Kaily Hart Page 2

  She frowned. “What are you…?”

  But the words choked in her throat. The air around him blurred for an instant, shimmered and waved, and in the blink of an eye, between one second and the next, he’d transformed into…someone else. She tried to suck in some much needed air, but her throat didn’t work, wouldn’t obey. Nothing would. It was as if everything was frozen, as if time had stopped.

  She fought the urge to rub her eyes as if she could wipe away what she’d seen, what had just happened, from her mind. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. Could it?

  Gone was the friendly, competent wilderness guide and in his place was one of the scariest-looking men she’d ever seen. Tall, heavily muscled, he now filled those loose clothes to the limit, the pants snug around powerful thighs, the shirt stretched across wide shoulders, around thick biceps. His face was harsh lines and hard angles, his short hair like ink, and his eyes…they were dark and trained on her, gauging her every reaction, watching her every move.

  Everything in her screamed at her to turn and run, but she still couldn’t move, could do nothing but stare at him. And for the first time ever Devon considered the possibility that maybe the compound had been safe. That perhaps there were worse things, far worse, out here than she could ever have imagined.

  Hold it together, Devon.

  “How— What—” she tried again. “What are you?”

  “We have to keep moving. Now.”

  Devon reached back into her pack with a hand that shook, with fingers that barely worked, and pulled out the small knife she’d stashed in the side compartment. It’d seemed innocuous enough for the hike and she’d prayed it wouldn’t raise questions, but she’d figured she might need some kind of weapon—for protection, for…something—even knowing deep down she didn’t have the skill or the inclination to use it.

  She was so ill-equipped for this, for all of it. Still, she held the knife out in front of her. “I’m—I’m not going anywhere with you.” She wished her voice didn’t sound so hesitant. “Tom, the real Tom? Did—did you hurt him? What have you done with him?”

  Oh God. Tom. She hadn’t wanted him involved, had felt bad enough that she was going to deceive him by sneaking off, knowing he’d worry, that he’d search for her. But at least he would have been safe.

  The imposter glanced at the knife, unconcerned. She knew he carried no weapons, her bodyguards had searched him thoroughly, but he didn’t need one. He was weapon enough. She wouldn’t stand a chance against him.

  “Nothing. He’s safe.”

  He moved forward until the point of the blade was level with his chest, the tip almost touching him. His gaze roamed over her face and she trembled under the stare. If he could change into someone else—be someone else—there was no telling was else he could do.

  A ball of ice crystallized low in her abdomen when he began to tug at the buttons on his shirt, and a whole different set of scenarios exploded in her head. They were alone. In the middle of nowhere.

  “I’m guessing you’ve probably seen something like this before,” he rasped, opening his shirt wide.

  His chest was big, broad, with smooth skin stretched taut over hard muscle. Ah, no. She swallowed. She was positive she’d never seen anything quite like that before. That was until she looked further down and gasped.

  Dark, bold, intricate swirls were etched into the skin of his abdomen, the ends of the pattern disappearing into his low-slung hiking pants. They were vibrant, seemed almost alive with even the slightest movement of muscle under taut skin. Apart from those on her own body, she’d never seen anyone else with anything like it.

  “Ah…nice tattoos,” she choked out.

  “You know they’re not.”

  Her heart thundered in her ears. “How did you get them?”

  “Same way you got yours.”

  She’d tried to tell herself they were tattoos—but she’d known. She’d always known they weren’t anything that normal. For one, tattoos didn’t spontaneously appear, year after year. Without warning or explanation.

  Before she was even aware of what she was doing, she reached out, touched one of the marks with her fingertips, low down on the side of his hip. She jerked her hand back when he sucked in a harsh breath.

  She frowned and looked up at him. “It’s…they—they’re the same. They—”

  “We all have them. Each pattern is slightly different. Look, I don’t have time to get into it but—”

  “No. They’re exactly the same. As—as mine, except…opposite.”

  His dark gaze locked onto hers. Without any warning he knocked the knife she’d all but forgotten from her hand, grasped her T-shirt at the neckline and ripped it right down the middle.

  Devon cried out, tried to stop him, to cover herself, but it was useless. There was nothing she could do but stand there as he stared at her own marks.

  * * *

  Everything in Seth stilled as he looked at her. It felt as if someone had sucker punched him. His heartbeat kicked up as he tried to drag air into his lungs, but couldn’t get nearly enough to stem the feeling of lightheadedness.

  He reached out and curled his fingers into the waistband of her pants. Swallowing against the sensation of warm flesh against the back of his fingers, ignoring her quick gasp, he yanked the fabric down, exposing the marks that ran low down across her abdomen, above her sex.

  Holy shit.

  They were beautiful, somehow more delicate around the edges than his own, the lines finer. The scrolls weren’t as dark as his, but softer, shimmering against her paleness. The detail was…breathtaking. Like a work of art. If someone had created a tattoo like that they’d be hailed a genius. The dark marks cradled the slight curve of her stomach as if they’d been designed specifically for the shape of her body, to highlight and accentuate. To entice. His hand clenched at the jolt low in his gut when he felt himself harden.

