Deep Within Me

The Prophecy - 2

by

Tina Donahue

To all the characters who are gone from The Walking Dead. Dale, Sofia, Lori, Shane…I’ll miss you.

Michonne—you go, girl!

Chapter One

Zeke Neekoma gripped the Jeep’s steering wheel. His eyes swept the barren New Mexico desert. At this hour, moonlight reduced colors to varying shades of gray and deepened the shadows cast by stunted vegetation and rocks. The perfect setting for a sci-fi film…or the endless battles and murders played out here.

Less than two weeks before, Zeke had been close to death from three bullets near his heart. Although no hospital emergency room or medical staff had seen to his rescue and recovery, his body recorded no lingering distress from the incident. The wounds were mere pinpricks on his chest, hardly noticeable, his pulse strong yet too fast, heightened by a continued flood of adrenaline.

Because of Liz—once his enemy, now the woman he adored.

She’d died. He’d seen it, had caressed her limp body, begging her not to leave him. And then…

The enormity of what had happened hit Zeke fully now. He tried to swallow and couldn’t quite manage the action. His throat was too dry, his palms so damp they kept slipping on the steering wheel. He rubbed one hand, then the other on his jeans and clutched the wheel as hard as he could for some measure of control. Didn’t work.

The events of the last few minutes precluded it, the memories assaulting him.

He recalled racing to Carreon’s stronghold, where Liz had gone to stop the man. Carreon was her clan’s leader and the worst sort of coward. He harmed women, children, anyone who was helpless against him. Liz had hoped the bastard’s death would end the bloodshed between her and Zeke’s clans.

How wrong she’d been to have confronted him. When Zeke arrived, Carreon was in his black Escalade with Liz’s father in the passenger seat. All these months, Carreon had kept Dr. Munez prisoner to ensure Liz’s obedience to whatever he demanded. Upon seeing Zeke, Carreon pushed Munez from the SUV, directly into the path of Zeke’s vehicle, forcing him to stop. The action allowed Carreon to escape.

Inside the stronghold—within the safe room—Zeke had found Liz’s body. Carreon had strangled her, just as Zeke’s visions had warned…horrific images he’d been unable to stop. Liz’s face was swollen and purplish. Bruises ringed her neck. He’d felt for a pulse but there hadn’t been any. No signs of—

Zeke forced back a shudder, not wanting to revisit that horror again. Desperate to flee the images, he stomped on the Jeep’s accelerator. With too much gas, the vehicle jerked forward, then jounced over the uneven terrain. He had to fight to keep it steady and to see where he was going. Turning on the headlights wasn’t something he could do. Carreon’s men might see them. They were still out here.

Before Zeke could slow down, the tires hit a particularly deep rut. The Jeep’s front tires dropped into it, and then the vehicle jolted upward.

Liz inhaled sharply. She dug her fingers into Zeke’s thigh to steady herself.

He wanted to glance at her but resisted the urge. All they needed now was for him to lose control of the Jeep, flipping it. Injuring not only himself, but also Liz and her father to the point of unconsciousness. Before long, Carreon’s men would arrive, circling them like vultures.

How could you forget that? What the fuck is the matter with you?

Zeke eased his foot from the accelerator to slow the vehicle. “You okay?” he asked Liz.

“Yeah.”

Her voice didn’t rasp from her previous injuries…her murder. It was as though it had never occurred, the same as Zeke’s brush with death. After another deep breath, she stopped gripping his leg and rested her palm on his thigh.

Her hand’s weight sent a flood of warmth through Zeke that comforted and aroused him. He recalled the feel of her lush nudity, her willing submission and longing for his kisses, the hunger of his caress, his cock buried deep within her cunt.

Its tightness and heat was the shelter he’d needed and had always searched for without even knowing it. Her smile of approval, the love he recognized in her eyes was the only heaven Zeke desired.

Without her, he’d die, no longer caring what happened. With her, he had hope for the future, the first in years. All he had to do to make certain it lasted was to find Carreon and kill the prick. Not quickly, though. He needed the bastard to suffer for what he’d done in the past to Zeke’s clan and family. To his little girl Gabrielle.

A surge of outrage, quick and hot, tore through Zeke.

“You all right?” Liz asked, squeezing his thigh.

He fought to control his anger and finally managed a nod. He’d deal with Carreon later. Right now, he had to see to Liz’s safety and her father’s. They were more than ten miles from his clan’s stronghold with few places to hide in this desolate area. A precarious position. The only thing that might possibly save them was this route. Here, they shouldn’t run into Carreon’s three lieutenants who’d escaped tonight’s battle with Zeke’s men.

Liz twisted slightly, trying to see in the back. Her father sat behind her. “Papa, you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

His words bounced in concert with the Jeep’s rough movements.

Liz blew out a breath.

Zeke welcomed the sound as much as he did her laughter, her pleasured moans when he mounted her. Thankfully, that would happen again. A fucking lot. Hell, if he had his way, he’d never pull out of her. Certainly not to sleep, perhaps not even to eat.

Losing her once was all that he could bear.

The corners of his eyes were still sticky from tears, shed when he’d believed she was gone from him forever. He’d thought, as Liz had, that she and her father were only able to heal the injured, a gift bestowed on them by their mixture of Aztec and extraterrestrial blood.

Because of Carreon and men like him, Liz’s father hadn’t told her the most important secret regarding their gift.

Not only could they undo damage from an accident or the bullets that had torn into Zeke’s chest, they could reanimate.

Earlier, Liz had been beyond simple healing, the delicate bones in her throat crushed from the pressure of Carreon’s hands. When her father finally convinced Zeke there was nothing he could do, that his love alone wouldn’t bring Liz back, he’d finally released her. Through his tears, Zeke watched Munez cradle his daughter’s face. He expected the older man to offer a farewell.

Instead, Munez poured his healing gift, his life force into her. With astonishing speed, the lividity drained from Liz’s face, her complexion returning to its rich olive coloring. She’d stirred as though awakening from a sound sleep, rather than having come back to life.

Carreon didn’t know the full extent of the healing gift. If he learned Liz and her father could reanimate the dead rather than merely healing the injured, he’d do whatever he could to imprison them both. This time, he’d make certain they brought back his lieutenants who were killed in battle with Zeke’s men.

The blood feud had already spanned thousands of years, all to gain power over each other’s gifts or to hold on to so-called sacred territory. Many on both sides claimed it was a tribute to or preparation for the return of their ancient ancestors. Beings who’d crossed deep space and had come to Earth millennia before.

While the Unknowns had bred with Liz’s Aztec ancestors, the Others had done the same with the Comanche clan from which Zeke had descended, leaving generations like him with the gift of prophecy.

Zeke grasped the steering wheel so hard his fingers hurt. He loathed his gift as much as Carreon coveted it. Until the bastard was beyond reanimation, he’d keep trying to capture and imprison Zeke so he could exploit the visions for his own ends.

If it took Zeke’s last breath, he’d find Carreon and would destroy him. There was simply no other—

Shit. The ashy light showed a sudden turn in the trail, interrupting his thoughts. As carefully as he could, Zeke veered to the right.

Liz’s hand slid off his thigh.

He jockeyed the vehicle past rocks and furrows, missing each. The ride was now relatively smooth, considering. It should have calmed him but didn’t. Why?

A quick check of the gauges told him the Jeep was operating properly. He scanned the moon-washed landscape, not seeing anyone coming their way. A good thing. Except something still wasn’t quite right.

What?

Her hand slid off my thigh.

Liz hadn’t taken it back. It had dropped away from him.

Uneasy at what that might mean, Zeke slowed the Jeep and glanced over. His next breath froze in his throat.

Liz’s chin rested on her chest. Her thick chestnut hair had swung forward, hiding her face. The ends shifted with the Jeep’s movements, as did her arms and legs. She looked asleep…unconscious.

Dead.

“Liz!” Zeke shouted.

He hit the brakes. The vehicle skidded over the loose terrain, then shimmied to a stop. Dirt swirled around it, driven by the tires and breeze. The moon’s sheer rays illuminated the area in front of them, murky with dust that blew from behind.

“What is it?” her father cried.

It’s okay. Dammit, it has to be. She must have hit her head on the door when the Jeep was bouncing, which knocked her out. That’s all it was. She couldn’t be—

Zeke pushed the awful thought away and turned in his seat. Before he could grab her and shake her back to consciousness, Munez clamped his hand on her shoulder.

Liz jerked as though an electric shock had shot through her body. She blinked rapidly and wore the same confused expression one would when fighting to pull out of a deep slumber. Turning from Zeke to her father and back, she asked, “What?”

She regarded the landscape—isolated and eerie—then frowned. “Why did you stop?”

Zeke grabbed her upper arm. “Did you fall asleep?”

“No.” Her frown said she found his question odd. “Why?”

“How do you feel now?” her father asked.

She brushed back her hair and noticed his hand on her shoulder. “Frightened.”

A wave of nausea rolled through Zeke. Had she gone to the other side again? Was it calling her back, refusing to loosen its grip on her? He squeezed her arm. “Why?”

Her eyebrows lifted at his obvious panic. “We’re not moving. We’re targets out here if Carreon’s men find us. We need to get going.” She gestured to the road.

Zeke made no move to go down it.

Bewilderment flooded her lovely features. She studied the vehicle’s gauges. “Is something wrong with the motor? Is it about to quit? Are we going to have to walk to your stronghold?”

Zeke tried to exchange a glance with her father, but the man kept his attention on her. If he was concerned about what just happened, it didn’t register on his aged face.

“We better get going,” Munez said.

Reluctantly, Zeke pulled away. This time, he drove more cautiously, which allowed him to sneak glimpses of Liz. Her complexion was lighter in the wan light, though not too pale. Certainly nowhere near the point where he’d question her well-being. If anything, her hazel eyes sparkled with life and health. Her sultry features—especially her pouty lower lip—were as inviting as the first time they’d been together.

They’d been in Carreon’s stronghold then. Three bullets to his chest had brought Zeke down with little chance of survival. Carreon ordered Liz to heal their enemy so he could harness and use Zeke’s ability to see the future.

Zeke had awakened in a large bed with Liz’s body draped over his, both of them nude, their mouths joined, her breath and life force pouring inside, healing him. She’d delivered him from the brink of death, from his desire to continue to the other side so he could reunite with Gabrielle, his daughter. She was only eight when Carreon’s lieutenants had murdered her. Zeke hadn’t wanted to be separated from his child again. He resented Liz’s efforts to heal him and fought against it, but her power had been too strong.

Her touch, warmth and weight too enticing.

Her violet fragrance, light and sweet, had mingled with her womanly musk, so feminine and sultry. He’d returned her kiss, savoring the unique flavor of her tongue, her seeming willingness to be with him. They’d necked hungrily, then with a surprising measure of tenderness. As though they were sweethearts committed to each other, not enemies brought together by Carreon’s desire for power. He’d once been Liz’s lover, duping her into wanting him and healing his men.

Carreon’s possession of her changed that night.

When Zeke had entered Liz, she became his alone. His body trembled at her cunt’s intense heat, its snug fit around his rigid cock. On one level, Zeke had known she used their mating to heal him. The deeper he went, the more of her healing gift and life force he drew inside.

On another level, he understood she’d wanted him, even then, as much as he soon desired her.

She had to be all right. There couldn’t be any other outcome. She must have fallen asleep a few seconds ago. After the battle between their people, her subsequent death and resurrection, she had every reason to be tired. Hell, who wouldn’t be?

At last, she looked at him. “You should keep your eyes on the road.”

“Are you tired?”

Genuine surprise flickered across her face. “No. Why? Do I look it?”

Zeke had rarely seen her more alert. More alive.

Unwilling to dwell on how long it might last or what had caused her previous spell—if that was all it was—he concentrated on his driving.

Munez settled back into his seat. A quick glance in the rearview mirror showed Zeke the older man’s shock of white hair, his forehead and cheeks furrowed further by the play of moonlight and shadows. The doctor continued to watch his daughter. However, no concern showed on his features.

Zeke drove without thinking, knowing this area well. As much as he tried to stop it, he kept recalling how Liz’s body had flopped in her seat, no different from a rag doll or someone who no longer had control of their limbs.

Why?

More importantly, why hadn’t she recalled it? She hadn’t been a bit concerned or confused at what had happened. It was as though her mind remained sharp, continuing to register events, even as her body ceased to respond. Was that normal for someone with her blood and heritage? Was that why her father didn’t seem at all uneasy?

Zeke chanced another glimpse in his rearview mirror.

In that instant, the noise from the Jeep’s chugging motor faded, along with Liz’s too quiet breathing that he’d strained to hear. He wasn’t able to detect rocks and other debris hitting the vehicle’s undercarriage, though he knew they must be, the noise mimicking the rat-a-tat-tat of faraway gunfire. The hissing he now heard was loud enough to be painful. He winced.

When he tried to focus on Munez’s snowy hair and weathered face in the mirror, the man’s image faded beneath a glare of white—an oncoming vision.

Within seconds, it was as though Zeke stood outside the Jeep, observing himself as he brought the vehicle to a slow halt. He watched Liz and her father turning to him, speaking words he couldn’t hear, their expressions surprised…worried.

He couldn’t answer. Too many pictures pulsed in his mind with the irritating speed of a strobe light.

He saw a woman’s hand, her skin color rich, familiar. Liz? Within her fist she held a slender onyx knife with a metal button on the side of its hilt. A switchblade? Blood dirtied its steel edge. Whose?

Carreon’s face materialized into the scene, similar to when a photograph develops. Pleasure hooded his pale blue eyes. His broad smile revealed his satisfaction. Had he killed someone else? Taken them prisoner?

Zeke blinked rapidly, needing to see more. Another man filled his vision, younger than Carreon, possibly late twenties. Dirt from the desert coated his denim jeans and jacket. Wind tugged at his dark hair, worn longish. Anticipation tightened his handsome features.

Wait! Zeke’s mind shouted.

Whorls of dust obscured the young man’s image before Zeke could study it. New pictures flashed in his mind, these at record speed. He saw the inside of the vehicle Liz had taken to Carreon’s stronghold, its dashboard illuminated though no one was inside. Next, he saw Carreon’s lieutenants, each in their early thirties, the same as him. Something wet shone dully on their black clothes. Blood? Their vehicle’s dashboard illuminated their faces, their features taut with fear and hate.

The one in the passenger seat kept looking at his side-view mirror as though he feared someone following them. The driver divided his attention between what lay in front and to the left. His pitiless stare turned to surprise, then renewed rage at whatever he’d spotted.

The man in the backseat leaned up, his mouth forming the question, “What?”

Coming, coming, coming, Zeke’s thoughts warned.

He blinked at a flash of light. A gun’s report. A thin line of smoke rose from its muzzle. The Jeep’s windshield cracked, its glass webbing in all directions. Blood bloomed on a woman’s torso. Liz?

No.

“Zeke?”

Dumbly, he regarded her hand on his arm. His vision had faded as quickly as it had arrived, much of it already gone, which left only snatches of what he’d seen. Shifting the Jeep into reverse, he turned it around in a tight circle.

Liz gasped. “What are you doing?”

“Taking cover.”

“From what?”

Carreon’s lieutenants. During tonight’s battle, Zeke’s clan had killed most of the men. They’d taken two prisoner, with three having escaped. They were heading this way. He didn’t know how, given the hidden route. He wasn’t even certain if his vision was correct. It hadn’t always been in the past. However, he couldn’t discount any of it now.

“Tell us what you saw,” Liz cried.

Her father leaned up. Just as Carreon’s man had in Zeke’s mind.

“You had a vision?” Munez asked.

Zeke nodded, unwilling to tell either of them the extent of what he’d seen. He drove the Jeep toward a series of boulders and parked it behind the largest, then grabbed his assault rifle.

“Wait.” Liz dug her fingers into his arm, just below his tribal band tattoo. It formed a stylized snake curled around the eye of an eagle that designated him as a prophet. The snake’s head was gone, cut out by Carreon as a trophy when Zeke had lay dying.

“What did your vision show you?” she asked. “Where are you going?”

Zeke shook her off. “Get on the floor.” He spoke to her father. “You too.”

Liz didn’t move. “Why?”

“Just do it,” Zeke insisted.

She reached into the backseat for another weapon. “I’m coming with—”

“I saw you bleeding, killed in the crossfire,” Zeke blurted, then lied. “Your father too. Neither of you able to save the other. My vision showed Carreon’s men taking me prisoner, torturing me so I’d tell them the future. Do you want that?”

Her mouth trembled. “No.”

“Then do as I say and get on the floor.”

She looked torn between arguing and leaving him to fight Carreon’s men alone. “Please come back,” she whispered.

“I will.” He ran his knuckles down her cheek.

Liz took his hand and kissed his palm. Then she crouched on the floor, the same as her father had already done.

Zeke exited the vehicle and ran ahead to another series of rocks, his moccasins muting the sound of his footfalls. He took cover behind the biggest of the group. The strong breeze, mild and dry, smelled of dust. It tugged at his shoulder-length hair and dried the sweat on his naked chest. He held his breath and listened, then heard a faint hum in the distance—a generator or the sound faraway traffic might make when driven by the wind. This deep in the desert, the noise from a generator was impossible.

The merciless landscape was all too still, its thirsty vegetation scarcely moving with the gusts of wind. A uniform pewter shade stretched out before Zeke, interrupted by specks of some luminescent material that glittered within the endless miles of land.

The hum grew louder.

With the butt of his assault rifle braced against his shoulder, Zeke waited. Perspiration broke out on his forehead. Several drops slipped down the side of his nose and ran into his eyes. He blinked away the sting. His throat hurt from his heart’s frantic pounding. Grit filled his nostrils and coated his lips.

Movement. To the right.

He strained to see better and focused on an area approximately half a mile away. A series of large rocks jutted up from the ground, resembling a monster’s bony spine, whitened by the moonlight.

Zeke concentrated on them. Come on.

Nothing happened.

He swore, then sucked in a breath at a shadow moving in front of the pale stone. A new blast of wind brought the hum closer to reveal the sound of a motor.

Within minutes, Zeke saw the outline of a vehicle, its headlights off. From this distance, its shape resembled an SUV. Had to be Carreon’s men. At this hour—in this location—who else would be driving this way in the dark?

He tensed as it neared. Within his rifle’s scope, Zeke regarded the driver and his passengers in the moonlight streaming through the windshield. All were dressed in black. Smears of something equally dark, most probably dried blood, dirtied their cheeks.

They were the men from his vision, but they looked younger now. Scared to die when they’d barely had a chance to live.

Zeke hesitated. He considered the possibility of letting them choose his side over Carreon’s or living out their lives as prisoners of his clan. Their decision.

Would they take him up on the offer, or would they ridicule his suggestion, wanting to battle it out?

His forefinger slid down the weapon’s trigger. Their SUV rocked from side to side as it moved over the bumpy road. Available light skimmed off the barrels of their rifles, the metal glinting briefly.

How many of their victims had seen those brief flashes before they’d died?

Had Gabrielle?

Zeke’s chest ached at the memory of his daughter—her new outfit, a cheery yellow, stained with her blood. She’d died along with her mother and a score of other women while they attended a child’s birthday party.

