Primal Force (36 page)

“So they are like yin and yang?”

“More than that.” He paused and gave her a sly glance. “Want to ride awhile?”

“And do your work for you?” She smiled and shook her head.

“There's a chair over there.” He turned his head to the wooden straight-back chair that served as her vanity stool and dressing chair. “Forty-eight, forty-nine. Fifty!”

“Oh!” Her fingers clenched over his. He'd found it, the rhythm that was going to take her over the edge. Fifty-two, -three, -four, -five. Fifty-five was a winner.

When she came back to the present Law's forehead lay buried in the hollow between her shoulder and neck, and he was whispering, “Sixty-two, sixty-three, God, Jori. You feel so good. I'm sorry, I can't—”

She blew out her breath, rubbed her cheek in his hair. “You were telling me about, oh, good and evil. Is that all?”

“No.” He paused, threw back his head as he arched into her, and sucked in a long deep breath. “The Twin Water-Fowls represent the positive and negative elements of polarities: day and night, sky and earth, life and death, man and woman, alpha and omega, the beginning and the end.”

“Circle of Life.” Seventy-seven. Long slow seventy-eight and seventy-nine.

“That's—oh yes, like that.” She rolled her head back and forth, wanting so much to dig her nails into his ass and ride him home. But they were almost there. “That's pretty profound for a lone wolf.”

He looked down at her, lifted himself as much as possible without losing their vital connection, and took in her nakedness just for the pleasure of it. “Is that how you think of me? Lone wolf?”

“It's how you think of yourself.” Jori paused to take in the pleasure of his deep slide back into her body. She'd lost count. The tension was rising again, the sweet twisting need that bound two bodies in mutual hunger. But he was moaning. Keep talking.

She opened her eyes and forced herself to focus on his left biceps while the deep slow grind of his body on hers could so easily have stroked her blind. “It's so intricately patterned. There's got to be more.”

“Eighty-five. Eighty-six. Okay. Remember, you asked. See the four diamond-shaped symbols in the mouths of the birds? They represent the four elements: air.” Stroke. “Earth.” Stroke. “Water.” Hip rotation and deep plunge. “Fire. Things that make life possible.” He was grunting now between words.

Jori relaxed, listening to his voice coming from deep within. Her body had begun to flow with his, an adjustment to the rhythm of his voice.

“The four points represent all important things symbolized by four. Four directions.” Hip thrust. “Four seasons.” Oh, so good. “The four phases of man.”

She closed her eyes. So close. So very close. “What about the feathers?”

“The seven feathers and black points represent the seven sacred fires and the seven ceremonial pipes.”

“Keep going.” Oh God, yes. Her bones were melting. Seven more should get her there.

“Ninety-one.”

Law smiled. He was going to make it. “Seven times seven is forty-nine, the age at which a man or woman is recognized as having survived all tests and difficulties of life and proven through deed, reaching the peak of his or her spiritual power.”

“The peak. Yes, please. Let's do the peak. Now!”

The slow glide of his body in and out of hers altered.

The slow grind became a series of deep hard quick thrusts that forced grunts of need from Law and cries of need from Jori.

She came first, the release this time like an assault of sheer pleasure. Hard, bursting ripples that seemed too much.

Law rode her through her climax, taking her long past pleasure to a new intensity that set off a second orgasm before the first had left her.

She cried out, “Enough. Oh please, Law.”

Smiling, he buried himself deep, pumping hard and fast until there was nothing left but the hunger denied and inflamed by one hundred strokes.

In the silence that followed, their slick bodies glued together chest and belly, his soft penis still stirring inside her, Jori heard his voice as deep and soft as the night.

“One hundred and nineteen.”

*   *   *

“For a man who walks alone, that's a lot of community commitment you've inked permanently into your body.” Jori watched Law towel off from the safety of her bed. They'd showered together, satisfied to do no more than fool around under the water, kissing and touching like necking teens.

“I never said I didn't feel things deeply.” He flexed his arm and looked at his tattoo.

