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Roark’s gunmetal-gray eyes glistened like shards of shattered glass. He planted a knee on the mattress which sank under his weight. When his towel gaped wide, she dipped her fingers between the fabric. “What are you hiding here?”
“It’s hardly hidden.”
Wowza.
It sure wasn’t.
With Indigo’s hand clutching his thick, hard cock, he settled on top of her, parted her thighs, and buried himself deep with one thrust. “You wanted to play Tumble the Witch. Consider yourself tumbled,” he said. “I win.”
“Don’t gloat.” Her voice was raspy, breathy. “Just work harder.”
****
Indigo barely caught any sleep that night. Roark tumbled her several times in several positions throughout the night. He also convinced her to admit their relationship might be about more than sex. Of course, he was pumping his cock into her at the time. Not exactly proof. Besides, she suspected he had no intent to deepen the relationship. She stifled a chuckle at her unintended pun before growing serious again. Conflicted bastard. How could she commit if he couldn’t?
With groggy eyelids the next morning, she portaled to Turkey with Roark. There, they checked out Western Asia. No hiccough from the ruby in the land of the crescent and star. Nor in neighboring countries.
Did the shipbuilder-turned-sea-captain leave the Mediterranean? If he had, did he sail west, north, or south? If he traveled south, he may have landed somewhere in Africa, but Indigo would have felt the pull of the gemstone when they were in Egypt. She hadn’t. If the seaman had sailed north, he may have disembarked in Europe. With that thought, they hopped the gateway to Antibes. The continent was a bust.
In Iceland, the ruby was again quiet. The same with Greenland.
Indigo was confident the sword was not twenty-thousand leagues under the sea. The blood-red stone was too warm in her hand. It longed to rejoin the whole. More determined than ever to find the weapon, she led Roark to North America. Via a portal, they exited in Providence, Rhode Island.
Mid-morning, they detoured to a coffee shop where he drank a boring cup of dark roast while she sipped a caramel macchiato. “There’s a slight buzz, but the sword is not on this continent.”
“Okay. South?” He drained his coffee, plopping the paper cup on the table.
“Sure thing. How’s your salsa dancing?”
“Terrible, but I knock back margaritas like a sonofabitch.” Roark hitched his pants when he stood.
After portaling into Mexico City, they wandered through the crowded streets until they found a nearly empty cantina where they ordered deep-fried quesadillas stuffed with poblanos and cheese. To satisfy their thirst, they drank a few of the country’s faves at Villa Maria’s.
“It’s here in Central America.” Indigo shoved the ruby into her zippered pocket before she bit into her cheesy tortilla-wrapped late lunch, her gaze traveling the room.
Plates clean, Roark pushed his chair back, crossing an ankle over his knee, seemingly content to slurp his margarita while playing games on his phone. Meanwhile, she worked her magic. Indigo checked their surroundings a second time before she dug into her pocket, retrieved the ruby, and set it in the middle of the table.
Blocking distractions, she cast two spells. One cloaked her actions at the table. The other dragged her into a vision. She landed near Belize City on the coast, soon heading inland to Guatemala. Then her reverie took her north at the edge of a lake until she reached an expansive jungle where Mayan ruins surrounded her. She eyed a marker. Parque Nacional Tikal. Before her was the Temple of the Great Jaguar, a recognizable, legendary burial monument.
Indigo swiped a hand across her face, wiping away the vision as she returned the stone to her pocket. She rubbed her arms, a chill from the spell running along her skin despite the intense humidity and heat. “We’re off to a Mayan ruin.”
Roark looked up from his cellphone. “Which one?”
“Temple of the Great Jaguar in Tikal.”
His thumbs got busy. “It’s in the Petén Basin in the northern part of Guatemala. Temple I was the tomb of Jasaw Chan K’awiil, the ruler of Tikal until he died in AD 734.”
Indigo plunked a boot-clad foot onto the table. “I’m set to go. How do we get to Tikal?”
Roark consulted his phone. “We portal to Belize City to rent a four-wheeler. From there we’ll drive. About five hours.”
“I’m going to get hot and sweaty again, aren’t I?”
He grinned. “If I have my way, most definitely.”
When she smirked, he said, “You mean in the jungle?”
They grabbed their packs, returned to the nearest gateway, and jumped to Belize City where Roark had called ahead for a rental. They taxied to the agency to pick out the toughest four-wheeler on the lot. “We could drive straight to the temple today, but I think we should hunker down in Tikal until morning. What’s your pleasure, my Indy?”