Had one of these men been responsible for the carnage?

Even if they were innocent of that crime, did it matter? They’d been at Zeke’s stronghold tonight, shooting at doors, not caring if women and children were inside the rooms. They’d been prepared to take him prisoner no matter how many innocents they harmed.

His hesitation and humanity fell away, replaced by icy resolve. Never again would any of Carreon’s lieutenants take a loved one from him. Not while Zeke still breathed.

He steadied his weapon, focusing on the driver in his crosshairs. The man’s skin was darker than his companions, possibly a deep bronze. Hard to tell in the scant light. His thick black hair was slicked back, his expression unchanging when the bullet pierced his upper lip. It shattered his teeth and surely destroyed his brainstem.

His companion’s heavy eyebrows shot up, no doubt at the sound of the bullet’s impact, the blood that sprayed on his beard-shadowed cheeks.

It would be the last movement the man ever made on this earth. Zeke’s next shot caught the passenger in his thick throat.

The man in the backseat opened his mouth in what appeared to be a scream.

Without anyone to guide it, the SUV wove drunkenly over the trail, listing to the left as it hit a deep cleft. Back and forth it tottered, its metal groaning like a creature from hell before it came to an uneasy stop, leaning on one side. Two of its inhabitants slumped lifelessly in their seats. No different than Liz had looked a short while a—

Stop it.

Bent at the waist to take as much cover as he could, Zeke ran toward the SUV. As he neared the vehicle, he heard scrambling inside—the remaining man trying to right himself and grab his gun.

Zeke remained in a crouch as more noises poured from the vehicle. A frustrated huff. The smack of a man’s foot hitting a door, which swung open with a tortured creak.

Puffs of dust plumed up as Carreon’s remaining lieutenant fell from the SUV, his boots hitting the ground.

Taking aim, Zeke hollered, “Drop the weapon, or you’re dead too.”

All movement stopped. Even the Jeep’s elevated wheels no longer spun.

“Move away from the vehicle—slowly,” Zeke shouted. “Hands—”

“Fuck you!” The man lifted his rifle, took aim.

Zeke fired a volley of shots into his legs, exposed beneath the Jeep’s opened door. On a wild, agonized scream, Carreon’s lieutenant tumbled down, still clutching his weapon, aiming it, preparing to fire.

Another shot stopped him from doing so.

Zeke wanted to feel bad, but couldn’t. Nor would he offer any of these men a chance at reanimation. Their deaths were for Gabrielle and all the others in his clan who’d never asked for this fight. Who’d paid the ultimate price for Carreon’s hunger for power.

As the man’s blood flowed into the parched ground, Zeke regarded him. He was lean with a shaved head, the same as Carreon, his features decidedly plain, his lips too thin, nose too large. Not the man in Zeke’s vision whose longish hair and good looks were the kind that women found enticing, arousing.

Why had he been in the vision? Who was he? Another of Carreon’s men?

Zeke pulled the driver from the vehicle. His body thudded to the ground. Given the SUV’s angle, it would be a bitch to climb in and delete the GPS information so Carreon’s other lieutenants wouldn’t be able to use it to locate Zeke’s stronghold.

They wouldn’t have had it the last time if not for Kele. Zeke tamped down his anger at her. Heartache and jealousy, nothing else, had led her to betray their clan. She loved his younger brother, Jacob, while Jacob barely noticed her. Jacob wanted Liz, despite Zeke’s insistence that he wouldn’t share her. With Kele unable to stand any more hurt or rejection, she’d led Carreon’s men to the stronghold tonight so they would take Liz away.

To keep that from happening again, Zeke positioned himself at what he hoped was a safe distance and fired into the dashboard. Luckily, there wasn’t a dramatic explosion, the vehicle engulfed in flames, him hit by flying metal as one might see in an action-adventure flick.

A gaping hole replaced where the GPS system had once been. Faint wisps of smoke rose from it and the muzzle of his weapon. The best he could do. Hopefully, these men had been too busy fleeing to have downloaded the data to Carreon’s computer system and given the bastard another chance to locate Zeke’s clan in what was supposed to be a hidden and secure location.

He took the men’s weapons and cell phones, then ran back to the Jeep. His feet pounded the dirt, an accompaniment to the other night sounds. Animals cried out in the dark or skittered about. Brisk air skipped over the stark landscape, whining, then whistling. Near-dead vegetation crackled as though in answer.

At the Jeep, Zeke opened Liz’s door. She flinched, horror etched on her face, her tee and jeans smeared with blood from the earlier battle that Kele had caused.

“It’s all right,” Zeke panted. “I got them.”

She reached for him. “Are you hurt?”

“No.” He swallowed and embraced her briefly. “Get back in your seat, please. We have to go.” He circled the vehicle and put the confiscated phones and weapons on the floor in the back.

Munez leaned away from them.

Zeke got behind the wheel.

“Your vision didn’t come true this time,” Liz said. “It did when Carreon strangled me, but not—”

“It wouldn’t have happened then if you hadn’t left the stronghold. When I tell you to stay put, you do so, understand?” He shifted the Jeep into drive. “That’s why Jacob was hit tonight. My vision showed it happening, and I tried to prevent it, but he refused to listen to me. Just like you keep—”

“All right, all right, I’ll—wait, what are you doing?” She looked in her side-view mirror, the direction they’d been going. “This is the wrong way, isn’t it?”

Zeke gulped more air. “We have to go back to Carreon’s stronghold.”

“You can’t be serious. Why?”

“The vehicle you drove to Carreon’s is still there.”

“So?”

Zeke sighed out his next breath, wearier than he wanted to be. “He or his men will use the GPS to locate my clan’s stronghold. Right now, I’m hoping they still don’t know where it is. The moment they do, they’ll come again for you and your father. This time my people and I might not be able to stop them.”

Liz rocked in her seat as though she didn’t want to hear it.

Zeke continued toward Carreon’s stronghold, not knowing what he’d find. Not knowing what else his visions might protect them from or lead them into.

Chapter Two

The last place Liz wanted to be tonight was back at Carreon’s estate, the mansion hidden and all too secluded within miles of unforgiving desert. She recalled the damp smell of the tropical plants in his foyer, the scent of citrusy furniture polish, the sterile air in his safe room. His fingers around her throat, the intolerable pressure as his thumbs dug into her hyoid bone.

Instinctively, she drew in her shoulders at the remembered and terrifying sensation of her lungs burning. How her body had ached with the need for air. Unrestrained fury had flared in Carreon’s icy eyes. Blood dripped from his earlobe. She’d ripped his silver earring from it as she’d fought him.

Insane with rage that she’d come to stop him from harming anyone else—especially because it meant she was finally prepared to murder him—he’d pressed tighter.

Suppressing a shudder at the awful memories, Liz focused on the murky terrain surrounding them. How many more of Carreon’s men were out here tonight? Had he already sent backups to his stronghold? How could Zeke hope to fight all of them off by himself?

Knowing he couldn’t, Liz turned in her seat and reached into the back.

Zeke glanced at her. “What are you doing?”

“Papa, hand me that weapon.” She gestured to the one she wanted, a mean-looking sucker with a barrel as long as her arm.

Zeke spoke sharply. “No.”

Her father concurred, pushing her hand back.

Liz spoke through her teeth. “Give it to me.”

“Why?” Zeke asked.

“To fight with you.” To protect you.

Both men wore expressions that said they considered the notion beyond foolish.

Zeke hardly needed a woman, a pediatrician no less, looking out for him. He was a large man, six-three, his body in superb physical condition, his features those of his Comanche ancestors, rugged and masculine, his hair worn long like a warrior from some distant past. Moonlight skimmed his straight black hair, his broad shoulders and chest, emphasizing those hard slabs of coppery flesh.

Liz didn’t doubt the impressiveness of his physique and strength. However, they wouldn’t mean shit against gunfire

Above his left nipple—smooth and cocoa-colored—were three scars the size of pinpoints. Barely visible.

Prior to her having healed him, they’d been perfect circles, each the circumference of a bullet, and seemed to yawn open to show the rounds’ paths as they tore into his body and barely missed his heart. He’d been close to death when she’d first seen him. However, serenity, not fear, flooded his expression. He’d resisted her healing power, not wanting to come back, eager to be with his daughter Gabrielle again.

No matter Liz’s ability or her father’s to reanimate, she knew a part of Zeke was still on the other side with his child, always would be. He was too careless with his safety, too worried about others, never himself.

If she lost him forever, his body too destroyed for her to heal or as a last resort to reanimate…

Liz couldn’t finish the horrible thought. She tried to reason. “You can’t possibly fight all of Carreon’s men by yourself. If I’m armed—”

“That would be the worst thing possible. Listen to me,” he said, interrupting her again. “You’ve never fired a weapon before. You could end up shooting me and your father.” He checked his side-view and rearview mirrors. “There’s no reason to even discuss this. No one’s following us.”

“Maybe not here,” she argued. “But Carreon might have already sent more men to his stronghold. Even though he’s too much of a coward to fight for it himself, he’s not about to give up as much as an inch of his territory.”

Zeke accelerated. The Jeep bounced over the rugged terrain. “They’d never get there before we do. It’s only a few miles away.”

He couldn’t be serious. Carreon’s men were everywhere, hiding like vermin. Surely, Zeke knew that…and most likely didn’t care. Liz’s concern for him intensified. “What if you’re wrong?”

“You’re not getting a gun.”

“But—”

“A few minutes ago, you fell asleep or passed out. You do that while you’re firing an assault rifle that’s fully automatic and we might all be dead before your finger slips from the trigger.”

Liz stared at him, not understanding. Previously, he’d asked if she’d fallen asleep. Now, he was claiming that she’d possibly passed out? When?

She recalled none of it. One moment they’d been escaping Carreon’s stronghold, the next the Jeep had stopped, and Liz had no idea why. She had no sense of losing time, not even a moment. As Zeke had driven them across the desert, Liz’s thoughts had been on her father. For some reason, she kept recalling the pain on his face when Zeke had helped him to his feet at the stronghold…how she’d fallen to her knees and laid her hands on his ankle, healing it.

Ordinary stuff for her in an extraordinary night. Including Zeke having looked at her so oddly earlier, panic clearly etched on his features.

“I didn’t pass out,” she insisted, then cleared the catch in her throat. “I’m fine.” Rarely had she felt as alert or jittery, her pulse points pounding.

Zeke snuck a peek at the rearview mirror. To exchange a glance with her father? Neither of them commented. The vehicle rattled as it hit a particularly rough spot. Rocks pinged against the undercarriage. Wind whipped past.

“Everything’s going to be okay,” Zeke said.

His baritone rumbled within the small confines of the Jeep, the sound deep, rich, soothing.

And a lie. Liz heard his uncertainty.

She flinched at the two-way radio’s static.

Slowing a bit so he could drive with one hand, Zeke lifted the device to his lips. “Jacob?”

“Where are you?” Pain and worry colored his brother’s words. “You should have been here by now.”

“We’re fine,” Zeke assured.

“Then what’s taking so long?”

“I want to make certain we’re not followed. We’ll be there in less than an hour. Is Isabel taking care of your leg?”

“She did what she could, then left. So did the rest of the women.”

Zeke didn’t immediately comment. He took a turn in the road, glancing about as he did, then asked, “Left to go where?”

“To help the other men, I suppose. Some of them were probably hit like Samuel and me. I’m in my room.”

“Alone?”

“They told me to sleep. Actually, they more or less ordered me to do so.”

That didn’t make sense to Liz.

If Zeke thought the same, he didn’t show it. He depressed the radio’s button and asked, “You’re okay, though?”

“Just some pain. The bleeding’s stopped.”

“Hang tight. We’ll be there as quickly as we can.” Zeke signed off and put his radio in the cup holder between the seats as though everything were all right.

Not even close. Something weird was going on back at his stronghold.

Liz recalled weeks ago when Zeke had first brought her there to heal Jacob, who’d been shot by Carreon’s men, those rounds having struck him in his calves and belly. Women of varying ages had kept a vigil outside his room. Among them had been Kele—young and so beautiful—her desire for Jacob, her love and concern for his recovery quite evident.

He’d been wounded again tonight, yet Kele wasn’t watching over him as she had in the past.

“What happened to Kele?” Liz asked, then blurted, “Carreon’s men didn’t—”

“No. She wasn’t hit. The last I saw, she was taking care of Jacob.” He hesitated, then added, “She fought Carreon’s men with us tonight.”

“You sound surprised.”

“No.”

Liz frowned at his obvious lie, then at another thought she’d had earlier when she’d been in Zeke’s stronghold. “How did his men even know where to find you and your clan?”

Zeke sighed.

The sound was more telling than words, the same as when he’d spoken of Kele fighting beside him and Jacob. “Oh my God, did she lead Carreon’s men there because she was pissed about Jacob wanting me? Is that why she’s not with him now? Did your clan banish her from—”

“They wouldn’t do that without asking me first. Kele’s probably helping the others who were injured.”

And his people were allowing it, especially without his blessing, considering that she’d brought a boatload of misery on them?

As Liz was about to ask, she saw the outline of Carreon’s mansion. Her stomach twisted, the pain so acute she couldn’t speak. The building’s decorative lights were still on, the same as when she’d come here earlier, hoping to stop Carreon even if it meant risking her life. All that had mattered was saving Zeke, his people, her father.

Zeke stopped the Jeep well back from the one she’d driven, then warned her, “Do not get out of this vehicle.”

“Let me drive the other one to your stronghold. I can follow—”

“No. I don’t want you driving anything. We’ll have to leave it here.” He spoke to her father. “Don’t let her take any of the weapons.”

“I won’t.” He scooted closer to the cache, his body blocking them.

With his assault rifle in hand, Zeke exited the vehicle and ran toward the other Jeep.

Liz leaned against the dashboard, dividing her attention between him and the surroundings. Her palms were wet, her belly churning at the prospect of Carreon’s men charging out of the shadows, weapons drawn, aiming them at Zeke.

Oh God, oh God, oh God, not that, please.

The area remained quiet, deserted.

Zeke entered the vehicle and turned the key to illuminate the dashboard without starting the motor. His features looked ghostly in the faint light.

“We can’t let anything happen to him,” Liz said.

Her father sighed as though he feared responding.

“We can’t,” she insisted, wanting to face him but afraid to take her focus off Zeke.

Her father murmured, “If anything does happen to—”

“Oh, please, don’t say that. It can’t.”

“I know, I know.” He softened his voice even more, the way he always had when Liz was a child and something had frightened her. A monster she just knew was waiting for her beneath the bed. A spider on the ceiling. A growling dog. “He’ll always have me to heal him. I promise you that.”

Liz tensed at her father’s words. She found it difficult to pull in a full breath. Why had he said Zeke would always have him for healing? What about her abilities? She still had the gift. She’d proved it by healing her father’s ankle not more than a half hour earlier.

She was all right, damn it. He must have known that.

Liz blurted, “I didn’t pass out or fall asleep before.”

He didn’t comment.

“You know that, don’t you,” Liz pressed.

“We’ve all been under a strain tonight.”

What kind of an answer was that? Liz should have asked but couldn’t bring herself to do so.

Minutes ticked by. Zeke’s upper body continued to move as he either deleted the data on the GPS or disabled it.

Liz squirmed in her seat, wondering why he didn’t simply shoot it out and get it over with. Unless he was as worried as she that someone nearby might hear the gun’s report and race here even faster.

Come on, her mind pleaded. Hurry up.

Even if there was no one nearby at the moment, she sensed Carreon’s lieutenants moving closer, prepared to pounce. They’d take Zeke prisoner.

Worse, they’d send for Roberto.

At thirty, he was a man to fear, though the casual observer would never suspect that by his demeanor. Exceedingly handsome, Roberto had a calm, almost gentle manner despite his powerful body sculpted by exercise. Even with his muscular frame, there were no bulging biceps for him like Arnold Schwarzenegger or the Hulk. In a suit, he looked like a rising young star from Wall Street. A broker. Or perhaps an attorney.

The little finger on his left hand contradicted that notion. It was the only part of him that was physically flawed, the portion above the joint missing. Rumor had it Roberto had chopped it off with garden shears when he was only sixteen, wanting to prove to Carreon’s father that he could take anything. He wasn’t afraid of pain or death.

Torture was Roberto’s specialty. He had no qualms about using his skill on a woman or even a child. Making Zeke scream in agony wouldn’t bother him a bit. He’d force Zeke to reveal what the future held so Carreon could use the knowledge for his own purposes. Annihilating Zeke’s people, taking their land, enriching himself even further.

“I saw you bleeding, killed in the crossfire,” Zeke had said. “Your father too. Neither of you able to save the other. My vision showed Carreon’s men taking me prisoner, torturing me so I’d tell them the future. Do you want that?”

She wanted out of here. Now. She sank her teeth into her bottom lip, tasting blood.

“He’s going to be fine,” her father said and touched her shoulder.

Just as he had when she’d been so focused on her memory of healing his ankle, reliving that moment repeatedly. Why? It had been a minor injury, certainly nothing like bullets near a man’s heart or in his gut. Yet her concentration on that one event had been so acute, Liz hadn’t responded to Zeke shouting her name. She’d heard his worry but hadn’t said anything.

Because she hadn’t wanted to or couldn’t?

Apprehension kept Liz from asking. She rested her hand on her father’s. “I can’t lose him, Papa.”

“You won’t.”

Liz squeezed his fingers, wanting to feel relieved, unable to do so. As long as Carreon lived, there would always be danger.

To the right, something caught her attention. Liz stiffened, expecting the worst.

It was only dirt spiraling in place, driven by the wind. A moment passed before she remembered to breathe. The dust devil hit and shook the Jeep. Its spray of pebbles and sand sounded like muted gunfire striking the vehicle.

Liz gripped the dash and turned back to Zeke. What was taking so long?

He leaned toward the passenger seat, fooling with something on it. She tried to recall anything being there, but—

Her thoughts paused at Zeke dousing the dashboard’s light. On his run back to their vehicle, he concentrated on the area surrounding them. His expression said they were still alone. For the moment.

Liz leaned over as he opened the door. “Did everything go all right?”

“Yeah.” He tossed the other vehicle’s keys next to his two-way radio. “All the data’s gone.” Once he’d secured his assault rifle, Zeke pulled away.

Only thirteen miles separated this location from his stronghold. Liz prayed they’d make it this time. She kept scouring the landscape, waiting for something awful to happen.

“We’ll be there in a few minutes,” Zeke said.

Liz nodded absently. They’d just reached the vehicle with Carreon’s lieutenants inside. Several animals, possibly coyotes or maybe wild dogs, were crouched a distance away. Their eyes glittered in the available light. No doubt, they were waiting for the Jeep to pass so they could investigate the carnage undisturbed.

Without meaning to, Liz moaned.

“I had to do it,” Zeke said.

Beneath his apathetic tone, she heard soul-deep sorrow and guilt. He’d never wanted any of this. He’d told her how he hated his gift…how he wished only to live his life in peace. Something Carreon and his kind wouldn’t allow.

“I know.” She rested her hand on his forearm. “I don’t blame you. Please don’t blame yourself.”

He pulled in a deep breath that seemed to sap his strength, then sighed it out. “I don’t.”

