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"After the truck? Not a thing.” She hesitated. “I'm wet. So are you."
"We fell into water.” She sounded stronger, but her skin was cold, and she was still shaking. It might have been shock or the cold or a combination of both. Either way, they had to get back to their room before she caught a chill. “Are you able to get up?"
"To echo the grouchy words of someone else, of course I can. I'm just wet, not an invalid." Oh yeah, she was definitely feeling better. Smiling slightly, he rose and helped her to her feet.
"Where are we?” She clutched his arm, hanging on tight, as if afraid she was going to fall. Maybe she wasn't feeling as well as she was making out. He opened the link again, felt the knot of pain and weakness in her thoughts. He glanced at her head and saw the glimmer of blood. But the tide had slowed to a trickle, and she wasn't in any danger of bleeding to death.
"I don't know where we are. Are you able to walk?"
"Yes.” She teetered forward a few steps. “What exactly happened?" He wrapped an arm around her waist, holding her close as they walked, trying to keep her warm. “You don't remember?"
She shook her head, frowning slightly. “I remember falling and cracking my head on something, then nothing."
"You must have hit your head when we fell. We'll head back to the room and—"
"No,” she said, stopping abruptly. “We've got to get Matthew out of here."
"Nikki,” he said, as patiently as he could. “You're wet, and shaking and—"
"I said no, and I meant it.” She glared up him, fists clenched and eyes sparkling with anger. She'd never looked more beautiful. “We may not get another chance at this." He rubbed a hand across his eyes. What she said made perfectly good sense, but he just wasn't willing to risk her life again.
"It's my life to risk, Michael."
She was back to reading his thoughts. As he'd feared, the barriers he'd raised to stop her were beginning to fade.
She touched his cheek, her fingers cool against his skin. Her thoughts spun around him, through him, tender and persuasive. “A chill is not going to kill me,” she said softly. “But any delay might mean the difference between life and death for Matthew."
She cared more for her client's safety than she did her own. Always had. And no matter what he said or did, she wasn't going to be swayed. “Stubborn wench,” he muttered and pulled her close, kissing her cold lips.
A shiver ran through her, but he knew it had nothing to do with being cold. He could feel her need as heavily as he did his own. It was an ache growing steadily stronger by the hour. But if he gave in to desire and made love to her as he so desperately wanted to do, he knew he wouldn't have the strength to leave her again. And he had to leave. He couldn't face seeing her cold and lifeless again. Twice was more than enough for his heart to take.
He stepped away, though it was the last thing in the world he wanted to do right now. “Let's go find a way back up to Matthew, then."
A knowing smile touched her lips. “You won't win this battle, you know. Fate is on my side." His shrug was noncommittal. He had to at least go down fighting. He held out his hand, and she slipped her fingers into his. Once more he led the way through the caverns, his pace slow at first, then gradually speeding up as she recovered and regained her strength.
They wound their way through the darkness, heading steadily upwards. The air was damp and stale, and it felt as if it hadn't been breathed for many years. Cordell and his cohorts obviously didn't come down here much. If they had, the air would have caught their scents and left them lingering. The path flattened out. In the distance, like a far-off drum, he could hear the beat of a single heart, guiding him on even as it called to the darkness in him—a darkness he was increasingly able to ignore. We're getting close to Matthew's cell again.
Her thoughts were touched by fear. He scanned the night, wondering what she felt. He could find nothing, taste nothing in the stillness of the night. Only Matthew. What can you sense?
Something is watching us again. I can feel its presence.
That he couldn't see or feel anything meant little. In some areas, her psychic abilities far outweighed his, and he'd learned to trust her instincts. Is it dangerous?
I don't know.
He scanned the night again. Still nothing. Tell me if it moves. I will. Her tension was a lump sitting heavily in the link. He squeezed her hand lightly and continued on until they reached Matthew's cell. The door was still open, the teenager still sitting on his bed. He didn't even look as if he'd moved. Something's wrong, she said. No teenager in recorded history has ever sat still for so long. Maybe he's just scared. Yet he could feel no emotion, taste no fear. Frowning, he touched the teenager's thoughts—and found nothing more than memories. All self-awareness had been wiped away, leaving only the desire to please.>You don't need to see my eyes, Nikki. You never have. His smile danced through her heart. He touched her face, cupping her cheek. You knew what I felt. You have always known. Maybe. But it's nice to hear it said occasionally. She turned her face into his hand and kissed his palm. As much as I would love to discuss this matter further, I think we'd better keep moving. Yes. He pulled his hand away and continued on. The darkness closed in around them, and the air was still, stale smelling. They were headed downward, and the chill gradually increased. She shivered and wished she'd put on a sweater. But at least there was no sense of evil. Maybe Cordell wasn't back yet. She touched the watch in her pocket. Sensations vibrated through her. Hunger and need, similar to a vampire's and yet not. Nikki frowned, unsure what that meant exactly. We're coming up to that three-way split in the tunnel, Michael said. Do we go left or straight on?
She studied the darkness for several seconds, even though the answer throbbed clearly through her fingers. The air felt heavy and the silence intense. There was still no indication that Cordell or any of his cohorts were here, but something felt wrong.
Can you sense anyone?
Power shimmered bright enough to burn should she attempt to grasp it. Michael, searching the night, looking for the dangers she could feel.
Nothing, he said eventually. You?
Not a person ... just something. Maybe it's just nerves.
Maybe. Doubt filtered through the link. Which way?