  She was right. They were the same—exactly the same—except they were the inverse of his.

  He dragged his hands off her, almost as if the sting he felt from the contact with her skin was real, and watched as she grasped the ragged edges of the shirt together.

  He’d been off balance since he’d first gotten a good look at her. The basic description he’d been given of light brown hair, blue eyes and average build and height barely covered it. He’d dismissed the surge he’d felt—after all, the driving lust was a constant battle to be fought, to be contained—but it’d leapt almost out of control when she’d stepped out of the car. He shouldn’t have been struggling with the urges again already, not this soon. Yet here he was, trembling like a teenager because he had his hand down a woman’s pants and a hell of a boner he couldn’t do anything about.

  “What are you?” she whispered. “And what exactly am I?”

  Man, he didn’t have the temperament for this type of mission. He wasn’t the hand-holding type, didn’t have a diplomatic bone in his body, and didn’t give a shit about anyone’s “feelings.” And that was on a good day. He’d told Noah that—time and again—but had he listened?

  He let out a rough breath at her wide-eyed look and no wonder—he’d practically ripped her shirt off. He grabbed his phone from his pocket, stalked a few steps away and hit the speed dial. He didn’t take his eyes off her. He couldn’t. Not now.

  “You bastard,” he snarled when the line opened.

  “I think you know what communication silence means, Seth,” Noah said.

  “Fuck that.” The seething emotion he could barely contain roared through him. For the first time in his life losing complete control was a possibility. It wouldn’t be pretty. “You knew, didn’t you? You fucking knew.”

  “That was fast.”

  The how, the what and the why whirled around inside him. To think, to know… He looked at Devon, really looked at her, holding
the torn edges of her shirt together, staring at him as if he’d lost his mind. And he just might have.

  “I’m dangerous at the best of times, Noah,” he bit out. “Paranoid, ruthless, volatile, and you know it.”

  “Is there a problem?”

  He could count on one hand the number of people he’d changed in front of and they’d been expecting it, knew about his ability, had abilities of their own. They’d still been shocked. Amazed. In awe.

  Seth inhaled deeply and lowered his voice. “I worked for weeks on Tom, on learning how to be him, perfecting his movements, his speech, but she knew something was off. She’s only spent a handful of days with him, years apart. She’s smart, more than even you gave her credit for. She suspected something right away, but she kept her mouth shut at the hand-off. I’d bet she doesn’t know anything about us, knows nothing of our capabilities, yet she barely flinched when I changed in front of her. She’s solid as a rock, Noah, she’s—”

  “You can sense it,” Noah breathed.

  Seth tried to rein in his impatience. And failed. “It?”

  “The connection. Know what I hear in your voice?”

  “What?” he snapped.

  “Pride, man. I hear how proud you are of your Macche already.”

  Seth swallowed, his focus centered on Devon. She filled his vision. “My what?”

  “Macche. You know the word. Think about it.”

  “Christ, she’s my…Macche?” He felt weird thinking the word and even weirder saying it out loud. Something tugged at the edge of his subconscious, a faraway memory, a distant impression, something forgotten, suppressed. There’d been no cause to ever use the word before and besides…he didn’t really buy into the whole “soul mate, perfect match forever” stuff anyway.

  She was pale and still looking at him as if she’d rather be anywhere but here. With him. Damn. She’d inched back away from him, seemed as if she was ready to bolt at any minute. He locked his gaze with hers, shook his head and hoped like hell she was as smart as he thought she was. She wouldn’t get two steps before he’d be on her.

  “That’s bullshit, Noah,” he rasped.

  “Yeah. Whatever you say.”

  “You should have told me.”

  “Would it have made a difference?”

  Seth ground his teeth. He might very well have taken himself off as far as he could get and there was no way he was going to admit that to Noah.

  “Who better to protect her, Seth?”

  “You trusted me with this?” he forced out.

  “Imagine how you’d feel if you found out later that I’d entrusted this—her—to someone else.”

  Seth shook his head. “Noah, I’m—I can’t—shit. Me? Why me? Why couldn’t it have been one of the others? I’m not…”

  Worthy. The word reverberated inside his head. He wasn’t. Not of something like this. That was if he even bought into it. Which he didn’t. Right?

  “What happens now?” he asked instead.

  “Nothing’s changed. Get her out and to the rendezvous point. The plan’s on. And Seth?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You want to tell me—now—how you want no part of this?” Noah asked quietly.

  “This?”

  “Seth, our race is on the brink of—”

  “We’re not a race,” Seth sneered. Jesus, always the same crap. How many years had he resisted Noah’s attempts to join him in his “cause” and his crazy-ass plans to resurrect their “race”? “We’re a fucking genetic abnormality. Nothing more.”

  Seth punched the end button. He’d sounded convincing, but as he looked at Devon, her shirt barely covering the marks he now knew for himself were there, he wasn’t so sure about that anymore.