Liar. He was a good man, generous and kind, risking his life repeatedly to protect those he loved. If he’d been born into different circumstances, he may have been a star athlete, his powerful build dominating the football field. Or he might have gone into law enforcement, pursuing his sense of justice that was as much a part of him as his coppery skin and dark eyes.

Brutality didn’t come easily to Zeke Neekoma, not even after all he’d suffered and lost. Liz hoped it never would.

As she had earlier, she rested her hand on his thigh. This time, Zeke covered her hand with his own as though he feared she’d remove it.

They drove in silence. Clearly, none of them was able to think of acceptable conversation. Her father cleared his throat. A nervous reaction to something that worried him? An unconscious one? Liz decided against asking, knowing he’d lie to her just as Zeke had about everything being all right.

It wasn’t. Wouldn’t be as long as Carreon ruled. He’d wrested power from his father two years earlier, ordering his lieutenants to assassinate the man. His brothers, all products of different mothers, had gone into hiding, knowing he’d have them murdered next. Carreon demanded a clear and permanent path to ruling his clan. Once he’d taken over, he ended the fragile truce his father had established with Zeke’s people. Carreon’s lieutenants killed indiscriminately, not caring if they slaughtered children, women or the aged.

Liz fisted her free hand, outrage and hatred urging her to strike something. To destroy Carreon, a filthy coward. Fear and paranoia ruled him, so he’d actually believed Zeke would do anything to spare his own life. That after Gabrielle’s murder, Zeke would no longer fight capture or imprisonment. He’d want only to save himself from Carreon’s depravity.

Liz swore at the bastard beneath her breath.

“What did you say?” Zeke asked.

She shook her head. “Nothing.”

He squeezed her hand. “You can quit worrying, all right? We’re here.”

The mountain towered above them, its jagged peaks blotting out most of the sky from this position. Zeke drove around several boulders to a stand of trees, bushes and cacti, no doubt nourished by an underground stream. Threads of moonlight whispered over the vegetation, making it a study in light and dark with the shaded areas hiding what was within—the entrance to the clan’s stronghold.

The Others had built it during their brief time here.

Three of Zeke’s men were just inside the tunnel’s entrance, assault rifles raised. He slowed the Jeep, giving them time to recognize him. Once they had, his men nodded and granted him entry.

The tunnel was no less impressive than the other times Liz had seen it, the passage seeming to stretch for miles. Its twenty-foot-high walls were constructed of an alloy Zeke had said was from the Others, the metal unknown to the people on this planet. Near the ceiling, long tubes ran down each side, their blue-white light nearly blinding. The tires hummed with the vehicle’s speed, this ride as smooth as if they’d been on a newly constructed highway.

After what seemed like miles, Liz saw his clan’s other vehicles. Many of them bore bullet holes from tonight’s battle or earlier ones.

Unlike the first time Liz had been here, none of Zeke’s men came to the Jeep to greet him. The area was oddly deserted, dark reddish stains on the floor. Dried blood. She recalled the pools of it inside the stronghold, the spatters on the walls, doors shot out, the bodies of Carreon’s lieutenants.

She exited the vehicle when Zeke did, taking a moment to help her father.

He patted her hand. “I’m all right.”

“Good.” She wasn’t. With her arm linked through his, she walked with him to Zeke, taking his hand. “Why isn’t anyone outside like they were when you first brought me here?”

“They have injured to attend to.”

Of course. How could she have forgotten about that? The three of them moved as one to the stronghold’s enormous door. The width of a tank, it was made of the same material as the walls.

Zeke laid his hand on the control panel so it could read his palm and grant him entrance.

Liz waited for the remembered series of clicks, then the door sliding sideways, disappearing into the wall.

Nothing happened.

Zeke frowned.

She squeezed his fingers. “What’s the matter? Why didn’t it open?”

“It will.” He rubbed his palm against his jeans as though he needed to clean it of dirt and blood or wipe the sweat from it. Again, he placed his hand on the control panel.

The door didn’t move.

From behind them, the sound of a motor neared. Its brakes squealed briefly.

Alarmed at the thought of Carreon’s lieutenants, Liz turned and saw a van. The three men who’d been at the tunnel’s entrance exited the vehicle.

The stockiest of them—Ike, Liz recalled—studiously ignored her and her father as he went to Zeke. “What’s the matter?”

“The damn thing won’t open.”

Ike’s broad face flooded with concern. “You’re sure?”

Zeke inclined his head to the still-closed entrance. He’d once told Liz the barrier couldn’t be breached with blowtorches or the most powerful explosives on this planet. The damn thing was impenetrable…and they couldn’t get inside.

“Try again,” one of the other men said from behind.

Zeke had yet to move his hand from the panel.

“I’ve never stopped,” he said, then spoke to Ike. “Are all of Carreon’s men accounted for inside?”

“Yeah.” Ike stared at the control panel as one would an instrument they’d never seen before and didn’t understand. “We did a sweep. They’re dead except for the two we’ve taken prisoner.”

“Did you capture them anywhere near the computer systems?”

“No.” Ike frowned. “They were in the hall outside Jacob’s room.” His features went slack. “You think one of Carreon’s men actually changed the settings on this? When would any of them have had the time? Even if they did, how could they have known what to do?”

“I don’t know,” Zeke muttered. “What else would explain the damn thing not working?”

Despite the mild night, perspiration broke out on the back of Liz’s neck and between her breasts, making her feel oddly chilled. Holding back a shiver, she looked behind herself, the endless expanse of tunnel, those sickeningly bright lights. Similar to a hospital’s ER filled with gore and death. “Are we trapped out here?”

“No.” Zeke lifted his hand. “You try it,” he said to Ike.

The man’s thick black eyebrows inched up. “You’re sure?”

Given how Zeke tightened his fingers around hers, Liz sensed his mounting irritation and worry.

He kept it well hidden from his men, his tone nonchalant. “Yeah, go on.”

Ike slung the strap of his assault rifle over his left shoulder, then placed his hand on the device.

The expected clicks sounded—one, two, three. Silently, the door slid sideways, disappearing into the wall, showing the stronghold’s interior. Mahogany walls, electric torches, Comanche blankets, Indian art, the staggering buffalo totem, its size matching that of the stronghold’s massive door.

Although it was now possible for them to go inside, Zeke didn’t move. Nor did Liz or her father.

Yards away stood numerous members of Zeke’s clan. The men were in back, the women in front, led by Isabel. An older woman who’d never wanted Liz here…who’d frowned on Zeke’s desire for her.

She and the other women had their arms crossed over their chests, their bodies blocking entry into their domain.

Chapter Three

At a speed reaching one hundred miles an hour, Carreon raced north on I-25 through New Mexico’s Chihuahuan Desert. The bleak landscape might as well have been on the moon, it was that barren, colorless in the thin moonlight.

Given the hour, there was little to no traffic, certainly none from his enemies. Nor did Carreon worry about cops on this lonely stretch of road. His only desire was to put as much distance between himself and Zeke Neekoma as possible.

Bastard.

Carreon pressed harder on the Escalade’s accelerator, pushing the vehicle to one hundred and five, one hundred and ten miles per hour.

Because of Zeke, Liz was dead.

Had Dr. Munez died too?

Back at Carreon’s stronghold, the elderly man had kept shouting his daughter’s name and fighting to exit the Escalade.

“You can’t keep me from her!” Munez had cried.

Carreon had separated them in the past and, with her death, he’d made certain to do so in the future. He’d gripped the doctor’s arm to stop him from escaping, determined to keep him prisoner for his healing gift.

Hadn’t turned out that way. The same moment Carreon fled from his goddamn stronghold, Zeke had driven up to it. No doubt to rescue Liz.

“He won’t let her go,” Kele had said of Zeke, her words laced with heartache. She’d wanted Carreon’s men to bring Liz back to her own clan where she rightfully belonged so Kele could have Jacob for herself.

Clearly, both Zeke and Jacob had been enjoying Liz. Mounting her, driving their stiffened cocks into her moist, heated flesh.

“He knows keeping her is dangerous to our people,” Kele had continued in her confession about Zeke, “but he claims to love her as much as she loves him.”

That fucking love had been Liz’s greatest downfall. Carreon relished the memory of his hands around her throat, ending her life. For her betrayal. For wanting the enemy rather than him. For returning tonight with only one purpose—to see him dead.

Carreon bristled at her stupidity, the utter audacity of her plan. He’d shown her where infidelity led, but even then Liz hadn’t simply died as she should have. She’d fought hard. His earlobe still throbbed from her ripping out his earring, the pain deep, constant, making that part of him feel three times its size. The skin on his cheeks and throat burned from where she’d raked him with her nails.

He let out an infuriated growl, wishing she were still alive so he could make her pay once more for harming him.

This time, he’d have Roberto torture her slowly. He’d savor her screams, her pleas for Roberto to stop.

Carreon wouldn’t allow it. He’d take over eventually and would kill her as he had the first time, even if it was a stupid move. No matter what she’d done, how she’d angered him, he still needed her healing gift. However, his rage had also demanded a target. First, with her. Then with her father when Carreon had pushed him from the vehicle.

“You want out, then go,” he’d said, shoving him.

As Carreon had sped away, one of the last things he’d seen was Munez’s body rolling down the drive toward Zeke’s Jeep.

Had Neekoma driven over the man before he could stop his vehicle? Probably.

A mixture of pleasure and renewed indignation burned in Carreon. He hit the heel of his hand against his steering wheel, having no other target at the moment. He’d lost two healers tonight, the strongest in his clan. Neekoma had driven him from his stronghold. His. No one else’s. The SOB had forced Carreon on this wild drive through the darkness.

At this speed, if he lost control of the Escalade, Liz and her father wouldn’t be available to heal him.

The thought persuaded Carreon to ease up on the gas pedal. His vehicle dropped to one hundred, then ninety, eighty…

It felt as though he were crawling toward his destination. He glanced into his side-view and rearview mirrors. No one was behind him. In particular Zeke. No doubt he was still in the safe room, grieving over Liz’s death, holding her body.

Fool.

Accelerating again, Carreon grabbed his cell phone and dialed Ernez, one of his lieutenants. A man who’d murdered his own cousin on Carreon’s orders, for no other reason than Carreon had wanted to see if Ernez would obey the command.

He had without hesitation. Money, not blood, ruled Ernez’s decisions. He’d left poverty behind when Carreon’s lieutenants had recruited him. Few in the clan were educated and successful like Liz and her father. If they wanted wealth, they came to Carreon, and he put them to work. If they chose another path, they were on their own.

None of his men were about to turn away from the riches Carreon had shown them, not even for family.

Tonight, Ernez hadn’t been involved in the conflict at Zeke’s stronghold. There’d been other matters for him to attend to.

The call rang once. A second ring wasn’t necessary. The young man had already picked up and said what Carreon most wanted to hear, “What do you need?”

Carreon told him.

A wave of resentment radiated from Zeke’s clan, especially the women. Liz sensed many of the men behind them were only going along with the program, not wanting to enrage the females further.

Most of them glared at her and her father, their hatred evident.

Not wanting to make the situation worse than it already was, Liz eased her hand from Zeke’s.

He countered by slipping his arm around her waist, drawing her into him in clear opposition to what his people surely wanted. And then her father tightened his arm against hers, a protective gesture.

Oh, Zeke. Oh, Papa.

Liz wanted both of them to tell her everything was going to be all right even as she gave her own assurances. The words wouldn’t come. She didn’t have enough hope.

“What’s this about?” Zeke demanded rather than asked, not even trying to hide his irritation.

Isabel stepped forward. She was a small woman, her coppery complexion barely wrinkled despite her sixty or so years. Her graying hair and eyebrows were all that gave away her true age.

“We don’t want them here,” she said, her attention going to Liz and her father.

Murmurs of agreement came from the women around her. The men said nothing.

Defiantly, Zeke eased Liz even closer. The worst thing he could do. She should have pulled away but knew her strength would be no match for his. Nor did she want to leave his side. She needed to stand with and protect him, no matter how futile it seemed.

“They have nowhere else to go,” Zeke said. “You know that. They’re not a threat to any of us. They’re healers.”

“They’re death,” Isabel snapped, color rising in her cheeks. “They caused tonight’s carnage.” She uncrossed her arms and gestured to the surrounding area.

In too many places, bullets had torn through the wood paneling. Blood pooled on the floor…it speckled the walls and ceiling. When Liz had fled this place to go to Carreon’s stronghold, she’d run past too many of his lieutenants’ bodies.

Those corpses were gone. The stink of death and gunfire remained.

“That’s not true,” Zeke countered Isabel. “You know it isn’t. Liz and her father had nothing to do with what happened.”

“You brought her here,” Isabel argued.

“An enemy,” a young woman to her left said. “Our enemy.”

The others nodded as they voiced their opinions.

“I brought her here to heal Jacob,” Zeke reminded them, speaking louder than everyone else so they’d hear him. “Without Liz, my brother would have died. Did all of you want that?”

“You know we didn’t,” Isabel said through her teeth. “Jacob isn’t the problem. You could have taken her back after she healed him, but you refused. You put her welfare above your clan’s. If not for her, Carreon’s men wouldn’t have come here to—”

“Stop it, please,” Kele interrupted. She pushed through the crowd to reach Isabel. “It wasn’t their fault.”

Liz found it almost painful to look at Kele. The young woman’s velvety brown eyes held a mixture of shame and heartache that made her seem excruciatingly vulnerable. Tall and slender, with a tawny complexion and black hair that hung to her waist, she could have been a supermodel ready for a shoot—she was that lovely—except for the smears of blood on her tee and jeans, the cruel bruises ringing her throat.

From Carreon’s hands or one of his lieutenants’? My God, what had they done to Kele before bringing her here? A wave of revulsion weakened Liz, forcing her to lean against Zeke for support.

Despite the ominous stares from the group, Kele remained subdued, which wasn’t like her at all. In the days Liz had been here, she’d always seen the young woman wear an expression of bitterness or frustration. Resolve seemed to have replaced Kele’s previous emotions, as though she’d finally come to a decision.

“I was the one who brought Carreon’s men here,” she said to Isabel, then glanced at the rest to include them in her confession. “Zeke had nothing to do with it. Neither did she—Liz. Without her, Jacob wouldn’t have survived. I should be punished.”

“You will be,” a twenty-something woman called out.

Kele ignored her. She went to Zeke, standing beside him, facing the others. “He’s done nothing but risk his life to help us. To make sure we’re safe.”

“Until he brought her here,” Isabel countered, gesturing to Liz.

“He didn’t know what else to do to protect me,” Liz said before anyone else could speak. “But you’re right, all of you are. I don’t belong here. Neither does my father.”

“Liz.” Zeke wouldn’t release her as she tried to pull away. “You’re not leaving.”

There wasn’t any other choice. He must have known that from the moment he fought his people to keep her here. What he and she felt for each other shouldn’t have happened…and couldn’t continue. Zeke had already lost everything. Liz couldn’t bear to see him deprived of his clan’s respect and support. Her chest and throat ached with grief, but she wouldn’t back down. She couldn’t. “I have to go.” Her voice shook. Tears blurred her vision. It killed her to leave him, but she wanted him safe… She needed him loved. “You owe your loyalty to your people.”

He frowned. “I owe it to them and you.”

“Please,” she murmured. “Someday we might see each other again.”

“Someday? Might?” His frown deepened. “Hell, no.”

“There’s no other choice,” she whispered. “Let me have one of the vehicles. I’ll take my father to a safe place.”

“Where?” Zeke snapped. “Carreon’s still out there. So are his men.”

“They think I’m dead. They won’t be looking for—”

He interrupted, speaking to his clan, “If Liz leaves, then so do I.”

“Zeke, no.” Liz tried to push his arm from her waist. He held her even tighter. “You can’t mean that,” she cried.

“I’ve never been more serious. She and her father stay,” Zeke told the others, “or I leave.”

“Me too.”

Jacob’s voice came from behind the men, his announcement labored with what sounded like pain. His clenched jaw and frown recorded every bit of it as he worked his way through the crowd, then paused to lean against the wall to draw in a ragged breath. One of the men reached for him, to help in some way.

Jacob put out his hand to keep the man back. On his biceps was a tribal band, similar in design to Zeke’s, but without the eagle’s eye that designated the wearer as a seer. A tourniquet wound around Jacob’s upper thigh, directly above the bullet he’d taken. His jeans were wet with the blood he’d already lost, his skin damp and ashy, his handsome features—less rugged than Zeke’s—contorted with hurt.

Didn’t stop him. Younger than Zeke by a few years, Jacob kept limping toward his older brother, refusing any assistance. His dark hair, waist length and damp with perspiration, clung to his throat and back.

Zeke released Liz and went to Jacob, easily supporting his body. Though both men were tall and broad-shouldered, Zeke was more muscular.

“I’m all right,” Jacob panted.

He was hurting more than Liz could bear. She went to him.

Ignoring her, Zeke turned to her father. “Help him. Please.”

“I’ll do it,” she said.

“No.” Zeke pushed her hands away from Jacob. “Not you. Your father. Please, Dr. Munez.”

Upon reaching them, he sank to his knees and placed his hands on the bullet-torn jeans, Jacob’s wound. Air hissed through Jacob’s teeth; the muscles in his neck corded at the surge of power and heat, the healing force Liz knew was pouring from her father into him.

She watched in silence, feeling useless, not understanding Zeke’s refusal to let her heal. Had he believed her gift wasn’t strong enough to help Jacob? How was that possible? He’d watched her save his brother when Jacob had been far more injured, those bullets having ripped into his gut.

Despite the wounds, Liz had restored him to full health. Zeke had taken her then, along with Jacob, their thick cocks sliding into her mouth, stretching her cunt, burrowing into her anus. They hadn’t held back in the least. Neither had she, enjoying both men. Though not equally. Her heart had already belonged to Zeke. Always would.

Was that why he didn’t want her touching his brother? Zeke was again establishing his claim on her? One his people would always fight, with that battle eventually tearing him and her apart.

“How do you feel?” her father asked Jacob. He brought back his hands from the wound, which was closed now, nearly indistinct, as though it had never happened.

Jacob released a long, contented sigh. The kind one hears from a man who’s been given a powerful narcotic to blunt the worst sort of pain. “Great.” He tested his leg and huffed happily when it took his full weight. “Thanks.”

“Here.” Liz offered her arm to help her father to his feet.

“I have it,” Jacob said.

He didn’t glance her way. In fact, he hadn’t looked at her at all since he’d made his presence known. He finished removing the tourniquet, then assisted her father. As the older man stood, Jacob spoke to the others, determination replacing his previous pain. “If Zeke goes, so do I.”

“No,” Kele insisted. “I’m the one who should be banished.”

Everyone started talking at once.

“Quiet,” Zeke ordered. “This isn’t getting us anywhere.”

“You’re right,” Ike said from behind. “Let’s take a vote like we always do. I vote that everyone stays.”

Grim acceptance rather than joy rang in his words. Zeke was their leader, the most powerful seer of their clan, a man whose integrity they’d never questioned or doubted. Ike obviously didn’t want to lose a man like that, even if it meant having to put up with their enemies, which now included Kele.

The men beside Ike muttered their comments, looking as ambivalent as those who stood behind the women.

