Claimed (16 page)

Creed sighed against her, his body slumping as he turned from her. She moved her hand down his jaw and across his shoulders, driven by a need to console him. When he relaxed against the mattress, she went with him, curling against his side. Whether she was warding off his fears or her own, she wasn’t sure. She just knew she was tired of being alone.

And so, she suspected, was he.

Surrounded by the artificial darkness of the drawn shades, Chiana allowed herself to sleep. Her leg entwined with his, and she rested her head on his chest, skin on skin.

* * * *

The high-pitched beep of his cell phone’s alarm brought Creed immediately awake. Chiana was warm against him, her breath soft against his flesh. With the arm that wasn’t holding her to him, he managed to shut off the alarm without waking her up. He knew the right thing to do was slide away, get dressed and figure out what to do next.

He wasn’t good at the right thing.

He lowered his head and touched her lips with his. They were firm and soft, the way he’d imagined. He was about to pull away when she became a partner in the kiss, her hand reaching out to cradle the back of his head as her lips parted to allow his tongue to meet hers. She sighed when he broke the embrace only long enough to adjust her body against his, a knee slipping between her thighs.

The next kiss was even sweeter. Sensation flowed through Creed, overtaking his cautious common sense. They were supposed to be like this, skin against skin, bodies molding together in an intimacy that seemed completely natural. He wanted her; he needed her. They were meant to be together, now and through eternity…

No, no, he shouldn’t do this. With a pain that was almost physical, he pulled away from Chiana and grabbed the sheet. Wrapping it around himself, creating a barrier between his body and her touch, he sat up on the side of the bed and buried his face in his hands. Desire roared through him, intensifying when Chiana pressed her cheek against his back and whispered, “Why did you stop?”

He twisted away before he did something they’d both regret. Standing up, moving to the other side of the room to put as much distance between them as possible, he said in a harsh voice, “It’s sure as hell not because I want to.”

“Then come back to me.”

“I can’t.” Creed kept his back to her, not wanting to see the invitation her body presented.

“Why?” The plaintive plea in her voice opened an emotion inside him Creed had thought lost, the longing for a human connection.

Silence hung between them; he wanted her to speak again. But she didn’t. Finally, he took a deep breath, turned toward the bed and said, “When I make love with a woman, I want it to be because she wants me. Not because her body is jacked up from some secret formula, or because she’s been bound to me by an archaic spell.

“Anyway, the sun’s going down soon, and I want to get into those caves before full dark comes. I’ll see you in the kitchen.”

He grabbed his pants and shirt, avoiding her eyes as he did so, and left the bedroom. He didn’t dress until he reached the kitchen; he wanted to put space between them fast.

Maybe what he’d said was right, and some unnatural force was driving them to each other. Maybe the constant contact with her had awakened some instinctive need to procreate as well as protect.

“Or maybe you just need to get laid a little more often,” he muttered to himself as he put on the coffee and pushed the memory of her against him, warm and wanting, to that place in his mind where he stored everything he wanted to forget.

Chiana gathered her borrowed clothes and pulled them on. With quick movements, she stripped the sheets from the bed and carried them down the hall. If this was a safe house, it was bound to have a washer and dryer.

She found them beside the bathroom, in an alcove with slatted doors that pulled back. Retrieving her own clothes, she dumped everything in and added detergent. As the machine filled with water, it covered the domestic sound of Creed in the kitchen. Taking a deep breath, Chiana closed the short distance between them and found a seat at the drop-leaf table.

“Here.” Creed filled a mug with coffee and set it in front of her. “You hungry?”

“Unfortunately, yes.” She sighed. “Considering that we’re trying to keep me from disappearing into another dimension, I suppose worrying about getting fat is probably the least of my concerns.”

“Your body’s running on high. The shots have increased your metabolic rate. If anything, you should worry about losing weight.”

“Then find me a burger basket and a great big milkshake. Chocolate. With whipped cream and a cherry on top.”

“Sorry, all out.” Creed shook his head and began searching the cabinets. Chiana doctored her coffee with more canned milk and sugar, nodding yes or no as he held various items up for her approval. Ten minutes later, a stack of pancakes covered with syrup sat in front of her.

They ate in silence. Chiana wondered if they were fighting a losing battle, if this would be the last normal meal she ate. Or last meal period.

“You know more about this stuff than me,” she said after swallowing the last bite. “If I get taken to serve Odin, does all of me go or just my spirit?”

The tightening of Creed’s face gave her the answer before he offered, “I’m not sure how it works.”

He knew. And he hadn’t planned to tell her. She got up abruptly, carrying her plate to the sink before he could see the damned tears that threatened to fall. Two days ago, her biggest worry had been how to fill all those hours of off time.

Now she had to pray that somehow she managed to keep body and soul together.

Chapter Eleven

Mick woke with a foul taste in his mouth and a head that felt like it was stuffed with cotton. He was lying on his living room floor, fully dressed.

Why?

He grabbed the arm of the chair beside him and pulled himself up. He stank, his stomach was roiling and his legs barely supported him as he took the few stumbling steps from the chair to his familiar recliner. He dropped down, trying to remember something, anything, about the last few hours. Or days, maybe.

He’d gone on some pretty good benders before, but he’d never lost time. Never felt this bad, either. Had he mixed booze and done himself in? Was he coming down with something?

The last thing he remembered was deciding to grab a couple of movies and call up someone young and pretty to watch them with him. That had been, what, yesterday? Today? The day before?

“Oh, shit.” He buried his face in his hands.