“Maybe so deeply you must protect yourself?”

He didn't answer.

Then he dropped his towel and came toward her, the intent in his eyes reflected in his amazingly resilient body. Well, one particular part.

When he had climbed in beside her, he flipped over on his back and tucked an arm behind his head. Maybe a man who'd accomplished 119 strokes needed a bit of rest.

“Can I scare you a little bit more?” She rolled over onto her belly and half on top of him and propped her arms on his chest.

“I like you, Lauray Battise. A lot. I know. You did everything your father told you to do to get rid of me. I'm sorry. It's not working.”

He watched her, his eyes darkening with that golden glint of fire in their dark depths. “Why not?”

“I told you before. I don't like being told what I can and can't do.”

“It wasn't a challenge, Jori. It was a warning.” His voice was no more than a deep breath of air.

“That you're unlovable?” She lunged forward and kissed his jaw. “They lied. Everyone who ever said that lied. Look in my eyes and tell me you still believe them.”

He did look, looking so far and deep into her open gaze that he began to see something he did not know he wanted until now, a future.

“What if I screw it up for us?”

“You can't screw it up. If it's what you want.” Her turn to whisper. “You get to decide.”

He felt her warm breath stir his chest hair, the fragrance that was Jori already familiar to him. He'd never been this close to another person before. Not in this way. He stopped breathing. “I do want it, Jori.”

“Good.” She slid back down to snuggle against his warmth.

There was a long silence before he said, “So how will this work?”

“Don't worry, I'm not going to go all nesting pigeon on you. Your cabin is safe. I have a job nearly two hours away. Your solitude is safe, except maybe on the weekends.”

“You may have a job. What if I don't? I didn't get to pass the trooper physical.” A beat. “I'm not even sure I want to be a trooper any longer.”

“No biggie. Mr. Task Force guy practically offered you a job at the veterinarian hospital. You can still be in law enforcement if you want.”

“Maybe I don't want that anymore.”

Jori stilled. “If this is about what I said a few days ago about not liking the idea of you risking your life I—well, honestly? I meant it. But that's not my decision. It's what you do. It's who you are. I'll figure out how to live with it.”

He turned and came up on his elbow. “I have problems, Jori. It's why we met. I'll be a burden.”

“Says the cop whose girlfriend's an ex-con.”

He laughed then, like a man who needed that cleansing relief in his life a lot more often. “So, it's going to be that way? I'm unemployed and you're a felon, and life will be just one happy dance.”

“No.” She rose up on her knees, bending over him and putting a hand on either side of his face. “It's going to be hard. But we will find moments. And those moments of happiness will grow and expand until we can hold the dark places at bay most of the time. I want to try that with you. If you want it, too.”

“Dance with you?” His eyes turned soft into liquid gold currents where the dark shadows shimmered. “Anytime. Anyplace. Anywhere.”

She kissed him and it was warm and soft and so very nice. The hum of passion never left him but this time it was muted, a part but not all of his need for her.

Much later, when her phone rang, Jori was reluctant to answer but when she saw who it was, she had to. Yardley Summers. They had talked twice in the past two days. She supposed she should have told Law. But both brother and sister were hard to slow down, impossible to stop once they were on a mission.

“Hi. Yes, Yardley, he's here.” Jori rolled over and handed Law her phone.

He frowned and didn't take it. “My sister? Why is she calling you?”

“You'd better let her tell you herself.”

 

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Jori sighed in gratitude when the Albuquerque VA Medical Center came into view through the cab window. Albuquerque was clear and as cold as ice the week before Christmas. If not for the cold, it was easy to imagine it was summer. She doubted the season changed the brown desert landscape very much.

She glanced at Law, who sat next to her with his legs spread and his arms relaxed, but the pose didn't fool her. The lines around his mouth were deeper than usual. His gaze unfocused. Only the presence of Sam, who had recovered surprisingly quickly, seemed to hold him in place. He rhythmically petted her while she leaned fully against his good leg. Everyone at the airport had smiled at the rusty-red floppy-eared dog wearing a service vest with a purple paw, and camo-print protective booties.