Although Isabel’s expression darkened, she said nothing.

Liz didn’t dare speak or move. She still believed that staying here would be next to impossible with so much animosity. However, going outside this stronghold meant she’d probably never see Zeke again. As awful as that was, Carreon was also a consideration. If he found her and her father, imprisonment and possibly torture awaited them. Once he knew they could reanimate, there would be no end to what he’d demand—no abomination he wouldn’t indulge in to make certain he got his way.

One of the young women cleared her throat loudly, as though she wanted to offer an opinion but wasn’t certain she should. Given her dewy skin and fresh features, she was barely out of her teens. At last, she said, “This might be a good thing.”

“In what way?” a stout female snapped.

The girl pulled in her shoulders but didn’t back down. “They could help us with the children when they get sick.”

“I don’t want them touching my kids,” the stout one countered.

“I do, if they can help them,” another commented. She appeared to be in her early thirties. “You can, can’t you?” she asked, her gaze moving from Liz to her father.

“As pediatricians,” Zeke answered. “What Dr. Munez did for his patients before Carreon imprisoned him. What Liz has done since she took over her father’s practice. They can help with the medicine they know—regular treatments. It’s too dangerous for them to use their healing gift on a child.”

Everyone started talking again, asking questions or complaining about a gift that wasn’t all it should have been. Something Liz had told Zeke early on when she’d warned him that her healing ability wasn’t infallible or the answer to every medical situation.

Zeke interrupted, “We’re voting now. Raise your hand if you want us to leave.”

Liz tensed, fearful of the outcome no matter what it was. If she could have fled without Zeke following, she would have forced herself to do so. Even when she believed he was her enemy, she’d never wanted to bring him such turmoil or pain.

The air was thick with coming sorrow. A moment passed, then another as the group exchanged glances. Finally, the stout woman raised her hand, followed by only two others. Isabel wasn’t one of them. She’d tightened her fists as though she’d suspected this result.

“It’s settled,” one of the older men said, his lined cheeks and pure-white hair making him older than Isabel. “We won’t speak of this again. They’re part of us now.”

“What about Kele?” a young woman asked. She wore her black hair modishly short. Four turquoise studs graced her left lobe, five on her right. “She caused all this shit.”

As a whole, the group turned to Zeke.

He looked wearier than Liz had ever seen him, torn between what was expected and what he could live with.

“We should banish her,” the young woman said.

Kele lowered her face, making no move to defend herself.

She seemed so alone, so thoroughly defeated, Liz ached for the young woman as much as she did for Zeke. Kele had done a monstrous thing by leading Carreon’s men here. However, her hopeless love for Jacob, wanting to keep him away from Liz had driven her. Nothing else. Surely, everyone here knew that.

“No,” Zeke said. “Kele stays. I know she made a mistake.” He interrupted the young woman, his tone mild, pacifying. “But she also risked her life to protect you and the others. No one harms her. No one treats her badly, understand?”

Kele murmured, “Thank you.”

Liz swallowed. She wanted to hug the girl, give her some measure of comfort, but didn’t dare do so.

“Close the door,” Zeke ordered.

As they sealed the stronghold, he spoke to Jacob. “Dr. Munez needs a place to stay. See that he’s comfortable, all right?”

Jacob nodded once, still not acknowledging Liz’s presence.

It was so odd, she couldn’t help but continue to question it. Before tonight’s battle, he’d made it clear that he wanted Zeke to share her, not even bothering to ask her thoughts in the matter. Those, Liz suspected, Jacob had known from the start. He was a great-looking man, as virile as his brother. However, he wasn’t Zeke.

She wondered if Zeke saving Jacob’s life tonight might have had something to do with his sudden attitude change, unless there was something more behind it.

Maybe Jacob didn’t want to challenge his brother’s authority at this point…as Isabel had just tried. Perhaps he was simply being more circumspect in his desires. Or he was still worried about Kele’s jealousy. What she might do next because of it.

“Please go back to your rooms and see to your loved ones,” Zeke said to his people. “No one followed us here. No one can get inside.”

“So you want your people to hide here forever?” Isabel asked.

Liz noted the derisive way the older woman had said your people, as though their vote for Zeke to stay had made them her enemy.

He sighed. His entire body seemed to wilt with it. “We’ll have a meeting in the morning to discuss our options and whatever else you want.”

Her expression didn’t soften.

“We’ll meet now if you’d like,” Zeke said.

“No,” Ike cut in. “We’re all tired. Tomorrow morning’s fine, right, guys?”

They mumbled their agreement.

Ike clamped his hand on Zeke’s shoulder. “We’ll take care of things tonight.”

Not arguing with his friend, Zeke took Liz’s hand and went down the hall toward the group.

They stepped back immediately, allowing him and Liz a wide berth. Out of respect or because none of them wanted to touch her?

Liz could feel Isabel’s glare and had to force herself not to glance over her shoulder at the woman. Once Zeke brought Liz past the last of the crowd, she murmured, “Where are we going?”

“My room.”

As he had during her first time in the stronghold, Zeke led Liz past a series of halls, each of them bullet-ridden now and filthy with blood. Earlier, they’d been filled with children playing games, watching TV. Liz’s stomach rolled. If Carreon’s men had harmed one of those innocents tonight…

At the awful thought, she squeezed Zeke’s hand.

He looked over. “What?”

“Were any of your people harmed?”

“Except for Jacob and Samuel, no.”

Samuel. He’d been guarding the outside door when Kele and Carreon’s men had arrived. One of those lieutenants had shot both of Samuel’s knees, leaving him in agony. Before Liz had left the stronghold, she’d healed him. Not to the extent that he was whole again. That would have taken time she hadn’t had in her determination to see Carreon dead. The last she’d seen of Samuel, he was sagged against one of the vehicles, shouting at her not to drive away.

“Wait,” Liz said.

“Why?” Zeke kept his pace, forcing her to follow.

“I didn’t heal Samuel fully. I should—”

“Your father will take care of it.”

Was he joking? “He’s more tired than I am. He’s old, Zeke. I want him to rest, not tend to your men’s injuries when I can do it.”

“Samuel will be fine.”

They’d reached the stairway that led to the stronghold’s second level. Zeke directed Liz up those steps. The first time they’d done this, he’d taken her to his brother’s room where she’d pressed her naked body against Jacob’s, restoring him to full health. Unlike her father’s power that allowed him to heal the gravest injuries with a mere touch, Liz’s gift wasn’t as strong. When a man was near death, all of her nudity had to touch his in order for her to push enough of her healing gift and life force inside.

It was only when the injury was relatively minor, like her father’s sprained ankle or even Samuel’s bloodied knees, that her touch alone would suffice.

A touch she hadn’t used since leaving Carreon’s stronghold.

When she and Zeke reached the landing, Liz asked, “Why don’t you want me to heal anyone?”

He went in the opposite direction of Jacob’s room, toward the end of the hall and a set of grand double doors. Constructed of a dark wood, possibly mahogany, they bore geometric designs—the same as those on the rugs gracing the walls—and had ornate silver handles. “Did I say that?”

No. But he kept keeping her from doing it. “I can heal Samuel’s knees without taking off my clothes and crawling all over him, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Zeke stopped at the double doors and regarded her, his emotions well concealed. “Good to know.”

Was he teasing her…or was he worried about something? Liz recalled his weird questions in the Jeep, his unease as he’d studied her as a physician might, looking for signs of what? Sickness? Physical decline? Death?

She stared at him.

He ignored her and opened one of the doors. “Go on.”

She backed into the room, noting its limestone walls, the same as those in Jacob’s, decorated with similar snake totems in vivid hues. However, this space was three times as large. She regarded the wide bed of a rustic construction, its design matching the nightstands and lamps. What tourists would pay thousands for in order to possess authentic Indian art and craftsmanship.

“What’s going on?” Liz asked, wanting to know what Zeke was thinking. What worried him about her.

He closed the door. Its spring lock clicked faintly. The moment he touched the limestone wall, it glowed as it had in Jacob’s bath and room, the rock a soft golden shade, lending a dreamy, cozy feel to this space.

The setting should have relaxed, then aroused Liz with what was surely coming.

Zeke’s silence precluded that.

More questions poured from her. “Why won’t you let me heal anyone? In the Jeep, why did you ask if I’d fallen asleep? Wait.” She interrupted herself even though he hadn’t said anything. Liz shook her head. “You said I’d passed out. Why? And why did my father ask how I was feel—”

He stopped her with his kisses on each corner of her mouth, surprisingly tender and gentle, his arms wrapped protectively around her.

Unable to resist, Liz twined her arms around his neck and sagged into him. “Zeke—”

“No more questions,” he said with a sigh, his mouth on her ear, his body pressed close. “Not now. Just hold me. Please.”

His weary plea did more than any command. The love Liz heard in those few words touched her soul. Drawing him as close as she could, she nestled her face against his neck and suckled his skin, enjoying its salty flavor.

Zeke inhaled contentedly. His tenderness didn’t last. With one hand on her back, the other on her ass, he held her tightly against him, his strength precluding any escape. She lifted her face to assure him she wouldn’t leave.

He never gave her the chance. Zeke sought her mouth, his tongue demanding entrance, his kiss impassioned as though this might be their last chance. Their only time to seek comfort in each other’s arms.

Liz matched his intensity and desire, driving her fingers through his hair, grinding her pussy into his thickened cock. Zeke grunted in what sounded like pleasure. She moaned, proving hers. The sounds they made were uncivilized, delicious. They fueled her reactions.

All too soon, Liz needed a full breath but ignored it. She pushed Zeke’s tongue aside so she could slip hers into his mouth. They kissed greedily, their hands clutching, touching, caressing.

Only when her lungs burned for air did Liz pull her mouth free. Her lips brushed Zeke’s stubbled cheek as she whispered, “Not enough. I want you deep within me.”

Chapter Four

A little more than fifteen minutes ago, Carreon had reached the strip club. One of many enterprises his father had built, which Carreon had then taken for himself.

He sat on the black leather sofa in Ernez’s office, an ice cube pressed to his injured ear. Most of the Chivas Carreon had poured was already gone, drunk to blunt the pain. Fat lot of good the booze had done. The ache in his lobe had moved to his jaw. It throbbed as though an abscessed tooth caused the discomfort rather than his ripped skin.

Carreon kicked the cocktail table. It tottered on the carpeting, threatening to spill over before coming to a halt, still upright. Through narrowed lids, he regarded the area.

Although it was furnished with an expensive sofa, matching chairs and a chrome desk with a glass top, it didn’t own the opulence of his stronghold. He should have been resting there tonight as Roberto tortured Zeke to learn the content of his visions. Dr. Munez should have been in his room down the hall with no possibility of escape, while Liz…

Carreon gulped the last of his drink and splashed more of the liquor into his glass.

He pictured Liz in his bed, her hot, tight cunt sheltering his cock, her buttocks marked from the whipping he’d given her for defying him in the least.

In his fantasy, he imagined teaching her obedience to all that he willed, ordering her to strip and accept—no, to welcome her punishment.

Meekly, she would pull off her garments, while he remained dressed, knowing it would enhance her feeling of being naked and vulnerable. Without further direction, she would climb onto his bed and go to all fours, her head lowered in submission, her ass lifted in offering to appease his anger and lust.

She wanted his strong hand, his ruthless command of her flesh.

He wouldn’t immediately grant it. Instead, he’d make her wait and wonder about what he would deliver. Pleasure? Pain? A bit of both?

He’d run his hands over her plush ass, cupping her buttocks, separating them to further expose the tight ring of her anus and below it, her moist slit. Playfully, he’d explore her body, the delicate folds of her sex, her furry mound, then her snuggest opening, pretending not to know where to linger.

She wouldn’t dare speak or demand. Not even a pleasured moan would escape her lips as he focused on her rigid nub. She was his to enjoy in whatever way he deemed appropriate.

She’d smell of musk, her wanton need as great as his own.

He’d bring her within a breath of orgasm, noting how her body tensed. Only then would he stop and whip her for what she’d tried to do to him tonight, watching her ass grow pink beneath each—

The office door cracked open, interrupting Carreon’s thoughts. Pounding music from the business end of the club spilled into this space. Something crude and rough. Possibly Jay-Z.

Ernez moved inside with the grace of a panther, despite his size. He was six-one, the same as Carreon. Dressed in solid black—a silky shirt and well-tailored pants—he appeared both elegant and dangerous. His beefy shoulders, thick neck and arms revealed how much he liked to work out, no different from Carreon’s other men. Ernez wore his dark hair cropped very short, just shy of a crew cut. His face was clean-shaven, his complexion a deep brown from his ancestry and afternoons spent in the sun.

He stepped to the side to allow a young woman entry into the office.

Carreon knew she was just barely twenty-one. He’d read her employment application while Ernez went to fetch her. As one of the club’s strippers, she wore little on stage and nothing now except for spike heel, thigh-high boots. They laced up the front and appeared to be made of black suede.

Above the material, her legs were sleek, her cunt smooth, her feminine curls waxed off to give the patrons a full view of her sex. Idly, Carreon regarded her slit, and then her youthful breasts. Firm, lush, real—according to her application—which Carreon didn’t doubt. Those perfect globes enticed a man to cup them in his palms, squeeze them to feel their heat and suppleness. Implants could never provide what nature offered so easily.

This woman had received many physical gifts.

Her nipples were the color of damp earth, the areolas smooth. Clearly, the cold air pouring from the ceiling vents hadn’t chilled her…nor was she aroused in the least. For her nightly performances, she’d rubbed some kind of cosmetic on her nipples and mound that caused her skin to sparkle faintly in the light.

Her warm complexion proved she shared his clan’s blood. Her dark green eyes were a surprise, as lovely as her sensuous features and glossy hair. It was so black, blue highlights shone in it. One thick tress rested on her shoulder. The rest of her mane hung halfway down her back.

Tall, five-eight without her heels, she seemed decidedly unimpressed with the surroundings or with him.

Carreon wondered if she knew who he was, and figured Ernez had probably told her. Odd that she didn’t seem cowed or even curious as to why she was here, what he might want from her. Rather than irritating him, her indifference intrigued Carreon. He dropped the ice cube into his glass.

“Close the door,” he ordered Ernez.

Not bothering to watch, she lit the cigarette she held, then took a protracted drag off it.

She’d painted her long nails black. To match her hair? The boots? Carreon didn’t know. He liked the look.

She slipped her lighter into the top of her left boot, blew out the smoke and watched those grayish plumes rise to the ceiling.

“You know that’s not allowed in here,” Ernez said, scolding her as he would an annoyingly stupid child.

He grabbed a plate from his desk. Crumbs from his snack dotted it. He extended the item, clearly wanting her to use it as a makeshift ashtray.

She regarded her cigarette, then him.

“Put it out,” he ordered, his contempt deliberately obvious to prove she was nothing more than a dumb stripper. He called the shots in this place and she would do as he expected, especially in front of his boss. It was Carreon who didn’t allow cigarettes in the office. He didn’t want to smell the stench the times he did come around. If it had been up to Ernez, he would have joined her, given that he was also a smoker. “Now.”

Dutifully, she stubbed out her smoke. Not on the plate, though—at the base of Ernez’s thumb.

He dropped the plate and jerked back his hand. “Son of a fucking bitch. You goddamn stupid—”

“No one tells me what to do,” she interrupted, serene as could be. However, there was a slight edge to her words, as though she wanted him to know no one embarrassed or humiliated her, especially to make themselves look better. “You could have asked nice. You should have.”

His face turned a deeper red, his features contorted with rage. He raised his hand to strike her. To prove he still ran the show?

Didn’t matter. Her response was as quick. In one surprisingly graceful move, she pulled something from the top of her right boot. There was a whoosh and then a click as a blade locked into place.

“You don’t want to do that,” she warned him.

He still swung his arm—seemingly unable to stop what he intended in spite of her weapon, as if he needed to prove his manhood.

As though to dispute it, she easily stepped out of his reach. “That was a mistake.”

Before he could draw his hand back, she made a slashing movement with her weapon. The switchblade flashed, its metal edge reflecting the light…slicing his palm. Not too deep but not all that shallow either.

He gasped, then growled.

“Enough,” Carreon said. Ernez could howl like a banshee, but that didn’t change matters. From the beginning, she’d proved the worthier opponent.

Carreon’s command had the desired effect. Even with Ernez’s fury and pain, he went quiet and retreated, his steps stiff, forced. Wariness and possibly a grudging respect for her shone in his dark eyes, along with deep loathing as he pulled out his handkerchief and struggled to wrap it around the wound.

To her, Carreon murmured, “Come here.”

She regarded Ernez’s misery, her head cocked to one side as she listened to his rough panting and watched how his hands shook. Carreon wasn’t certain if she merely needed to savor her victory over Ernez, or if she wanted to confirm to everyone in this room that she meant what she’d said. No one told her what to do.

We’ll see.

Patience wasn’t one of Carreon’s virtues. However, he waited without comment until she deigned to come to him, her slender fingers still fisted around her weapon. A bit of Ernez’s blood clung tenaciously to the blade.

Carreon settled his hand on her warm, silky mound, studying her to see what reaction she’d give.

She didn’t slice him with her knife. Neither did she betray any desire.

He wondered what she’d do if he punished her. Beg for more, enjoying the mixture of pain and pleasure? Possibly.

Fascinated, he ran his fingers down the length of her cleft, then back up, finding and stroking her clit.

She inhaled a bit more quickly than she had before, though it didn’t come close to the lusty moan Carreon wanted to hear. To test her true reaction—what was really going on inside her head—he slid his fingers to her opening.

She was decidedly wet.

Interesting. And arousing.

It appeared she wasn’t made of stone any more than he was. Carreon’s already stiffened cock thickened even more. His balls were beginning to ache, wanting release.

In time.

For now, he stroked her delicate folds, harboring no delusion that his touch alone stirred her. She seemed to crave danger, just as he did. As long as someone other than him got hurt.

“Please put the knife away,” he requested, his manner nice, just as she preferred.

Her expression didn’t change as she closed the blade. Carreon noted that she kept the weapon in her palm.

To reward her for being partially obedient—full submission would come later—he again ran his thumb over her nub. A bit harder and faster this time.

She pushed to her toes, then came back down, not making any sound, not giving him the satisfaction of knowing she liked what he was doing. With her face raised to the ceiling, he couldn’t see her expression.

“What’s your name?” he asked while his fingers explored her sex.

“Trinidad,” she murmured, then shivered slightly. At what he was doing? Perhaps. “But you already know that,” she added.

He did. Her employment file was next to him on the sofa. She’d glanced at it as she’d moved across the office to him.

“You’re one of my strippers,” he said.

She slanted her face to regard him. “And a whore.” The corners of her exquisite mouth tilted upward with her wry smile. “It pays better than—what do they call it? Oh yeah,” she answered herself, “exotic dancing.”

The genteel term appeared to amuse her.

“You’ve been here how long?” he asked.

“Two months. But you already know that too.”

“Are your parents aware of what you do for a living?”

She chuckled, a throaty, provocative sound that excited Carreon even more. He resumed stroking her nub.