Pushing, he caught a vague memory of being in a bar and being nervous. Who had been there with him? Not Chiana. They didn’t hang together on their time off.

He wiped sweat from his face, hunching his shoulders as a shudder passed through him. Whatever he’d done, he hoped he enjoyed it, the way he was paying now.

“I need some friggin’ food.” He stumbled over the words, the same way he needed three tries to get out of the chair. Swaying as he went, grabbing onto pieces of furniture as he made his way to the door, he realized walking into a grocery store or restaurant was out of the question. He paused on the porch, pulled his cell phone from his pocket and dialed the familiar number of the diner. He’d get his food for take-out and hope a waitress would run it out to him instead of having to stumble in and get it himself.

Rhori watched the man make his clumsy way from the porch to the truck. Time was running out for the vessel. He wasn’t sure the man had enough life force in him to waste the effort of possessing him.

Flying out of the man’s line of vision, Rhori followed him to the place of colored lights where he’d first found Odin’s woman. Here he might find another shell to serve as his human form. This time he would choose a smaller one, easier to slip in and out of unnoticed.

Rhori floated on a wind current to the top of a sign. His feet settled on metal warm from the sunshine above, a thin edge that proved to be the perfect place to watch those who came and went. He gave a nervous flutter of his wings when the man’s metal box made a loud, alarming noise. His attention focused on the woman who walked to the man, carrying a large white sack.

He flew closer to observe them, landing unnoticed behind a wide sign. The woman was leaning toward the man, the back of her hand against his forehead. The white bag sat on the ground as if it was no longer of importance. Tipping his head, Rhori watched the man slump against the woman, words coming from him in a slur.

She was strong. She pulled the man out of the metal box and slipped her arm around his waist. Together they walked slowly to the place of bright lights, vanishing inside through a door that closed too soon for Rhori to fly in with them. He hopped onto a wooden window box and stared through the glass at the duo. He regretted the loss of this host; he held within him much knowledge of the Valkyrie Odin sought.

The woman had strength and, Rhori suspected, the power a man might envy. He would bide his time and, when it seemed right, slide into her as his host. His god sent him here to collect what had been promised him; his god would lead him until he had succeeded or lost his soul.

“Call 911,” Caroline shouted as she half-dragged Mick to the nearest seat. “This guy needs an ambulance.”

She wished she knew his name. He was a semi-regular; she waited on him once or twice a week. He was friendly and tipped well, but they’d never been introduced.

Caroline dashed behind the counter and filled a glass with ice. Her first-aid skills were limited to a Red Cross and CPR training, but the guy was hot, his lips cracked, and she suspected he was severely dehydrated.

“Here.” She sat beside him and slipped a teaspoon of the crushed ice into his mouth. He gasped, and for a moment she was afraid he was about to choke. Then he calmed and croaked in a second, “More.”

She gave him another teaspoon and then another.

“More,” he begged again.

“Soon,” Caroline promised, wondering why it was taking the EMTs so long then realizing it had only been a few minutes.

When he began to shake, she pushed the glass away and wrapped her arms around him. She heard the swirl of conversation around her, knew the few patrons and her fellow employees were wondering the same things she did.

Almost the same things. She was sure this guy was the one who’d come in early Saturday morning, with the woman in the parking lot, the one she’d called about. The ambulance crew pulling up by the diner might be able to treat his physical symptoms, but she wondered if any doctor could figure out the underlying cause. Modern medicine was set up to treat the body and the mind.

Who was going to heal this man’s spirit?

* * * *

“How long yet?”

“You sound like a kid on vacation,” Creed said. “That’s the third time you’ve asked.”

“I’m tired of riding, I’m tired of being on the run and I’m tired of…”

“Me?” Creed asked.

Chiana shook her head.

“I’m tired of not being me. That super dose you hit me with has kept me stable for longer than I expected. I’m assuming that since you haven’t asked me how I’m feeling that the well has run dry.”

“I have one more dose.”

“Oh.”

Creed wished he could find the right words to reassure her. He wasn’t good at lying, though, and any promise he made that she’d get out of this alive and unchanged would be a flat out fib.

By his rough figuring, they’d reach their destination in about twenty minutes. Full dark would be on them, a protective cover as they searched for one of the several hidden entrances that weren’t known to the public. If Lillian’s directions were right, and he sure as hell hoped they were, there was an opening in the rocks about a half-mile from the ticket booth. Amateur spelunkers were helping map the depths of the cave; Creed was counting on the opening being left unbarred for that reason.

He refused to think of what might happen if they couldn’t get into the earth and be protected by its geomagnetism.

The neon of a gas station convenience store drew him. Ten minutes later, they were walking out carrying plastic sacks of ready-to-eat foods and vitamin water.

“Stocking up?” Chiana asked wryly, the bag in each hand heavy.

“If I have to hit you with that stuff, you’ll chow all this down and leave me to starve.”

She gave him a sideways glance but didn’t say a word.

Back in the truck, Creed shook the tools of his trade out of his pack and filled it with the food and beverage. Pointed sticks and water blessed by a priest weren’t going to do the trick tonight. The agency’s weapons were created to work on living things, not spirits that made people into its puppets.

They finished the trip in silence. Creed hoped Chiana was staying quiet because she was mentally gearing up for whatever came next and not getting ready to switch personalities. Whether she was acting funny or not, he intended to shoot that last needle’s worth of the good doctor’s serum into her soon after they reached the cave floor. The spirit warrior would find them eventually, and he wanted to be sure she was on his side when the final battle came.