SEALs of Summer 2: A Military Romance Superbundle (47 page)

The other part of him knew his daughter needed him. “Help me.” He struggled to sit up.

“You’re safe here.” Lullaby woman placed a cool cloth on his forehead. She gave him something to drink that smelled like papayas.

“I need…” His tongue felt thick, his thoughts disjointed. “I have to…” He couldn’t quite remember what he needed. Pain shot through his body like a cannon, nearly taking off his head. He moaned in agony.

“You’re in a lot of pain. This will help.” Something bit his butt-cheek again. “Do you remember why you came here?”

He frowned. “Here?” He had no idea where he was or how he got here.

“Port-au-Prince, Haiti.”

Blinking, he tried to make sense of her blurry, blurry face. Warmth was spreading from his hip through his veins. The pain was easing back and making a mess of his comprehension skills. What was the question again?

“You came to the clinic. Remember?” she went on.

“Close…clinic,” he slurred.

“Is that why the Guardians sent you here? To close the clinic?” The lullaby voice was suddenly too loud. It hurt his head.

“I need…to…call.”

“I’m sure you do, but the Guardians can wait a while. At least until the results are better.”

He didn’t have the strength to frown. Pain killers were swimming in his brain.

“You’re sweating. I’ll get you another cool cloth. Lie back, rest.”

He sensed her rise and walk away. She was mad, but he couldn’t work out why. His thoughts were mush, and sleep was pulling him under.

Giving in, he settled back down. A low noise rumbled through his sleepy brain. He didn’t have time to register that the sound was coming from him. He snored.

*

Ysabeau stared out
her living room window, her insides shaking like an Ason rattle. A boy rode by on his bike, a blur she barely saw through the haze of her own torment.

Why’d I trust the Guardians? A secret philanthropic group? I should’ve seen this coming.

Yet she didn’t. She had handed the Guardians every ounce of faith she possessed, trusting them to help her because they were the only ones willing to fund her trial. Her only hope.

She glanced over her shoulder at the man snoring on her couch. “Close…clinic,” he’d said.

And just like that, mysterious men miles away from Port-au-Prince crushed her faith and hope in their invisible hands. Her patients’ lives were nothing more than dust, soon to be swept under the rug. It felt like she’d jumped into bed with murderers.

She rushed to the bathroom and vomited.

When she’d gotten herself under control, Ysabeau walked back to the living room and sat on the edge of her coffee table. She watched the American while he slept. What kind of a man would do what he did for a living? The Guardians paid his salary just as they paid hers. How would he feel if she traveled to America to destroy him? And killed eighty innocent lives while she was at it?

Narrowing her eyes at him, she whispered, “Not this time, Guardian. I will stop you. Count on it.”

His bruised face contorted in pain. Nightmares? Did her dying patients haunt his dreams too? She hoped so.

Leaning closer, she was surprised to feel her pulse quicken, just as it had every time she’d gotten too close. Deolina was right; evil was handsome. Even with a swollen face, it was easy to see that he was one of those ruggedly beautiful men. Too bad he had no heart. Or soul. She shook her head. It was as if
Baron La Croix,
the sexy Spirit of Death, was lying on her couch. Was that what Deolina was so afraid of—falling under the spell of a Loa who teased humans with sexual delights until they died?

As if she could be that lucky.

She sighed. She hadn’t been romantically involved with a man in…huh. She struggled to remember the last date she’d had. It had to be more than two years ago. Even if she could get past what happened with the bad man, who had the time to date? The clinic took all her passion and energies. It was her life, her great love. No, she didn’t need a man to give her happiness—she frowned at the Guardian—just funding.

But there were times, like now, when the burdens she carried threatened to drive her straight into the ground. She wished she had a man to ease her pain, make her swoon with pleasure, and laugh with. How nice it would be to have someone to come home to.

The man on the couch tossed. Sexy Loa? Hardly, he was just another handsome man determined to hurt her. Her mind flashed on the bad man. No. She slammed those memories shut. She didn’t think about him…ever.

Thrashing in his sleep, the American entangled himself in the afghan Grann had knit for her sixteenth birthday. She reached out to keep him from falling off her couch and held onto his bare arms a beat longer than she should. The heat from his skin warmed her palms and sent a ridiculous zing to her core. A hiss escaped her lips, and she let go. She had no business having any sort of chemical reaction to this man.

Well, that proves it. I need to start dating again. When this medical trial is over…
She swallowed hard. It could be sooner than she ever thought possible.

The man jerked as if he was running to catch someone. He made a strangled cry. She reached out to touch his face and pulled back a tear. The wet crystal on the tip of her finger took her breath away. What sort of evil man cried in his sleep?

“Please, don’t go!” he said in a voice choked with grief and loneliness.

Ysabeau knew he wasn’t talking to her, or dreaming about being attacked in the alley. This was a far deeper pain. Her heart thawed around the edges. The Guardian’s dreams sounded an awful lot like hers.