She swallowed. Her throat quivered quite nicely. After a deep breath, she murmured, “They threw me out when I was fifteen. They said I was a bad influence on my little sisters.”

“Were you?”

“I don’t like rules.” Her eyes were glassy with arousal. However, she clearly fought it as though she needed to draw out the pleasure or deny him proof that he’d satisfied her. “I’m exactly like you are, Carreon. I don’t do what’s right. I do what I want.”

“Nothing wrong with that.”

“No?” She blew out a sigh, then continued, “That’s not what my parents would say.”

“To hell with them.”

Her smile widened. “Exactly what they’d say about you. They may be from our clan, but they think you and your men are scum.” Her expression grew ecstatic as he rubbed faster, harder. “They’d hate me being here.”

“Maybe we can do something about their attitude.”

“Maybe. That would be—” She stopped, clearly unable to continue as she climaxed.

Carreon slipped two fingers deep inside her sheath to see if she was faking. Her muscles pulsed around the tips of his fingers. Hardly proof, given that any woman could simulate those contractions. Her cunt’s slickness was another matter entirely. She was beyond wet, her body relaxed with pleasure.

Before it passed, Carreon pulled his fingers from her, then grabbed her wrist. Trinidad’s hand tightened around her weapon.

With more tenderness than it was his custom to use, Carreon eased her fingers from the switchblade. If she resisted in the least, he’d break every one of her digits.

As though she understood his character was as indecent as hers, Trinidad submitted. Carreon took the switchblade and slipped it back into its sheath within her boot.

She made a sound that reminded him of a contented cat, claws withdrawn.

Angling her palm to the light, Carreon studied the reddish stain on her lifeline, the size of a large freckle or a mole. In her file, Ernez had recorded her height, weight, measurements, all body marks. This one was the most important.

Liz and her father also had the discoloring on their palms, though theirs were far larger.

Proof, Liz had said, that her and her father’s gifts were the strongest. Others in their clan may be able to heal, but none of them—at least according to Liz—had the indisputable mark of a primary healer, the greatest there was.

Obviously, she and her father didn’t know about Trinidad.

“You can heal,” Carreon said.

She shrugged, her indifference returned. “I’ve been told that.”

Carreon stroked the discoloration, feeling a faint spark of energy emitting from it…or so he hoped. “You’ve never tried?”

“My parents wanted me to heal my little sister when she fell from a tree and broke her leg. I said it would cost them a hundred bucks. Was that too much to ask?”

Carreon laughed. “Cheap, I’d say.”

She returned his smile. It didn’t reach her eyes. “Exactly. They cursed me. Said I was no good.” Another shrug. “That’s the only time I’ve been asked to use it.”

“Until now.” He switched off the charm and got serious. “Ernez.”

The young man’s shoulders were hunched, the handkerchief around his sliced hand wet with blood. Obediently, he joined them, his breathing shallow and fast.

“Take off the handkerchief,” Carreon ordered.

The moment Ernez did, Carreon spoke to Trinidad. “Heal him.”

She lifted her shoulders as if to say, sure, why not?, then took Ernez’s hand in both of hers and licked off his blood.

“Aw shit,” he growled, his upper lip curling, “don’t do that. You’ll give me some fucking disease, you goddamn—”

“Quiet,” Carreon snapped.

Disease or not, insult or not, Trinidad continued lapping until she’d apparently had her fill—or proved her point that she was one badass—then she laid her palm on Ernez’s.

Carreon leaned up, forearms on his knees. “What’s happening?”

Ernez spoke through clenched teeth. “She’s fucking burning me.”

Wrong. The healing always felt like that—a surge of nearly unbearable heat.

“Let him go,” Carreon said to Trinidad.

She finally did, after several seconds. Because she didn’t like anyone telling her what to do?

She’d better get over that shit and fast.

Carreon took Ernez’s hand and studied the wound. Narrower now, no longer bleeding but not healed entirely either. Trinidad had the gift, though not to the extent that Liz and her father did. For now, it would have to do.

Releasing Ernez, Carreon grabbed Trinidad’s wrists and directed her to straddle his lap. When her cunt was snuggled against his rigid cock, he turned his damaged ear toward her. “Heal me.”

Something in his tone or manner made her obey more readily than usual. She cupped his ear. A spark of energy flowed from her body to his. The heat became intolerable as Carreon knew it would. Despite the discomfort, he sighed happily.

The office phone rang. Ernez answered it, muttering a hello, after which he paused to listen, then mumbled something Carreon didn’t catch.

The stinging had turned to velvety warmth, allowing Carreon to concentrate on Trinidad’s nipples brushing his chest, her warmth and weight, her fragrance—soft musk with a hint of roses.

Ernez strode across the room and stopped at the sofa. “The men you ordered to your stronghold found something.”

Carreon regarded Ernez through hooded lids, irritation in his response. “What? Liz’s body? Her father’s? Don’t tell me Neekoma left them there.”

Worry crossed Ernez’s features. He handed the phone to Carreon. “You better hear it from them.”

Zeke captured Liz’s hands and pulled them away from the metal button on his jeans’ waistband.

Surprised, she asked, “What are you doing?” Was this a joke? Had to be…for reasons she couldn’t figure out. Even so, Liz decided to play along. “Since when are you reluctant to strip, especially in front of me?”

If not for all the people in this stronghold, Zeke would never have worn clothes around her.

“Come on,” she murmured. “Let me undress you. I want you inside of me.”

“No.”

No? Uh-uh. Liz didn’t believe that answer for a second. She saw the lust in his eyes, recognized the tension in his big body, had felt his rigid rod. If he got any harder and didn’t get immediate relief within her cunt or mouth, he’d be whimpering in pain. “You don’t want to make love?”

He eased her arms behind her back and held her as close as he could. His lips brushed her cheek, pulling a soft sigh from Liz. She released her weight into him. Zeke bore it well, as though he’d been born for this moment. With his face pressed to her hair, he inhaled deeply, no doubt to capture her shampoo’s lingering floral scent.

“I don’t want to rush,” he whispered. “Never again. This has to last.”

Liz wasn’t about to argue the point, needing the same. However, the way he said it—with such desperate need—made her pulse quicken with worry. “It will.”

As though he didn’t quite believe her, Zeke held Liz for minutes, his heart beating in time with hers, their scents mingling. She felt his increasing arousal, the rigidity of his cock pressed against her mound. Her cunt responded, growing wet, preparing for his shaft’s intimate invasion.

On a deep sigh that sounded utterly helpless, he finally eased back and lifted her tee. Slowly, though, so he could expose her torso a bit at a time. Her belly fluttered at the promise of her nudity and then his. When he’d bared her breasts, Zeke stopped to regard them in the room’s gentle glow.

Smiling, he ran his forefinger around her areolas, already tight with carnal hunger. He stroked the sensitive tips.

A riot of sensations thrummed through Liz. She shivered in delight and reached for his jeans again, eager to strip him.

Her fingers paused on the metal button. She recalled his request that he didn’t want to hurry through this. He—they—needed to savor these moments.

Why? Because Carreon was still out there and would soon be hunting Zeke again? Because Zeke’s people wouldn’t be mollified for long? They’d demand that she and her father leave? Because—

Her thoughts paused at Zeke’s mouth on her nipple. He flicked the tip with his tongue, then swept it over her areola’s bumpy contours. His mouth’s heat and the rasp of his beard-roughened skin against hers brought a new thrill.

On a pleased moan, Liz settled her hands on either side of his head and worked her fingers through his hair to keep him from stopping.

He drew her nipple deeper into his mouth and settled his hands on her ass, then squeezed those cheeks, using his touch to imprison her.

Liz never wanted to be separate from him. Her head fell back and her chin tilted upward. Zeke took that as an invitation to kiss her throat.

My God.

Warmth and yearning poured through Liz at the softness of his lips, the wet heat of his tongue. She sighed in willing surrender to whatever Zeke wanted to do, whatever pace he preferred. She was his. Had been from the moment he’d first mounted her in Carreon’s stronghold, his cock stretching, using her sheath. That evening, he’d taken her with a master’s right while also delivering exquisite pleasure.

At the time, she hadn’t expected to drown in his strength and passion. She’d been there merely to heal him.

It was what her heritage and gift demanded…at least until tonight.

Her desire receded as she recalled Zeke’s earlier behavior. Why hadn’t he wanted her to heal Jacob, Samuel or anyone else who might have needed her help? Why hadn’t he stripped her the moment they’d come in here, then pulled her on the bed unable to wait a second longer to plow inside her cunt?

She knew that was what he wanted to do, could feel it, and yet he kept holding back.

Was he worried she hadn’t fully recovered from Carreon’s attack? Didn’t he trust that her father’s healing…the reanimation…would last?

Liz ached for answers but didn’t speak. Zeke had asked her not to bombard him with questions. To simply hold him and follow his lead.

He lifted her bloodstained tee over her arms, past her head and tossed it aside. The garment landed on a chair near his bed. A beige-and-brown Indian blanket covered its seat, its bold geometric designs similar to the blankets draped across the mattress.

Zeke stepped away from her and kicked off his suede moccasins. His large feet and long toes were as masculine as the rest of him, urging Liz to fall to her knees. To kiss and lick his toes, then draw each into her mouth.

With all the will she owned, Liz resisted, because what she really wanted was to have him nude. Hell, she craved that as she had nothing else.

While she studied the impressive bulge between his legs, Zeke placed his hand on the limestone wall. Somehow, the rock morphed into a mirror, no different from the limestone in Jacob’s bath. Days ago, she’d been in there with him and Zeke. When she’d neared that wall, it had turned into a mirror too, showing her reflection. A phenomenon that still surprised her and now brought a wave of dismay.

Her hair was a mass of hopeless tangles, dark circles discolored the skin beneath her eyes, and her jeans were filthy with dirt, blood and who knew what else. She spoke without thinking. “I look really shitty.”

“Bullshit.” Zeke swept her into his arms. He was so strong, he made it seem as though she weighed nothing.

Easily, Liz snuggled into him and glanced at his bed.

After a moment’s hesitation, he bypassed it.

Not a good thing. “Where are we going?” she asked.

“Bathroom.”

“Why?”

He pressed his mouth to her ear and whispered, “For a bath.”

Okay.

She expected Zeke’s bathroom to be similar in design to his brother’s. Jacob’s shower was no more than a semicircular depression in the wall, made of the same metal alloy as that in the tunnel. No glass door or showerhead was visible. Rather than pouring down, the water had misted in the enclosure and somehow drained away even though there wasn’t any visible means for it to escape.

No such shower existed in Zeke’s bath, a room that was perfectly circular. Instead, there was a large stone tub, ringed with polished rocks of various colors. Some had veins of yellow running through them that sparkled like gold. Zeke put Liz down and touched one of the larger rocks. Instantly, water poured into the tub from between the smooth stones, splashing merrily over several of them. Frail threads of steam rose from the tub, the water scented with something fresh and sweet Liz couldn’t immediately identify.

“Wow,” she breathed. “This is amazing. Better than a rock star’s pad.”

Zeke grinned. “You have no idea.” He touched the wall. The entire area, including the ceiling, turned into a mirror. Behind it was that same golden glow. Subtle. Romantic.

She grinned. “Your alien ancestors must have been hedonists.”

“They were. I’ve been told I take after them.”

At her side, Zeke sank to his knees and unfastened Liz’s jeans. The denim folded away from her, exposing her belly. Zeke kissed the gentle swell.

Her muscles trembled. Sighing, she used his shoulder for support as he removed her moccasins. Next, he eased her jeans down, exposing her mound and thighs. With the garment bunched at her knees, Zeke cupped her naked ass and pulled Liz into him, his mouth on her cleft, his tongue exploring her sex, searching for her clit.

She gasped as he found it.

Zeke suckled her, his tongue flicking against her erect nub. A satisfied moan escaped Liz as indescribable sensations surged through her. Her knees sagged. Zeke pressed the pads of his fingers into her ass to give her as much support as he could. He licked and sucked until Liz thought she’d explode. Her body tensed. Her burning lungs urged her to breathe. Gritting her teeth, she surrendered to him and her coming climax.

Zeke stopped, stalling the magic.

Liz alternately groaned and panted, then frowned. “Why did you stop? What are you doing?”

“Undressing you. Hold on.”

The last of her arousal drifted away, leaving overwhelming frustration. Clamping her hand on his shoulder, Liz lifted one leg, then the other so he could remove her jeans.

The moment she was nude, Zeke stood, his attention on her breasts and pussy as he unbuttoned his jeans, then lowered the fly.

“Wait.” She went to him. “Let me do that.”

“Will you hurry?”

Was he kidding? Liz stared at the meaty bulge behind his fly, the dark curls above it, revealed by the denim sagging away from his body. She found it impossible to swallow, difficult to speak, her desire was so great. “What do you think?”

“You ask too many questions.”

She shouldn’t have asked that one or taken her eyes off the prize. It gave Zeke the few seconds he needed to strip, which deprived her of so much. The chance to lower his jeans and expose his cock so she could trap him as he had her…so she could press her face to his hairy groin and do wicked things to his stiffened shaft with her mouth and hands.

His rod was so hard it was elevated slightly, its thick head seeming to point at her. His lightly furred balls were plump as could be, tight against his body. She reached out to touch them. Zeke curled his fingers around her wrist and pulled her into him, his caress filled with tenderness.

He smelled wonderful, musky and male. Liz felt his thundering heart, recognized his need, as desperate as hers to be as close as they possibly could.

Rather than take her where they stood, Zeke gave her a hard, brief hug—clearly restraining himself—then led her down the stone steps into the tub.

Liz sighed at the water’s delicious heat, its gentle eddy, like a thousand fingers massaging her weary body. She hadn’t realized how tense she’d been until she began to relax. She sank into the water and sprawled on one of the stone benches within it, not caring how shameless she looked. A contented moan spilled from Liz at the delicious warmth. Plumes of steam misted around her, adding to the allure.

Zeke went to his knees between her legs. He brushed several strands of damp hair from her shoulder. She did the same with his. They stared at each other, saying nothing. Words weren’t necessary or even welcome. Drinking each other in was all that mattered.

She adored him so much the emotion was actually painful, in a good and needed way. He’d returned her dignity, hope, her life when she hadn’t thought such a thing was possible.

Liz touched the barely visible scars on his pec from where Carreon’s men had shot him, loathing them for it. She ran her forefinger over the tattoo on his biceps, then stroked the shiny area where the snake’s head had once been. The scar was pink and puckered. If it took the rest of her life, she’d make Carreon pay for injuring that part of Zeke.

Not that she’d been any better, at least in the beginning. Liz recalled how she’d fought Zeke, clawing him when he’d kidnapped her. Those injuries were no more than thin red lines now. She traced them with her fingertips, recalling what he’d told her at the time…what she’d refused to believe.

“Carreon’s going to kill you,” he’d said. “I’ve seen your murder in my mind. If you want to live, you have to come with me.”

His vision hadn’t been wrong. She had died.

Liz stroked his bottom lip. Zeke smiled. So did she, then whispered, “You’re so damn beautiful.”

Never had she seen a more virile male.

Soft laughter poured from him. “You’re kidding, right?”

“No. Look at yourself.” She gestured to the countless mirrors.

Zeke ignored them. “I’d rather look at you.”

Good answer, even though she looked like hell. On a sigh, Liz murmured, “I want more than that. What are you waiting for?”

“I refuse to rush.”

He proved it, kissing her with great gentleness as though they had all the time in the world. His fingers circled her nub, touching and teasing it periodically. Oddly enough, his sweet kiss and restrained touch excited Liz more than if he’d given in to pure lust. Her body tensed with anticipation. She shuddered each time his fingers made contact with her clit. Before long, the tension between her legs became unbearable, an itch she couldn’t scratch, didn’t want to shake. Zeke knew, no doubt reading her reaction. This time, he didn’t let up. He deepened their kiss and rubbed hard, his pace fast. Liz tore her mouth from his, crying out and gulping air, her orgasm billowing through her.

Before she could adequately fill her lungs or quiet down, Zeke settled on the bench at her side, then directed her onto his lap to straddle him.

Still panting from her climax, Liz cradled his cock in her palm and guided the plump head to her slit. Her body welcomed his immediately, needy of his cock. Zeke pushed himself up and into her, sinking deep inside.

God, God, God.

Was there ever a more wondrous feeling than being filled by a man you loved, having him as close as he could possibly get?

Liz didn’t think so.

Zeke was so blessed, his rigid sex strained against the confines of Liz’s sheath, forcing her body to accommodate his.

She did so gladly, welcoming the incomparable pressure. Working her fingers through his damp hair, she angled her mouth and captured his. He thrust his tongue inside, taking immediate command of the act, his previous gentleness gone.

Good. Liz didn’t want gentle. She needed him to fuck her raw.

With his hands cupping her buttocks, Zeke coaxed her to pull up.

Liz obeyed. She fell into an easy rhythm—up and down, up and down—her cunt nearly releasing his cock only to slide over it once more.

Zeke broke their kiss. His head lolled back on his shoulders and his Adam’s apple bobbed with his hard swallow. Liz kissed, then licked the prominent bump.

Laughter rumbled from him.

“Feel good?” she breathed.

“Not as good as this.” He brought one hand from her ass and stroked her clit.

Liz moaned, long and loud, at the pleasure rolling through her. It was an effort, but she forced herself to concentrate on Zeke, increasing the pace of her pumping, coaxing him toward climax.

The water splashed loudly from tumbling over the rocks, the tub’s whirlpool effect and the movement of their bodies. The noise couldn’t compete with the brazen sounds they made. Coarse. Wanton.

Liz came on a prolonged moan. Zeke followed, his bellow filling the room.

Together, they came down, trembling with the aftereffects, clinging to each other as though they feared the best was over. That this couldn’t last.

Trinidad reclined on the sofa, her right leg bent at the knee. She’d stretched out her left leg, the tip of her spike heel digging into the carpeting. The position exposed her cunt fully, while the office’s bright lights illuminated the faint moisture that glistened on her cleft. A shameless invitation for a man to take and use her.

She seemed not to notice or care about her indecent pose, or that Carreon had unceremoniously pushed her off his lap and left the sofa at Ernez’s worried expression. His comment that Carreon needed to take the call.

Roberto was still on the phone now, waiting for his boss’s response to a report that defied reality and belief.

Carreon tried to concentrate on what he’d heard, but couldn’t. He kept picturing Roberto using his pliers and other tools on Zeke, making him bleed, pulling one agonized scream after the other from him. In the past, those images might have calmed Carreon. Not tonight. His pulse pounded and his belly rolled. Rarely had he felt as shaken. It took all of his will to remain calm.

“How long will it take you to get the information to me?” he asked Roberto.

“Victor’s downloading it now.”

“Send it to—” Carreon stopped, not knowing the club’s private email address. He turned to Ernez to ask for it.

The young man’s face was dark with fury at the wound on his hand. However, animal lust flared in his eyes as he regarded Trinidad’s slit. Carreon considered what their mating would be like…an enraged and emasculated male taking a she-devil who was intent on delivering more pain, her long black nails scoring his back, drawing blood, while he hammered his cock into her hot, snug cunt. With those images flooding his mind, Carreon snapped his fingers to get Ernez’s attention.

