she nearly stepped backward before she stopped herself. She wasn't going to be intimidated by him. Let him growl and scowl all he wanted; she could only imagine what it did to a man like him to be confined to a chair like that.

The woman behind him grabbed the handles of the chair. He broke the searing eye contact and glanced over his shoulder, his expression softening. “That's okay, Lupe. I've got it.”

“Are you sure, Mr. Darius? I can push you.”

“No, that's fine.” Darius tossed Faith one more hard look before, with an expert spin, he turned the chair and wheeled himself up the ramp and into the house.

Lupe sighed before turning to them. “So stubborn, that one. Please, come inside. Mr. and Mrs. Montana are waiting.”

“Faith, this is Lupe,” Adrian said. “She keeps this place running with rather terrifying precision.”

Lupe shook her head, a smile flirting across her lips. “And this one with his silver tongue. I'm the Montanas' housekeeper. If there's anything you need during your stay with us, just let me know.”

“Thank you,” Faith said.

“Come on, Faith,” Adrian said, following Lupe to the front steps. “Let me introduce you to your hosts.”

*   *   *

Pity.

Darius wheeled down the hall with skillful speed, his jaw clenched, his throat tight. He'd seen it on Faith's face, felt it through his empathic link. One glance at the blasted chair and she got all gooey with sympathy, just like every other woman he'd met since the accident. Well, he wasn't a charity case. Just a couple of hours ago, he'd held his own against a crazy lightning girl and a Warrior. He'd saved their butts and gotten Faith away from the Mendukati.

Funny how she forgot that as soon as she saw the damned wheelchair.

He sped across the spacious kitchen and stopped at the sliding glass doors. He lifted a hand to the door latch, then left it there, resting his forehead against the cool glass. He hated that it hurt him, how she saw him. How any woman saw him.

Poor Darius. He was so big and strong … once.

He sucked in a shaky breath. It caught on the knot of emotion clogging his throat, bursting out in a harsh hiss. The sound echoed through the empty kitchen, bouncing back at him. He sat up with a jerk. Stared at his reflection in the pane of glass and the black night outside. And forced the unwanted despair back to its shadowy corner.

This was a temporary situation. He'd overtaxed himself, and even with the short-term pick-me-up of the amazonite, he needed several hours of therapy and meditation at minimum to get back on his feet. He knew what to do, had spent years learning the art of healing himself. He'd walked out of that chair once and, damn it, he'd do it again.

Opening the sliding door, he wheeled out onto the patio and headed toward the cabana by the pool.

*   *   *

Faith walked into the foyer of the house just as Darius disappeared down the hallway. She frowned after him.

“Don't worry about Mr. Darius,” Lupe said, smiling at Faith. “He has his moods, but he'll be fine in a little while.”

Before Faith could answer, footsteps from the opposite hall claimed her attention, and a man and woman entered the foyer. They looked to be in their fifties or early sixties, as evidenced by the silver sprinkling the man's black hair and the crinkles around his brown eyes. The woman had strands of silver in her dark hair as well, but that seemed to be the only indication of her age. She glanced at Faith with wariness in her stunning blue eyes—the same color as Darius's—and clung to the man's hand a bit more tightly than Faith would have expected. But when the woman looked at Adrian, the suspicion disappeared.

“Adrian, you're back!” She let go of the other man's hand and embraced the Warrior. “Tell me you're staying.”

“Not this time.” Adrian returned the woman's hug, then stepped back and held out his hand to the other man. “John.”

“Adrian.” They shook. “I've made some more modifications to the estate's security systems,” John said. “I'd like you to test them when you have time.”

“Definitely.” Adrian turned to Faith. “Allow me to introduce Faith Karaluros. She's the Stone Singer. Faith, this is Maria and John Montana, Darius's parents.”

“Hello.” Faith held out her hand. Maria hesitated only a moment before shaking it.

“Welcome,” she said, and stepped back.

John reached out to shake hands, staring her down with an assessing gaze that made her think of a cop sizing up a suspect. “Thanks for coming,” he said. “I hear you can tell us something about this stone.”

She shrugged, fighting the urge to shove her hands in her pockets. “That's the hope.”

“If you'll excuse me,” Lupe said, “I'm going to get dinner started now that everyone is here.”

“Thank you, Lupe,” Maria said. The housekeeper left the foyer.