She said softly, “You’re not alone.”

“Soli!” He cried out.

“Shh.” Ysabeau wiped his brow with the cloth and tried to console him. At that moment she saw something she’d never seen before.

His aura was all wrong.

Ysabeau didn’t have visions like Deolina did, or read Tarot cards like Grann could. Her talent was small and limited. Grann had taught her to see auras, the hazy colors projected by all living creatures. Calling it “a person’s halo,” Grann swore you could “see” a man’s insides by studying the halo on his outside. Auras, like rainbows, were varying shades of multiple colors, but the true nature of a person usually presented itself to her in a single dominate color.

The deep red glow framing the Guardian’s body was not unusual. People with red auras were strong and courageous. All the reds she had ever met were men who lived in solid, concrete worlds. Some of them were soldiers. Brave heroes. None of them accepted the spiritual realm or believed in halos. She wasn’t surprised that this man who tried to single-handedly fight off four gang members had a red halo.

That would have been normal.

Flashing over the red glow like a hot flame was an unmistakable electric blue. Decidedly not normal. A dark blue aura normally came from a nurturing, loving person with a deeply spiritual soul. Ysabeau had seen plenty of blue auras from the nurses she worked with and spiritual leaders like Gran. All had suffered great loss and personal tragedies and yet still gave of themselves for others. None of them had demonstrated electric blue flames like this one.

No, a blue aura from this man didn’t match him. One aura stacking over another, especially the very rare electric blue? Very strange. She wouldn’t have believed it if she hadn’t seen it with her own eyes.

Ysabeau swallowed hard.

Deolina saw danger in this man’s future, and it had scared her enough to contact Gran, even though the two of them had agreed, (in Deolina’s words) “to stay the hell away from each other for the safety of all souls, living and dead, in Haiti and beyond.” If the two of them were conspiring to protect her from this guy then…fear prickled up her spine…
He’s trouble.

But she had to keep him close, didn’t she? The lives of her patients depended on her, and she depended on him. Gently, she touched the lump on his head, and let her finger trail down his cheek to his full lips. It had been so long since she had kissed a man.
So very long.

She realized what she was doing and snatched her hand away.

Deolina was right. She should run.

‡

January 8, 2010. Four Days…

L
uke’s eyes opened.
Well, at least the left one did; the right was swollen shut. His head hurt like a sonofabitch. Gingerly, he reached up and touched a sore lump poking out of his temple. He’d grown a horn overnight. When he moved, his ribs screamed with pain.

Gently, he fingered the wrap around his middle. Were his ribs broken? Had they punctured a lung? To find out, he breathed a little deeper and concluded that his lungs were okay. From past experience, he knew his ribs would heal too. He let out a slow breath. He was alive.

The good eye surveyed his surroundings. He had no idea where he was. The room was dark, but not pitch-black. Moonlight? No, make it light from a streetlamp, filtered in through a lacy curtain. His eyes—rather eye—adjusted to the shapes in the room, bringing them into focus.

He was lying on a couch with a knit multi-colored blanket wrapped around him. By the couch was a substantial table, a real toe-breaker if he got up in the middle of the night and forgot it was there. Next to the table was a high-backed chair, probably wicker, filled with…

Luke squinted his eye. Someone was curled up and asleep on that wicker chair. Lullaby woman? The light from the streetlamp dripped across her face. Without moving his battered body, he studied her. That was no woman. He was one-eyeing an angel in a white tank top and shorts. Her blanket had slipped off and fallen to the floor. If he had more strength and could actually feel his legs, he’d get up and cover her.

The angel rested her head on one slender arm. Her dark hair was short and thick. He took a guess at what color her eyes were under the shadows of her long lashes. Even from here, he could see that her skin was flawless and smooth. A flashback of those cool hands on his hot cheeks brought a momentary lapse of craziness. What would she do if he hobbled over there and cupped her cheeks in his hands? Would her skin be as soft as it looked?

He really was crazy. Was the angel a hallucination?

She made a cooing sound in her sleep, and he knew he couldn’t make up something that amazing. Not even in his dreams. It was comforting having lullaby woman nearby. In the morning he would talk to her and find out where in the hell he was.

For now, exhaustion and pain were swamping him. He needed sleep.

*

Mid-morning Ysabeau got
up and checked on her patient. The American was sleeping soundly. Quietly, she tiptoed into the kitchen and got his medication, a glass of water, and a stethoscope she’d brought home from the clinic.

Sitting on the edge of her coffee table, she gently lifted his arm and checked his pulse. It was strong and slow. Perfect. She warmed the end of the stethoscope in her palm before pressing it to his bare chest. His breath sounds were good. Clear. His heart was strong and…picking up speed…lots of speed.

Glancing up, she saw that the American was studying her.