Instantly, the young man turned to him. Carreon handed Ernez the phone. “Give Roberto the club’s email address and download what he’s sending. I want to see it.”

He needed proof of what Roberto had claimed. It couldn’t be true. Wasn’t possible.

Dutifully, Ernez returned to his desk and delivered the address. Trinidad studied his ass as she ran her forefinger over her clit. Carreon saw amusement, rather than desire, on her lovely face. Her expression turned to quick indifference as Carreon curled his fingers around her wrist and pulled her hand from her cunt.

If he’d annoyed her by doing so, she didn’t show it. Wise move.

“There’s a mirror in the john.” He inclined his head in the direction of the bathroom. “Bring it to me.”

She glanced that way, but didn’t move.

To hurry her along, Carreon bent her hand backward. Not enough to cause true pain. Merely the right amount to get her attention and acquiescence.

She stood.

He tightened his grip and brought her wrist to his mouth, kissing the inside of it. Gently, he murmured, “Don’t make me wait.”

Trinidad’s eyes glittered with the danger in his words. She gave him a smile, then strolled toward the bath as if she had all the time in the world, her behavior reminiscent of a rebellious teen. A “fuck you” in each unhurried step.

Carreon doubted pain would guarantee her obedience, at least in the long run. She’d promise anything to stop the hurt, and once it was through would revert to her true nature. Threatening her family wouldn’t do the trick either. She clearly had no use for or sentimentality toward them. The more Carreon pushed, the more recalcitrant she’d become. As stubborn as Liz had grown when she’d finally realized it hadn’t been love he’d felt for her, but need of her gift, her submission to all he demanded.

Again, Carreon recalled what Roberto had told him. The thought brought another rush of worry, along with renewed rage. A growl of frustration escaped his throat.

“The download’s slow,” Ernez said, anxiety evident in his tone. “The file’s huge. It’s going to take several minutes.”

Carreon didn’t comment.

“I’ll try to hurry it along,” Ernez promised.

Trinidad exited the bath. She held the mirror—a circular model in its own gold stand—between her thumb and forefinger, letting it swing with the movement of her arm.

She walked with the grace of a princess or a ballerina, her sweet breasts trembling with each step. Just shy of him, she stopped. However, she didn’t offer the mirror.

“Give it to me,” he ordered.

She extended her hand just a bit, still making him reach for it.

Carreon moved close and ran his fingers up the inside of her thigh. Her lips parted on her lewd moan, telling him she clearly enjoyed his touch. Slipping his hand between her legs, Carreon ignored her cleft and concentrated on her anus instead. His fingertips circled the tight ring. Trinidad’s mouth fell open in appreciation.

“The mirror,” he said as he withdrew his hand, giving her a choice. If she obeyed him, she’d know pleasure. If she didn’t…

It would be a pity to mar one inch of her delicious flesh. However, a man had to do what was necessary to insure deference, no matter how fleeting.

As though she understood his unspoken intent, Trinidad handed him the mirror.

Carreon turned it so he could see his ear. The ice he’d held to it earlier had washed away most of the blood, while her healing touch had mended the wound with the skill of a drunken surgeon. His earlobe was misshapen, the skin puffy and red from the injury and the ice. Perhaps the poor result was because she hadn’t had enough time or opportunity to perfect her gift. If she used it repeatedly, as he’d forced Liz and her father to do, that might strengthen what she had.

It was Carreon’s only choice at the moment, his only hope. What Roberto claimed to have seen couldn’t possibly be—

“It’s ready,” Ernez said, interrupting Carreon’s thoughts.

He pushed the mirror at Trinidad and left her without a glance. Seated at the desk, Carreon stared at the video. The still shot showed the hall outside his stronghold’s safe room, just beyond the metal detector and full body scanner so no one ever entered his hiding place armed. After he’d had his father assassinated, Carreon had made certain no one would catch him off guard. Neither his enemies, nor his own men.

He directed the mouse’s arrow to the play button, his thoughts repeating what they had earlier. It can’t be true. It just can’t.

Unsettled, he clicked the button.

Nothing happened. All he saw was a shot of the empty hall. “What happened to the sound?” He should be hearing something.

“You need to turn it up.” Ernez pointed to the volume control.

Carreon put the sound at one hundred. All that produced was a steady hissing noise. “Is it broken? Why isn’t there any—”

“Liz!” Zeke’s voice shouted from the recording. “Liz, it’s Zeke. Your father’s with me. He’s all right.”

“Dr. Munez is still alive,” Roberto had said during his call.

The doctor’s voice sounded next on the tape. “The door might be shut,” he said. “If it is, she might not be able to hear any—”

Munez’s words stopped. He and Zeke finally came into view at the end of the hall. Carreon leaned up in his chair. Zeke had his arm wrapped around the older man’s waist, helping him to walk. Munez was limping badly.

The tape didn’t show what Zeke saw beyond the door. Carreon recalled every bit of the scene. Liz on her side near the fireplace, her face swollen and purplish from lack of air, mean bruises on her throat. Dead. Dead. Dead. Carreon had felt the bone in her throat snap beneath his fingers.

An anguished howl escaped Zeke as he and her father hurried into the room, out of camera range. Unmoved, Carreon listened to Zeke’s cries, his foolish pleas for Liz to be all right.

She wasn’t. Would never be again. He’d left her fucking dead.

“Go away!” Zeke’s voice shouted, no doubt to her father. “Leave us alone.”

“Put her down,” the older man said.

“No.”

Munez made a pained noise. “Do as I say.”

“Why? You think I wanted this to happen? I love her.”

Carreon’s jaw tightened at Zeke’s declaration. His fucking audacity in claiming Liz when she’d belonged with her own people. With him. Doing exactly what he said. Not defying him in the least. He gripped the arms of his chair.

Munez kept speaking. Carreon caught the last of his words. “—down. Let me do what I must.”

During the next minutes, Munez murmured to his daughter, telling her of his love. “Come back,” he finally murmured.

No, Carreon thought. What he wants is impossible. It can’t be true.

Not wanting to hear any more of the old fool’s sentimentality or Zeke’s sorrow, Carreon fast-forwarded the video, then stopped and gaped at the screen.

Zeke left the safe room first, followed by Liz.

No.

Repeatedly, Carreon had insisted to Roberto that Zeke must have carried or dragged her lifeless body from the room.

On the recording, she walked on her own. Pausing, Liz glanced behind herself. Her face was no longer swollen, nor a sickening mauve color. The bruises Carreon had left on her throat were gone. She looked as though she hadn’t died…as though he hadn’t killed her.

He had, damn it.

Following close behind Liz was her father, no longer limping.

Had she healed him?

Had her father done the same with her? How could that be? Before Carreon had left his safe room, he’d searched for her pulse. There was none. She hadn’t been breathing.

This isn’t possible.

He backed up the video to play the parts he’d fast-forwarded over. For a moment, there was only silence or static, then Munez’s voice.

“My dear sweet daughter, I’m so sorry. I never wanted to have to do this. It’s not fair leaving you with this burden. I warned you about our gift. I told you there were things about it that you didn’t understand. Now, I have to show you.”

Again, the video fell silent.

“Show her what?” Carreon growled, wanting the man to speak.

Munez’s voice continued finally. “Come back.”

“What are you doing?” Zeke’s voice asked. “What’s happening? She’s gone. There was no pulse. She can’t be healed. Why are you doing this?”

“Because I love her too,” Munez said. “I have to bring her back.”

Chapter Five

Nude and well loved, Liz lay at Zeke’s side on his bed, one hand curled near her chest, the other resting on his belly.

The tips of her fingers and palm were wonderfully warm, the weight of her hand proving to him that she still existed…she lived. There shouldn’t have been any doubt. Even so, each breath she took seemed a continuing miracle to Zeke. He fought an urge to gather her closer, as if that would convince him everything was all right and would continue to be so.

Hours earlier, he’d battled his doubt by not allowing her a moment’s peace from his insatiable desire, somehow believing that his love alone could restore her to what she had once been.

No, dammit—what she still is.

Uncertainty pressed in on him again. Zeke shoved it away, forcing his thoughts to return to what he’d shared with her.

After having taken her in the tub, he’d helped Liz to her feet but didn’t direct her out of it. “Drape your arms over your head.”

“Why?” she’d murmured.

In answer, Zeke nuzzled his face to her neck. Her skin was moist, slightly salty and oh so soft. He suckled it gently. She moaned in pleasure. He whispered, “You ask too many questions.”

“Sorry…but why?”

“I have no idea. You’re probably too curious.”

She laughed softly, the sound mingling with the water gurgling around their knees. “No, I mean why do you want me to hold my arms over my head? Do you have any idea how heavy they are?”

A thread of fear ran through him then, chasing away his previous arousal and contentment, making his skin prickle. He recalled how she’d fallen asleep or passed out in the Jeep.

“Have they always been that way?” he’d blurted. “Are they heavier than usual now?”

She regarded him as though he were nuts. “What?”

Zeke pushed back his panic and tried to sound reasonable. “Are you tired from your orgasm?”

“Yeah…aren’t you?”

He should have been. However, his passion for her, his fear that she’d somehow disappear, leaving him alone, kept Zeke far too alert. Without her, he couldn’t exist, would refuse to go on. Earlier, Zeke had been more than willing to leave his people and this stronghold forever if it meant staying at her side. Away from here, he’d had no idea where they might have gone or how he could have protected her from Carreon before they reached their ultimate destination. However, he would have moved heaven and earth to do so. “I’m fine.”

“Good.” She sagged against him, her body dewy and warm from plumes of steam rising from the tub. She made a throaty sound that any man would interpret as satisfaction.

Smiling, he wrapped his arm around her waist, holding on to her as he leaned down to get the soap.

Liz brushed her lips over his shoulder and suckled it briefly, then asked, “What are you doing?”

“Bathing you.” Once he’d worked up sufficient lather that smelled faintly of lime, he ran his soapy hands down her back, not stopping until he’d reached her ass. He cupped her cheeks in his hands, separating them, and ran his slick forefingers over her anus.

Her breath caught.

“Good?” he murmured.

She clutched his biceps and whimpered in response.

Nice.

Zeke eased her hands from him and studied her reaction as he lathered her breasts, his thumbs dragging over her nipples. Liz’s head fell back. Several strands of hair clung to her throat while the rest of her mane dangled over her back. Golden light rained down on them from behind the mirrored ceiling, the illumination softened further by the mist, so warm and inviting. She’d already closed her eyes and now parted her lips, looking like a woman one step shy of ecstasy.

Determined to delight her, Zeke focused on her pussy. He lathered her delicate curls, the same chestnut shade as her hair, and ran his fingers down the length of her slit.

She moaned.

A wondrous sound that told him far more than words ever could.

He washed this part of her well, too long in fact, then concentrated on her precious little clit.

Her breath stalled as he finally stroked it. For seconds, Zeke lavished his attention on her nub, then ran his fingers down her delicate folds to keep her from too much arousal, not wanting her to come immediately.

She groaned.

“Something wrong?” he whispered.

“You’re not rubbing my clit… You keep missing it.”

“Do I?” Giving her no chance to answer, Zeke touched it once more, stroking, manipulating, teasing.

The delay in doing this had accomplished his goal, making her even more sensitive to his carnal touch.

Liz’s jaw tensed as she gritted her teeth. She released her weight into him and rolled her forehead over his shoulder, her body shivering as he continued to stroke her nub. Already primed for her climax, she came within seconds, huffing out her breath.

Those small bursts of air warmed his chest more than the heated water and the room’s toasty temperature. Zeke ached to experience moments like this for the rest of his days. He hoped they’d be long. Right now, an eternity didn’t seem adequate enough. He caressed Liz far more gently than he would have liked, fearful of harming her. His desire was that acute. “Tired?”

She muttered, “Don’t you dare make me lift my arms.”

He chuckled. “I won’t.” He kissed the top of her head and her damp temple. “This time, I want you to lift your legs.”

“Oh, screw that.”

“Come on, be a good girl.”

She didn’t respond.

“Or be bad,” he joked. “In fact, I think I’d like that—”

He didn’t finish, couldn’t as Liz dropped to her knees.

Zeke grabbed her arm to break her fall—if that was what it was—but her skin was slick with water and soap, not allowing him a firm grip. His throat tightened with panic, rasping his voice. “Hey, are you all right?”

She sat back on her heels, the water bubbling around her breasts, and tilted her face to his. “What do you think?”

Zeke couldn’t answer. First, she’d stolen his breath because he thought she’d fallen from dizziness or worse. Now, she cupped his balls in one hand and cradled his cock with the other.

He inhaled sharply.

She murmured, “My turn to wash you.”

She ran her tongue up his length, tracing the prominent veins on his shaft. Zeke felt those licks clear to the top of his head and the tips of his toes. A strangled sound burst from him.

It clearly encouraged her. She swirled her tongue over his crown, pausing to explore the small slit at the top before moving to the bumpy skin on the back.

So many sensations dashed through Zeke, he made noises that sounded more animal than human.

Liz sighed contentedly, then took his full length into her mouth, not stopping until the tip of her nose touched his dark curls.

Zeke gripped her hair, tugging it as he groaned his approval. Every part of his body registered his delight.

She intensified it, fondling his balls, working her mouth up and down his rod, encouraging him to climax. When he resisted, wanting this to go on for days—willing to settle for a few hours—Liz resolved the matter. She stroked his anus, then worked the tip of her forefinger into the tight ring.

Holy mother, goddamned—

Zeke bellowed his delight, his climax explosive.

Far more subdued and fully in charge of his body, Liz accepted his come, drinking it eagerly. When there was no more, she released his cock, pulled her finger from his anus and suckled his right ball.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. “Don’t,” he sputtered, then growled, “I can’t stand it.”

Immediately, she released him. “I know.”

His shoulders trembled with his heaving breaths. In between them, he coughed.

Liz watched as he settled down. “Better?”

“Maybe.” He shuddered and filled his lungs again, then sighed the air out. “Yeah.”

“Sure?”

He was finally. “Uh-huh.”

“Good.” She took his left ball into her mouth.

Crap. “Stop.”

This time she did not, suckling him at her leisure, loving this part of him with her hot mouth and deliciously wet tongue.

He pulled his hair this time, not caring if he tore it out. She was fucking killing him. He cursed and groaned, then bitched some more when he couldn’t drag in adequate air. Breathing was just too fucking hard. His muscles ached from all the tension. He’d locked his knees to the point where bending them again might prove impossible.

Still, Liz continued. Her licks slow and sensuous, her hands roaming up and down his thighs, over his ass, in the furrow between the cheeks.

Jesus. When Zeke thought he might die from too much pleasure, Liz finally finished. She wrapped her arms around his legs and rested her head against his thigh, her embrace as needy as his when he’d caressed her earlier.

A wonderful moment, simply miraculous.

Eventually, they’d ended up in his bed with him on top of her. For Zeke, only the missionary position would do. During the following hours, he’d taken her three more times, remaining inside her sweet, tight cunt as he rested. He needed to see her face, gauge her reactions, assure himself that she continued to be all right.

With each act of love, they’d both grown more weary. However, their attention never strayed. They regarded each other in silence that they interrupted with nothing more than a few gentle smiles. The quiet intimacy not only felt right but comfortable.

Liz finally fell asleep. Zeke couldn’t. Uncertainty continued to eat at him, growing as the minutes ticked by. Given how his belly was now growling, coupled with his increasing hunger, he figured it had to be well past sunrise. Not only time for breakfast, but answers.

As gently as he could, Zeke eased away from Liz. Her hand fell to the mattress. She sighed deeply but didn’t wake up.

He left the bed, repeatedly glancing over to check on her as he grabbed a fresh tee and jeans from one of the nightstands. While he dressed, snatches of his vision returned. Blood clinging to the blade of a knife. A woman’s hand holding—brandishing it?

Zeke padded to the bed. He studied Liz’s hands, trying to match them with the remembered image in his mind. The skin color might be the same, but the nails were wrong. He couldn’t figure it out until he recalled seeing a glimpse of the thumb. The nail was dark. Polished? With what color? A deep red? Black?

His memory refused to give up more details on the matter, while another disturbed him.

Who was the young man dressed in denim, his clothing coated with dust? Did he know the woman with the switchblade? What did they have to do with anything that had already happened or would?

Before Liz had come into his life, Zeke’s visions had never shown him what might happen to someone he loved. He’d had no warning about Gabrielle’s murder or any when Jacob had been wounded that first time. The fucking visions revealed only possible attacks on Zeke, or what would occur to his enemies, people he hated. Now, though…

He’d seen what was supposed to have happened to Jacob last night and had prevented it. Barely. He hadn’t even come close to saving Liz.

Agitated, Zeke backed up to the door, his attention never leaving her. Liz’s chest rose and fell with her quiet, untroubled breathing. Zeke hated to leave her, a part of him feared it even without any warning vision, but there was no choice.

In the hall, he debated where to go first, deciding on Jacob’s room.

Empty. Bullet holes marred the limestone walls, the nightstands and door from when Carreon’s men had been in here. Frowning, Zeke hurried to the lower level, the communal dining area. Heavenly aromas of freshly brewed coffee, bacon, ham, apple-cinnamon muffins filled the enormous room. Several of the young women and older men ate in groups.

A few weeks ago, they would have given him a welcoming smile or called out in greeting. Not today. They stared as if he were the Ghost of Christmas Future, come to do them harm, or to invite them to the meeting he’d promised them last night, which he’d offered only to settle things down. As if they already knew that, they shut him out and focused on their meals.

At a table near the back, Jacob sat alone, his coffee cup stalled a few inches from his mouth. His attention flitted from Zeke to the others, their cool reception.

Zeke joined his brother. “How’s your leg?”

Jacob put his cup on the table. It make a small clacking sound that seemed too loud, given the sudden silence in here, the suspended conversations. “Fine. No problems.”

“And the jaw?”

A nasty bruise had blossomed on the side of his face. During the battle with Carreon’s men, Zeke had slugged Jacob to keep him from being foolishly brave, getting himself shot again, then killed just as Zeke’s vision had shown. Jacob had taken the first bullet while trying to protect Kele.

He’d been prepared to die last night. Just as he had weeks earlier when he’d put himself in harm’s way, saving Zeke from an ambush by Carreon’s men. An event not forewarned by any vision. Those pricks had nearly killed Jacob and ultimately caused Zeke to kidnap Liz and bring her here to heal him.

Zeke’s head spun with the unintended consequences of that act—some of them being very good, some not so much.

Jacob gave him an uncharacteristically sheepish shrug as though he felt responsible for the bad crap. “I’ll live.”

“That was the point—the reason I hit you.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Not expecting such an agreeable response, Zeke wondered what was up with his brother but didn’t have time to get into it now. He pulled out a chair and sat, then leaned closer so they could speak without anyone overhearing. “Is Dr. Munez up yet?”

“I haven’t seen him.”

“What room is he in?”

“Bartholomew’s.”

A pang of sorrow twisted Zeke’s gut. Bartholomew had been one of the men who’d rescued Zeke and Liz from Carreon’s stronghold but never made it out. Rather than ending up a prisoner, tortured into revealing anything about their clan, Bartholomew had turned his gun on himself.

“He was a good man,” Jacob said.