  Noah might be a lot of things, arrogant prick being one of them, but Seth trusted him on an instinctive level. It’s why he’d signed on with him in the first place. Eventually. It’s why he’d taken this job, why he took all the jobs Noah threw his way. There’d been little intelligence, yet he’d accepted Noah’s word that this woman had been abducted and held since childhood. Against her will. That she was one of them. How he came by his information, Seth didn’t know. Hadn’t cared enough to ask. But his information always panned out.

  He’d thought all along that Noah’s plan to intercept her was a piss poor idea. He’d known it was going to be dangerous, that there was risk and he accepted that, embraced it even. After all, the pay was phenomenal. Now the stakes might be higher than he could have ever imagined but he couldn’t let that distract him, couldn’t let her distract him. He needed to stay focused.

  He slid the phone back into his pocket, walked back toward her. “We have to get moving after I—”

  “That’s it?” She frowned. “That’s all you’re going to say? I don’t know who, or what you are, or why you’re doing this exactly, but if it fails, I’m gone. Forever. Do you understand that?”

  Seth bristled at the tone, leaned down to her and fought to keep his voice calm, even. “And do you understand your half-assed plan to hike out to civilization and simply ‘disappear’ had a zero probability of success? Zero.” He straightened. “Look—”

  “No, you look. Lame or not, this is my one chance. My only chance. I won’t get another. Ever. If they catch me, no one will ever see or hear of me again.” Her voice cracked. “It’ll be like I never was.”

  “Yeah.” He knew it and the thought didn’t sit well with him. At all.

  “First… Tell me…who am I to you?” she demanded.

  His gaze flew back to hers, held, heated.

  Who are you? What are you? What am I? What does all this mean?

  Yeah, he might not have given her the answers she was looking for or done it well, but at least he could have tried to field those questions. But did she ask those? No. She was sharp, really fucking sharp. It figured. She asked the one thing he couldn’t answer, didn’t want to think about and wasn’t ready to face himself.

  “You’re a job,” he bit out. “I’m helping you escape. I’ll deliver you somewhere safe and make no mistake, I’ll protect you with my life, but you’re a job.”

  Nothing more. He thought it, but couldn’t get the words out. For sure she’d know he was lying. And who the hell was he trying to convince anyway?

  * * *

  Devon watched as he slid a black, flat case out of his backpack and turned to her. He took something out, ripped at its covering and lifted his head.

  It was a scalpel—a very, very sharp scalpel. Her mouth went dry and her heart was beating so fast and so hard she thought it might leap from her chest.

  “What—what are you doing?”

  “Removing any ability they’ll have of being able to track you.”

  “What?”

  “You have an implant, a small GPS chip implanted under your skin.”

  She frowned. “You—you’re kidding. Tell me you’re kidding.”

  “They can track you anywhere, anytime. Before we go much further, I need to take it out.”

  She glanced back to the knife and tried to swallow, but her throat was too thick, too dry. It wasn’t possible, was it?

  “Turn around.”

  He could be insane. There was a chance they both were, but somehow she knew better. That was the rub. Trust. He was asking her to trust him, demanding she do so. She had so many questions, so much she didn’t understand, but she might be on the brink of discovering who she was, where she belonged. And to whom. Finally.

  “If I was going to hurt you,” he added, his voice low and deep, “I wouldn’t have to ask you to turn around. We’re alone in the middle of nowhere. I could do whatever the hell I wanted to you. And if I was going to kill you? A scalpel wouldn’t be my implement of choice.”

  “No?” Devon felt the tremble i
n her legs and hoped he didn’t see it. She’d fight, she’d do whatever she could, but she didn’t stand a chance against him.

  “No. There are other things much more effective.”

  There was no doubt he knew every single one of them. “That’s supposed to be reassuring?”

  “It’s the best I’ve got.” He glanced at his watch. “I need to do this now.”

  God, her plan was unraveling before she’d even built up the courage to act on it, before she even knew if she had it in her to really go through with it this time. Last year, she’d chickened out. This year, she didn’t have that option. He’d been right of course. It probably wasn’t much of a plan to begin with, but it had been the only one she could come up with under the circumstances.

  All she knew was that this man knew about her markings. Had markings of his own and might be the only chance she had of finding out what they mean. Maybe he’d also know about the simmering energy she felt deep inside and the yearnings she had. The ones that woke her up in the middle of the night. The ones she’d never been able to tell anyone about.

  She closed her eyes briefly and turned around, her movements slow, awkward. She felt rather than heard when he moved to stand at her back. There was a warmth that radiated from him, an awareness that caused a knot in her stomach when he was close, as if every nerve ending in her body came alive. He brushed her hair aside and ran his fingers up and down the back of her neck.

  Devon couldn’t prevent the tremors that coursed through her at the firm, hot touch, especially when he rubbed over the tiny lump at the edge of her hair line. She’d noticed it herself. It itched sometimes but she’d never thought anything of it.

  He lifted his arm and her stomach clenched.

  “Please, I—”

  “Keep still. I’ll take it slow. Take a deep breath first.”

  Devon swallowed, closed her eyes to center herself, but before she could draw in any air, he’d cut into her skin with a quick slice. She gasped at the cold burn of it and then again at the pressure when he pushed against her neck.

  “You said slow,” she choked.