Jori looked away. She hoped she and Yardley were doing the right thing.

When the car pulled up to a parking lot near the main building, Jori sat forward, looking for the woman Law had earlier described as tall and striking, with deep-mahogany-red hair. The moment she spotted Yardley standing on the shallow steps of the main building, Jori knew she could have picked her out in a crowd of hundreds. She had an Elle Macpherson curviness about her. And hair like a horse's mane. Jori was glad she was Law's sister.

When they had exited, Jori went ahead while Law paid the driver.

Jori held out her hand to the beautiful woman who shared Law's sludge-gold eyes and direct gaze. “Hi, I'm Jori.”

Yardley looked at her and then embraced her. “You're a miracle worker. I could never have gotten him to do this.”

“I just hope we did the right thing.”

Both women turned to watch Law approach. He and Sam were truly an inseparable pair these days. They had arranged for Law to spend three days here to take part in the Native American healing ceremonies at the VA center, where PTSD issues were treated with a holistic approach and ancient Native American ceremonies.

Yardley embraced her brother, whispering in his ear, “I like her. She can handle you.”

Law smiled. “You have no idea.”

Then his gaze shifted to the two men who stood a little to one side. The taller of the two, a man with a deeply lined tanned face, long gray ponytail, and plaid shirt, came forward. Silver glinted on his wrists and his bolo. He smiled and nodded politely at the women but he reserved his attention for Law.

“Welcome, warrior Battise. I am John Ayze, one of the traditional practitioners. You understand what we do here today?”

Law nodded. “I know the sweat lodge ceremony.”

“Yes. But this is a special ceremony for Native American war veterans. Before a soldier goes to war, you are given the ceremony of training and armor and comrades so that you can protect yourself in battle. But when you return, there is no ceremony to remove these things, and all the spirits you have collected at war. Many suffer because of this rift between war and peace. It goes by many names. Here we remove that armor in ceremonies meant to honor your service and allow you to return to us in peace.”

The man touched Law's arm. “You were wounded. Western medicine has healed what is possible to physically heal. Here we deal with spiritual matters. We begin with a sweat lodge ceremony. Afterward we will conduct the first ‘enemy way' ceremony. It is the traditional ceremony for countering the harmful effects of the spirits you collected in battle. In three days we will have completed the ritual. You may come back as often as you need to until body, mind, and spirit are one in peace. Are you ready?”

Law took a breath and nodded.

They followed John Ayze to a spot near the parking lot that had been walled off. As they stepped through the gate, Law stopped short. There were other men present, some clearly Native Americans. Some not.

Law didn't recognize the others at first, dressed as civilians. It wasn't until one of them raised a hand in greeting that Law knew who they were. Four men from his old squad stood waiting with hands folded before them at military rest.

He stopped short, his gaze going hard, his stance rigid.

Jori moved in and squeezed Law's hand. “They wanted to be part of this. To share the healing. They have a story to tell you, Law. We thought you should hear it.”

He looked at her, his mouth hard. “Whose idea was it that they come?”

Jori held that daunting gaze. “Mine. Don't be angry at Yardley. When we planned this, with the healing ceremony, I asked her to contact them, too. You told me you thought they were responsible for Scud's death. Let them tell you their side.”

His body stayed still, rigid, but his eyes were alive as he continued to look at her. “You thought of this?”

“I want to help make it better. After Yardley told me about the healing ceremony, I knew it would help to have other men you know to share it with. I hope it's okay.”

He turned to stare again at the men who waited for him to approach then slowly nodded. “You will be here when it's over?”

“I'll be here as long as you want me to be.”

A faraway smile curved his mouth. “Thank you.”

He squeezed her hand so hard she would have protested at any other time. But the emotion coursing through him was more important.

Law looked down at Sam and nodded. “
Hier
, Sam. We've got some healing to do.”