“The best.” Zeke cleared his throat to steady his voice. “I need to speak to Liz’s father. While I do, I want you to keep an eye on her. Bring her some fresh clothes. Make certain she gets something to eat.”

Jacob’s eyebrows shot up in surprise and more than a little apprehension. Before last night’s battle, he and Zeke had argued about Liz. Jacob wanted Zeke to share her. He’d refused, telling his younger brother that she was his, always would be.

Clearly, Jacob had finally gotten the message. But why? All of his life, Jacob had competed with Zeke as though he needed to prove he was as good, worthy, whatever.

Zeke knew Jacob was and had tried to tell him that repeatedly. Jacob had never listened. Had never believed. What had caused the change in him now?

He stabbed his fork into his scrambled eggs, focusing on them, not Zeke. “Are you afraid Kele, Isabel or one of the other women might say something pissy to Liz if they take her that stuff?”

“No.” At least that wasn’t his greatest worry. “She’ll accept it more easily if you bring it. Liz trusts you. Does Kele ever wear nail polish?”

Jacob stopped playing with his food. “What?”

“Nail polish. Does she ever wear it?” Was it her hand Zeke had seen in his vision? Had her jealousy returned over Jacob wanting Liz, or had it never left? Oh shit, was it Liz’s blood on the knife’s—

No fucking way. Don’t think that.

Kele had risked her life last night against Carreon’s men, no different from Zeke and Jacob. Hours before, she’d stood with them against the rest of the clan. She wasn’t a cold-blooded killer, no matter how much she wanted his brother. If Zeke ever allowed himself to believe anything different, she’d have to leave the clan. And go where? How far would she get before Carreon’s men took her down?

“I don’t recall,” Jacob said.

It took Zeke a minute to catch up. When he did, he frowned. “You’ve slept with Kele for years and you don’t know if she ever paints her nails?”

“No, I don’t,” he shot back, a bit of his usual defiance returning. “What’s it matter anyway?”

Zeke didn’t want to get into it. “Where’s she now?”

Jacob lifted his fork, pointing it toward the business end of the kitchen.

Craning his neck, Zeke saw Kele helping the other ladies with the food preparation, Isabel included. None of them was speaking or looked particularly happy. He leaned forward a bit farther to see if he could make out Kele’s nails. Unfortunately, he couldn’t.

“What are you doing?” Jacob asked.

“Nothing.” Zeke leaned back in his seat. As long as Kele was scrambling eggs, she couldn’t do any harm. There were knives in the kitchen, sure. However, none of them was the switchblade he’d seen in his vision. Recalling it allowed him to relax, crazy as that seemed. “Keep an eye on Liz. I don’t want her healing anyone. Those times when I’m not around, make certain she doesn’t.”

“Why?” He screwed up his face. “She’s a healer.”

“Something’s wrong. I don’t know what it is. I need to speak to her father about it.”

“Why?” Jacob’s expression changed, mirroring Zeke’s concern. He leaned closer and whispered, “What the hell happened while you two were gone?”

Zeke’s belly cramped. “Carreon murdered Liz.”

Jacob’s mouth fell open.

“Try not to look so shocked,” Zeke muttered. “The others may notice.”

His brother regarded the room. The majority of those in here had their backs to him and Zeke. Those that didn’t were doing their best to ignore both of them.

“Are you serious?” Jacob whispered. “You can’t be. How could he have murdered her if she’s here?”

“He strangled her, just as I’d seen in my visions before I’d even met her. I found Liz in his stronghold’s safe room. Her face was this horrible purple shade. There was no pulse.”

“There had to be. Maybe you just didn’t feel—”

“There was no heartbeat, Jacob. None. Don’t you think I’d know if there was? Don’t you think I would have tried to resuscitate her, give her CPR or something if there was the slightest chance? It was too fucking late. She was gone.”

Jacob’s rich complexion went gray. “Then how in the hell did—”

“She and her father aren’t only able to heal, they can reanimate the dead. I saw her father do it with her.”

Jacob whistled through his teeth. “Shit.”

“Something’s not right.”

“With what?”

Liz. What happened to her in the Jeep continued to haunt Zeke. “That’s what I need to find out from her father. Until I return, do not allow her to heal, no matter how small the injury might be. And no way should she try to reanimate anyone.”

Jacob shook his head as though he was having trouble comprehending this. “The only ones she could bring back from the dead or heal are Carreon’s men. The two we took prisoner weren’t injured, and the others…” He paused, then continued, “We’ve already taken care of the bodies. What?” he asked suddenly. “You look weird. Why?”

Zeke recalled part of his vision, again of the young man with the dark hair. Was he one of the men they’d captured? How could that be? The vision showed him outside. Had he escaped? “Is anyone guarding the prisoners?”

“Are you serious? They won’t get out unless we let them. Our guys know what they’re doing.” Jacob spoke even faster, “They hacked into the bastards’ smart phones and the system they had on their vehicles. Anything hooked up to a server or satellite. Took all that shit down so the others still out there can’t use the data to find this place.”

Zeke wished he had known that before going back to Carreon’s stronghold to wipe the Jeep’s GPS clean. He knew he should have felt bad about ambushing those three men. However, if he hadn’t, they would have come back here, wouldn’t they? They would have done to Liz, her father and Zeke’s clan what they’d done to Gabrielle. “Good.”

Jacob spoke at an even lower pitch than he had before. “Did Liz’s reanimation cause the healing to somehow reverse? Shit, does her touch kill now rather than heal?”

“No.” Zeke stood. “Just do as I say, right now. For Liz, all right?”

Jacob’s cheeks darkened with his blush. A reminder of his desire for her. He seemed uneasy—again out of character for him.

Before Zeke could ask why, Jacob nodded and stood. “I’d never let anything happen to her.”

“I know.” Zeke squeezed his brother’s shoulder in gratitude, then left the room.

They weren’t only able to heal the injured, they could reanimate. Both Liz and her father were able to bring back the dead.

And they’d kept that ability from him.

Carreon bristled with fury. He recalled how Dr. Munez had put on a show as he’d struggled to heal Oscar and Anthony, two of Carreon’s most dedicated and important lieutenants. Young men who killed with impunity at his command.

They weren’t dead, yet Munez had claimed they’d been too injured to heal fully. They’d sustained so much blood loss, the only outcome would be brain damage.

Carreon remembered the men’s vacant stares, their slack limbs. Even when he demanded that Munez bring them back to what they’d been, the good doctor claimed he could not. With Anthony and Oscar useless to him, Carreon ordered his other lieutenants to take them into the desert, leaving them to their unfortunate fates.

It had been a lie. A fucking con. And now, Zeke Neekoma had Liz and her father’s gift at his disposal.

Carreon stared at the cell phone on Ernez’s desk, willing it to ring with news he wanted to hear. It did not. At last, he made the call.

“What’s taking so long?” he asked in response to Victor’s hello. “Surely, you’ve found something by now.”

He’d ordered the man and Roberto to locate Zeke’s stronghold, hidden within the vast New Mexico landscape. He’d told Roberto not to harm Zeke in the least once they captured him. Carreon wanted to witness the torture.

Victor said nothing. All Carreon heard in the background was a bird’s squawking, which put the man outside his vehicle. Why? Had they found something?

“Answer me,” Carreon ordered.

Victor spoke haltingly. “Most of the men who’d gone to Neekoma’s stronghold last night haven’t returned. They’re either dead or prisoners.”

Carreon gripped the phone so hard the plastic groaned. “Most?”

“Roberto and I just found three of our men.”

“Where?”

“A few miles east of your stronghold. In their vehicle. Dead. Shot.” He offered their names.

Why was Victor telling him this? Carreon didn’t care who they were or if they were dancing with angels on a cloud. “What about the GPS?” It would lead them to Zeke’s hiding place. “Have you looked at it?”

“Can’t,” Victor said, then continued, the words pouring from him. “Whoever ambushed them shot out the dashboard. Their cell phones are gone. One of Neekoma’s people must have wiped the main server clean, hacked into it, then put in a virus or something. I don’t know, but nothing’s there. We did find another vehicle at your stronghold, but the information in its GPS was deleted.”

Carreon pushed out of his chair and paced the length of the strip club’s office.

Trinidad watched him from the sofa, running her long, manicured nails over her naked thigh. Having slept for a few hours, she looked refreshed, yet indifferent to the drama.

Dark circles ringed Ernez’s eyes. He hadn’t dared close them, no doubt fearful of what his fate might have been if he slumbered. As he shifted from foot to foot, he kept glancing at the door that led to the back lot, probably craving a moment to go out there so he could enjoy a smoke.

Carreon inhaled deeply, then spoke to Victor. “You’re telling me we have no way to find Zeke’s stronghold.”

“We’ll keep trying…looking.”

“Don’t come back until you find it.” He ended the call and hurled the cell phone. It smacked into the wall just to the side of the club’s promotional calendar. The impact separated the phone’s plastic casing with part of it falling to the right, the other to the left.

Carreon went to the sofa.

Trinidad finished her yawn. With maddening apathy, she regarded him.

“You can heal,” he said.

“He’s no longer bleeding,” she answered, inclining her head to Ernez. “Neither are you.” She regarded his earlobe with obvious pride.

Carreon held back an oath. The fucker still stung, the pain hardly banished even after so many hours. Beneath his fingers, the lobe felt puffy and deformed. Liz’s gift and her father’s would have restored it to its original shape, because their abilities would always be stronger than Trinidad’s. Unless… Again, Carreon wondered if the power to heal—to reanimate—was something one could nurture and strengthen with regular use.

There was only one way to find out.

“Ernez.”

The man went to Carreon immediately, while also keeping a safe distance…just out of arm’s reach.

For the moment, Carreon ignored Ernez’s prudent caution and spoke to Trinidad. “Give me your knife.”

She regarded the injury she’d given Ernez and delivered her switchblade with a smile.

“Your hand,” Carreon said to the younger man. “The one that hasn’t been cut.”

Ernez backed up a step.

Carreon depressed the button that released the blade. Ernez flinched at its silky whoosh, then stared at the gleaming metal as though it were a living thing, a monster from a horrible nightmare.

“Now,” Carreon ordered.

Ernez didn’t move. He seemed unable to breathe.

When he’d murdered his own cousin on Carreon’s orders, he’d shown no fear or hesitation. Then he’d been obedient and brave. No longer.

He whispered, “Please don’t.”

Please don’t? Did the idiot actually believe that would change anything? Carreon needed to test the extent of Trinidad’s power. He had to use her for his own ends until he had Liz and her father back, which he would. He’d also have Zeke, torturing him into revealing his visions.

“It’s either your hand or your balls,” Carreon said, offering a choice.

Ernez trembled. He put out his hand. It shook badly.

“Would you like me to hold him still?” Trinidad asked.

“Bitch,” Ernez growled.

“Yes,” she said, leveling her gaze on him. “What of it?”

“Cut her,” Ernez begged Carreon. “See if she can heal herself.”

“I’d rather see if she can heal you.”

“I don’t mind.” She pushed to her feet and held out her hand, palm up, as steady as a physician prepared to perform major surgery. “Go on.”

Carreon was nearly tempted to do so, to see if he could pull some emotion from her. However, the small mark on her palm stopped him. What if the knife injured more than her tissue, veins and tendons? What if it reduced her healing gift even more? What if she was his last hope for healing and reanimation because he couldn’t get Liz and her father back? If they remained with Zeke—

No. They wouldn’t. Somehow he’d see all three of them imprisoned.

Failure wasn’t something Carreon would accept. Nor did he have time to strengthen Trinidad’s gift bit by bit with minor wounds.

He closed the blade and tossed the weapon back to her. She caught it in one hand, holding it in her fingers as she might a cigarette. “You want me to cut him?”

Ignoring her, Carreon spoke to Ernez. “Which of the strippers is the least popular with the customers?”

Trinidad answered before he could. “Maria. She’s old. Nearly thirty-five. She should have quit a long time ago.”

Indeed, she should have. A woman past thirty was a senior citizen when it came to stripping and whoring.

“Call Maria,” Carreon ordered Ernez. The club had been closed for several hours and wouldn’t reopen until late tonight. No doubt, Maria was at home sound asleep, having no idea what her future would bring. “Tell her to get her ass back to the club if she wants to earn four times what she usually does. The boss has a special project for her.”

One she hadn’t asked for and certainly wouldn’t want once she found out what it was. Couldn’t be helped. Carreon didn’t have time to play at this. He needed his doubts answered, no matter the outcome to anyone else.

Chapter Six

Liz was back in the Jeep.

How she got there she didn’t know, couldn’t recall. In a part of her mind unaffected by fatigue, she wondered if she was dreaming.

Zeke drove. Her father sat in the back of the vehicle, his leg twisted in a way no limb should ever be. Gasping in surprise, Liz leaned over the seat to heal him.

“No!” Zeke shouted.

At the thunderous sound, Liz snatched back her hands. A volley of gunfire hit the Jeep, the strident rip of metal hurting her ears.

She slapped her hands over them. In that same instant, a wave of exhaustion hit so hard she had to fight to stay conscious.

“Tired?” her father asked. He spoke quietly, the sound seeming to come from a great distance. The same as when she’d died and gone to the other side and he’d brought her—

“Liz, are you tired?” he repeated.

Yes. Why? Her mind struggled to find an answer. It drifted close, then fluttered away, leaving her with the sense that her fatigue had something to do with him.

“Don’t heal your father,” Zeke warned. “Don’t heal anyone.”

Why?

Instinctively, Liz reached for Zeke and touched a downy material instead, as soft as cashmere. With a start, she awoke and squinted at the limestone walls, glowing faintly like a nightlight, weakening the shadows. She rolled over and nearly fell off the mattress rather than running into Zeke’s big body.

Where is he?

She left the bed and stumbled into the bath, her legs wobbly from lingering fatigue and disuse.

The room was empty.

Liz tried to bring back her disturbing dream, suddenly realizing she’d had one. Something to do with Zeke and…a leg? Biting her lower lip, she thought hard, but the images refused to return.

She circled the bath, searching for a hidden door that led to a hallway Zeke might have gone down…or perhaps another room he was in. Similar to the one where he’d put her last night when the battle broke out. He’d had no reason to believe she’d find a way to escape.

She had and returned to Carreon’s stronghold, determined to take him down so he couldn’t harm Zeke or her father ever again. She’d hoped Carreon’s absence would make his lieutenants scatter in panic, no different from frightened vermin. Instead, Carreon had murdered her. Exactly as Zeke’s visions had warned.

As far as Liz could determine, there weren’t any hidden entrances in here that led to a concealed area. She glanced at the bedroom’s double doors. Had one of Zeke’s people come here while she’d slept and awakened him to more trouble? Not Carreon’s men having returned. If they had, she would have heard gunfire. Zeke would have taken her to a safe place, another secret room that he would have made certain she couldn’t escape. No, this trouble would have to do with his clan. Had they decided he had to leave after all, along with her and her father?

Hurriedly, Liz went to her clothes, then curled her upper lip at the thought of putting them on again. Blood and dirt stiffened parts of the fabric. After a brief search, she found Zeke’s tees in a nightstand drawer. The one she pulled on hung halfway down her thighs and smelled of fabric softener rather than him. His jeans were far too large for her to wear. She settled for a pair of stretchy boxers rather than briefs, that she knotted at her waist so they’d stay up. The edge of the navy fabric skimmed her knees.

At the limestone wall, she mimicked Zeke’s earlier movements, which turned the surface into a mirror.

Ugh. Liz made a face at how shitty and ridiculous she looked, but at least she was covered.

Now all she had to do was leave the room. She paused at the double doors and hoped to God that they’d open. On the day Zeke and Jacob had argued about sharing her, Zeke had locked Liz inside Jacob’s bedroom, telling his brother not to come anywhere near her. Jacob had countered that it was his fucking space. He had a right to go inside. That argument hadn’t swayed Zeke.

She tried the handle, astounded that it turned, but didn’t take more than one step into the hall.

Jacob was leaning against the wood paneling, his arms crossed over a pile of clothes that he held to his chest.

He actually blushed at her presence. Liz’s face warmed as she recalled the intimacies they’d shared. The taste of his mouth, balls and cock. His strength as he pounded his rigid shaft into her. His satisfied huffs when he climaxed, then held her close, not allowing her to escape…to return to Zeke.

At last, Jacob met her gaze.

His color deepened. From embarrassment or desire, Liz didn’t know. Could be it was a bit of both. He glanced away quickly as though he feared her reading his emotions. His attention snagged on her makeshift outfit. He pressed his lips together as one did when fighting laughter.

She sighed. “It was all I could find. Those for me?”

He seemed to recall that he was holding a pair of jeans, a pale yellow tee, underwear and suede moccasins. Clearly, they were from one of the younger women, just as Liz’s last outfit had been.

“Yeah.” He handed the items over.

Their hands brushed as Liz took the clothing. Longing flooded Jacob’s face. He glanced at her once more, then looked past.

So different from when they’d first met. Then he’d been pure Alpha, trying to outdo Zeke, determined to make her want him the most. Oddly enough, Liz found Jacob more endearing now than she had when he’d been putting on his macho act.

And an act it had been. She sensed this was the real Jacob. Filled with uncertainty. Touchingly sweet. “Thanks.”

He nodded. “When you’re dressed, I’ll take you to the dining room.”

Liz already knew the way, having been there several times before. “Where’s Zeke?”

Jacob hesitated a moment, then shrugged.

Okay. So he knew where his brother was, but wasn’t telling. Rather than confront him on it, Liz backed into the room. “I’ll be out in a sec.”

He didn’t try to follow her inside as he might have yesterday. Like a good boy—or a man who’d lost a battle he hadn’t had a chance of winning—he waited in the hall.

As she pulled on the garments, Liz thought she’d heard him sighing a couple of times. She wanted to talk to him, have a real conversation about his feelings, what was going through his mind, but didn’t dare. He might not be the arrogant Alpha he’d tried to portray, but he was still a man. His insecurity would only intensify if she acknowledged it.

Once she’d dressed, they headed for the communal dining area, walking side by side toward the mouthwatering scents of freshly baked bread, bacon, cinnamon and coffee that had wafted up here. Not liking their uncomfortable silence, Liz asked, “How’s your leg?”

Jacob regarded it. “Good as new.”

“And your jaw?”

His hand flew to the nasty bruising as though he was surprised she’d noticed it. Upon touching the discoloration, he winced.

“Bad, huh?” she asked.

“It’s fine. Hardly hurts anymore.”

Sure. “Want me to heal—”

“No.”

He’d cut her off so quickly, Liz stopped. After a few steps, Jacob also came to a halt and glanced over. Again, their eyes met. In his, she saw concern and a longing so deep it stole her breath.

When Liz had told Zeke she didn’t want him and Jacob fighting over her, Zeke had dismissed her concern, stating that Jacob was just being the younger brother, wanting what his older sibling had. His feelings had everything to do with envy and lust, not love.

At the time, Zeke’s explanation had seemed reasonable. Not now. Liz saw something in Jacob’s expression she’d also seen in Zeke’s whenever he looked at her.

My God.

Before Liz could voice her thoughts, Jacob continued down the hall. He kept his distance even after she’d caught up, clearly honoring his brother’s claim.

Because Zeke had saved his life during last night’s battle? Because Kele’s foolish desire for him had caused it? Whatever the reason, it seemed to have touched something deep within Jacob. Changing him, making him grow up to become a man much like his brother. Kind. Honorable.

Those qualities in Jacob called to Liz as they had with Zeke. She longed to take his hand and offer some comfort, perhaps friendship, but didn’t, sensing he’d pull away.

At the landing, he stopped and gestured for her to go first. “They won’t be serving breakfast much longer,” he mumbled. “We better hurry.”

“Are you protecting me from your clan?”

Surprise flooded his handsome face. “No. They’d never do anything to hurt you. They’re not like your people.”

That should have stung, but didn’t. So many misconceptions and bad feelings had flowed between their clans for so long, everyone’s distrust had hardened into stubborn hate. “Not all of my people are bad.” I’m not. Neither is my father.

He pushed his fingers through his hair, pulling it off his shoulder. “No one’s going to bother you here. We voted, remember?”

Liz recalled the ones that had wanted her and her father gone. Isabel in particular.

“Is my father in the dining room?” she asked. “Is he all right?”

Jacob huffed out a sigh. “God, you ask a lot of questions.”

“That’s what Zeke said. You two really are alike, you know that?”

Clearly uneasy, he muttered, “No, we’re not. You love him.”

He regarded her more fully than he had before, defeat in his expression. Without waiting for her response, which he didn’t seem to want to hear, he went down the stairs toward the dining area.

Zeke tried to ignore the personal touches in Bartholomew’s room, knowing they’d resurrect his anguish at losing such a good friend. Despite his struggle, he moved closer to the photographs, somehow pulled by them.

In one, a much younger Bartholomew wore a maroon cap and gown. He clutched his high school diploma in his left hand, his smile broad and relieved. He’d made it through all the academic shit he hated and the state required. In those days, the clan lived outside the stronghold just like normal folk. Carreon’s father had been in charge, and even though he was no pussycat, he’d honored a truce between their people.

In the next photo, taken several years later, Bartholomew had his foot propped on the sparkling grill of a 1957 Chevy that he’d painted in its original colors. Aqua and white. He was heavier than he’d been in the graduation picture, his grin one of pure pleasure. If Carreon hadn’t taken over and renewed the fighting between their people—if Bartholomew hadn’t given his life to save the rest of the clan—he would have made a real success of his auto restoration business.

He might have married and had kids. A future everyone else in this country expected as their God-given right.

Agonizing sorrow gripped Zeke at all the interrupted dreams, the senseless and continuing murders. He understood his clan’s fury, them not wanting Liz and her father here. They’d lost a good man and for what? So their leader could have the woman he desired?

Heartsick, Zeke ran his hand down his face and turned from the photos to the bed.

Dr. Munez lay on the narrow mattress, no longer asleep. He seemed more curious than alarmed that Zeke was in the room. No surprise. Carreon had imprisoned Munez for so long, surely very little shocked the old man.

“Sorry to disturb you,” Zeke said. He pulled a chair next to the bed.

Munez pushed to a sitting position and swung his naked legs over the side of the mattress. He’d washed off last night’s gore and grime, and wore one of Bartholomew’s T-shirts that was several sizes too large for him. The rounded neck sagged beneath Munez’s thin throat.

Zeke sank into his chair. “How’s your ankle?”

“Fine.” He lifted his leg to show it wasn’t bruised or swollen any longer. Liz’s healing touch had taken care of it…after he’d reanimated her.

A wave of nausea hit so hard, Zeke had to swallow repeatedly to force it down. Taking a full breath wasn’t something he figured he could do right now. Although he had meant to broach the subject carefully, the words spilled from him. “Liz isn’t fully back, is she?”

Munez’s hands stalled on his head, not all of his hair smoothed back. A tuft on the left side stuck out defiantly. He didn’t bother combing his fingers through it.

When the man didn’t comment, Zeke added, “You noticed it too, in the Jeep. That’s why you touched her shoulder. You brought her back again.”

His hands dropped to his lap. They shook so badly, he clasped them together. “No.” His tone said he refused to believe such a thing. “I gave her a boost, that’s all.”

“Same difference,” Zeke argued. He leaned forward, ready to face what had been eating him for too many hours…the only explanation of what was happening to Liz. “You brought her back, and she was fine until she healed your ankle. When she poured her gift—her life force into you—that drained it from her, didn’t it?”

“I don’t know.”

Zeke shook his head, not believing this. “How can you say that? You’ve known from the beginning that those with the gift could go beyond healing. They could also reanimate. You kept that secret from Liz until last night. How many others have you brought back from the dead? What happened to them? Tell me. I’m worried about Liz.”

Munez drew in his narrow shoulders and spoke with reluctance, obviously disturbed by the subject. “Liz is only the second person I’ve brought back.”

Zeke stared, unable to comprehend such a thing. “How is that possible? You’re talking about not reanimating Carreon’s lieutenants, correct? Surely, with the rest of your people, the ones who aren’t a part of his inner circle, you—”

“I didn’t want to use my gift on them either. If they had known what I discovered by accident, I was afraid Carreon and his men would find out. The fighting would have escalated beyond anything we could have imagined, becoming impossible to stop. Why would he restrain the carnage at all if he knew I could bring his men back from the dead?”

“Whoa.” Zeke waved his hand. “Back up. You discovered the extent of your gift by accident? How? When?”

Sadness swept over Munez’s features, aging him further. “I was eleven when my sister became ill with what was later diagnosed as high-risk neuroblastoma. Brutally aggressive. At first, my parents asked me to heal her, take away her fever and constant pain, get rid of the swelling in parts of her body. I did repeatedly. But the tumors kept returning.”

He shook his head in memory. “My parents didn’t understand why my gift hadn’t worked. They became so desperate they tried conventional medicine next, something they’d never done before. The doctors did all that they could. Nothing helped. Benita came home to die. She was only five years old when she passed. I refused to believe it and fought my father when he tried to pull me away from her body. Before he could stop me, I laid my hands on her and healed as I never had before, pouring my life force inside.”

Munez paused, his focus turning inward as though he were reliving the moment. On a shudder, he continued. “My little sister gasped and opened her eyes. It was the most wonderful thing I’d ever seen. My parents began to sob. They knew then that not only could I heal, I could reanimate.”

Zeke rested his hand on the older man’s and forced himself to ask what he feared knowing. “What happened to your sister?”

Please, she had to have survived. She has to be alive now. Healthy. Cured.

All of Munez’s breath escaped on an edgy sigh. His body seemed to deflate with it.

“What?” Zeke insisted.

“The cancer she’d had went into remission and didn’t come back.”

Zeke’s smile felt jittery, weird. “That’s great. How old is she now? Where is—”

“You don’t understand,” Munez interrupted. “You didn’t let me finish.”

All of the muscles in Zeke’s face went slack. He struggled to swallow. He wanted to flee to avoid hearing the rest. His legs wouldn’t cooperate, refusing to allow him to stand.

The doctor continued, “We thought everything was going to be fine, and for a few days it was. Then new forms of cancer—not metastasis from the neuroblastoma—invaded her skin, eyes and mouth. I’d always been interested in medicine, and I sensed that when I’d healed the first problem, I had simply created others. Because of her age, her cells were already dividing rapidly. My power accelerated that process in ways none of us had considered. That’s why I never again healed a child and warned Liz not to do so either. Eventually, Benita’s suffering was so great, my parents allowed her to slip away forev—”

“No. That can’t happen to Liz.” Zeke squeezed the man’s wrist. “I won’t let it happen, dammit. You have to do something.”

He regarded Zeke’s hand on him. “It’s different with my daughter. It has to be.” Desperation tinged his words. “Liz wasn’t ill when I brought her back. She’s an adult, her cells aren’t dividing at the same rate as a child’s. You’ve been with her for the last several hours. You would have come for me if anything had happened to her.”

“Like in the Jeep? She wasn’t close to okay there. You saw how she slumped over, as though she’d passed out. It wasn’t until you touched her shoulder that she came to, revived, whatever you want to call it. I want to know why.”

Zeke released the man’s wrist and jerked his chair closer to the bed. Its legs scraped the stone floor. He kept his voice low in case anyone passed in the hall. “I’ve gone over this dozens of times in my head. The only thing I can come up with is what I said before. By healing you, she depleted her own strength.”

“If that’s true, it would have happened right away, not minutes later.”

“Like Benita’s other tumors?” Zeke countered. “You said she was fine for days. Maybe there’s a delayed reaction after someone’s reanimated. I don’t know. Do you have a better explanation for what happened to Liz in the Jeep?”

He bowed his head. “No.”

Zeke’s belly continued to churn. What kind of fucking gift did Liz and her father have if it didn’t always work? If no one could predict its outcome?

It’s as useless as yours.

Too many times Zeke’s visions were inscrutable, providing clues he hadn’t a hope in hell of deciphering. How often had he wanted to simply give up? This time, he couldn’t. Not when it meant Liz’s life—having her at his side.

He recalled last night, how he’d taken her repeatedly to ease his fears, as though his love alone could—

His thoughts paused as something flashed in his mind, then skittered away. What, damn it? What?

And then he had it. One of the reasons he’d been so impassioned last night, his longing for Liz so insatiable. On an unconscious level, he’d sensed the solution even then. “She poured her healing gift into me, saving my life,” he said, then hesitated before continuing.

“Yes?” Munez prodded.

“Is it possible that my touching her would transfer some of her life force back—her unique life force—with that filling her again rather than having yours or any other healer’s pouring into her?” That having his cock deep inside would return some of what she’d given to him?

“I don’t know.”

Zeke kept himself from snapping, Then what the fuck do you know? Lashing out at the man would accomplish nothing. Liz’s father didn’t want her harmed any more than Zeke did. “Until we figure this out, she is not to heal anyone, understand?”

“Of course.” He touched Zeke’s forearm. “Do you want me to tell her?”

“We’ll both do it.” How, he wasn’t certain. He didn’t want to freak her out, but he couldn’t allow her to repeatedly deplete her strength with her father having to bring her back again and again.

That was, if he could.

The room spun with Zeke’s newest worry.

“What is it?” Munez asked.

Zeke hauled in a breath that did nothing to calm him. “How many times can you reanimate someone? Does it work more than once? Are there any repercussions to doing it repeatedly?”

Would the individual develop cancer or some weird disease no one had ever heard of and couldn’t cure? Would there be brain damage?

“I don’t know,” Munez murmured.

God, God, God. When Liz had stirred last night, taking her first breath that proved she lived again, Zeke thought they were home free. Not even close.

He pushed out of his chair and backed up to the door. “I’ll get Liz. After we speak to her, I’ll have one of my men bring you a fresh set of clothes and take you to the dining room to get something to eat.”

Not giving the older man a chance to comment or question him, Zeke left the room and hurried to his own. Empty. One of his tees and a pair of navy boxers lay on the bed. Liz must have decided not to put them on when Jacob arrived with clothes from one of the younger women.

Zeke headed for the dining room, suspecting they were still there. He stopped just outside the doorway when he saw them.

Liz’s back was to him, her food barely touched. Jacob sat facing her. He stared at her hands for what seemed like minutes, although Zeke figured only a few seconds had passed. Then, as if Jacob couldn’t stand it any longer, he regarded her face.

Zeke’s heart caught. Love, the kind he’d never seen from Jacob for any woman, flooded his brother’s features. He looked at Liz with such yearning, there was no mistaking what he felt.

What Zeke had warned him against.

“Don’t test me on this,” he’d said before the battle with Carreon’s men. “I’ll fight you for her, and I’ll win. She loves me.”

Now, Jacob felt the same about her, his passion fueled not by sibling rivalry—wanting everything Zeke had—but by deep affection.

When had it taken hold? When Jacob learned Liz had gone back to Carreon’s stronghold, putting herself in danger to protect them? Or had it been when Jacob found out she’d died. That they might have lost her forever if not for her father’s gift.

What did it matter? None of his musings would erase Jacob’s feelings. Ones his brother wasn’t acting on. Jacob kept his hands to himself. He didn’t flirt. He merely looked, until Liz lifted her face to his.

Jacob’s cheeks darkened, making him seem too young and vulnerable. He concentrated on his coffee cup, his hands wrapped around it.

Zeke recalled when his brother’s hands had cradled Liz’s breasts. He thought of his conversation with her father, asking the man if the healing she’d given to others could be poured back into her.

Dr. Munez didn’t know.

Zeke intended to find out.

Chapter Seven

At thirty-four, Maria Guzman was in the twilight years of her profession as a stripper, at least in the better clubs. Her body was still well toned, belly flat, thighs sleek thanks to the rigorous exercise regimen Carreon expected of all his performers. However, there were also faint horizontal lines on her forehead, ones fanning from the outside corners of her eyes and those bracketing her mouth. A heavy smoker known to party hard on her days off, Maria had too many bad habits that were clearly catching up with her.

From reading her file, Carreon learned the club had hired her when she was twenty-three. Her twelve-year anniversary was coming up quickly. She had two children to support, twin boys who were now seven years old.

When she’d returned to the club a short while ago, bleary-eyed yet eager to earn the extra cash, she hadn’t mentioned her kids. She’d dressed for sex rather than a striptease, wearing nothing beneath her long coat, which now lay over Ernez’s chair. Her jasmine fragrance, laced with musk, filled the office.

Upon her arrival, Carreon hadn’t wondered if she’d gotten a babysitter for her boys or whether that person knew she’d been headed here. Ernez had warned Maria not to breathe a word to anyone. If she had, he’d learn about it eventually and then she’d be out of a job, including this special project.

Surely not wanting that at her age, Maria had kept her tongue. She probably hadn’t even said good-bye to her sons before taking off.

Carreon hadn’t considered who would care for them if his experiment didn’t work out or whether they’d miss their mother.

In the office’s harsh light, he regarded the pale stretch marks on Maria’s hips and belly. She’d attempted to cover them with glittery makeup. No doubt hoping whoever was going to mount her in the coming hours wouldn’t notice her imperfections in the rest of the club’s muted lighting.

They probably wouldn’t have if the story Ernez had told her had been true. The patrons would have likely slipped their tips beneath the leopard skin armband Maria wore on her left biceps. Her high heels bore the same pattern. Carreon supposed the heavy makeup on her lids and lashes were to make her appear catlike. Her eyes, an ordinary shade of brown, stared at the ceiling, seeing nothing on this side.

She was as dead as a human could possibly be.

She’d broken several nails when she’d fought Ernez. The backs of his hands bore deep gouges from her assault. The pain hadn’t stopped him from strangling her. In that, he was like Carreon when he’d murdered Liz. The only difference between the two acts was that Ernez had come up on Maria from behind while she’d answered one of Carreon’s innocuous questions, a diversion to keep her off guard.

“You do well today and we might put you and Trinidad together on stage,” he’d lied, noting how Maria kept eyeing Trinidad, curious or jealous as to why she was also here. “Some girl-on-girl action. Would you be interested?”

She’d looked downright eager, wanting to please her boss. “Of course. Whatever you want, I’ll be happy to—”

Her words had ended on a gasp with the black scarf Ernez had looped around her throat, one supplied by Trinidad. Confusion, panic, outrage and finally anguish had danced across Maria’s almost-pretty face. Was the misery because her larynx and hyoid bone were breaking, ending her future? Had she been thinking of the twelve-year anniversary she wouldn’t have a chance to celebrate?

Perhaps she’d been wondering who’d raise her kids.

Now, Maria Guzman lay on the office floor, arms and legs sprawled, breasts and cunt bared. Unlike Trinidad, she hadn’t waxed off her pubic hair but had trimmed it. Those delicate curls looked like a dark smudge against her dusky skin. So unlike her mane that she’d highlighted with reddish-brown streaks. To further enhance her image as a wild animal?

Possibly.

“Bring her back,” Carreon ordered Trinidad, not trying to hide his impatience.

She pressed her palms harder against her coworker’s throat. She’d been at it for five minutes or more and all she’d accomplished was to eliminate the dark bruising around Maria’s neck. Her face’s purplish discoloration had also receded. However, the woman hadn’t breathed, hadn’t returned from the other side.

Carreon recalled those times he’d watched Liz healing his men. With those who’d been nearest to death, she’d had to strip and drape her body over theirs, all of her flesh touching them, their mouths joined in order for full restoration to occur.

“Blow air into her mouth,” Carreon directed. “Lay on top of her. Touch every fucking part of her body.”

Trinidad appeared briefly amused at his unorthodox request, but did as he wanted. She angled her mouth over Maria’s, pouring her breath inside the woman. Her hand went to Maria’s breast, fondling it, then journeyed down her belly to her mound. She slipped two fingers into the woman’s sheath.

Carreon stepped closer, searching for faint signs of life, that Maria was return—

There. Her fingers. Had she lifted them?

He focused on her hand, his frown deepening at how it shifted…because Trinidad’s faint rocking motion had caused it.

“Keep blowing into her mouth,” he demanded, an image filling his mind of Liz having done the same with Zeke. Until her breath had filled him, Neekoma hadn’t responded to her healing.

During the next few minutes, Trinidad’s noisy exhales competed with the music throbbing from the club. A charade put on for Maria’s benefit. Carreon had wanted her to believe his VIP clients were waiting for her in the otherwise deserted bar.

Trinidad’s foot tapped in time with the tune even as she tried to resuscitate her co-worker. Ernez stopped tending to his lacerated hands when he noticed Carreon watching him. Uneasiness swept over the younger man’s face. He ignored his own injuries and watched the two women.

From the other room, the bass clapped suddenly and repeatedly, sounding like something monstrous striking the building on all sides. A gasp followed it.

From Ernez? Carreon turned back to the young man, glaring at him.

Ernez didn’t notice. He stared at the door as if Satan himself was playing drums on the other side of it. Or perhaps he was worried that a cop might happen by. One they hadn’t paid off, who would be curious as to why music blared within the establishment at this hour, and who might not take kindly to seeing a dead woman on the floor.

More bass. These vibrations were even stronger than the others, registering in Carreon’s belly. They paused for a second. During it, there was another sharp intake of air, though not from Ernez.

Carreon regarded Maria, warning himself not to expect too much.

Her chest actually rose with her next gasp.

He stared, relief, then joy flooding him. Trinidad had actually brought the woman back.

“Turn that shit off,” Carreon ordered Ernez.

He hurried out of the office into the club.

Carreon concentrated on Maria. As quickly as his hope had risen, it now fell. She was breathing, but her eyes were still vacant, her limbs slack. The same as Oscar’s and Anthony’s had been when Liz’s father claimed he couldn’t heal the men.

“The damage to their brains was too extensive because of their wounds,” he’d said. “There’s nothing I or anyone else can do for them.”

Because he’d held back. He’d lied.

“Keep trying,” Carreon ordered Trinidad.

Annoyance darkened her expression.

“Now,” he insisted.

“She’s alive,” Trinidad argued. “Breathing on her own. Exactly what you wanted.”

“Bullshit. I want her back to the way she was when she came in here.”

“Why?” She sat back on her heels, palms on her knees, thighs spread widely, cunt exposed. “I found her annoying.”

He smiled at her cockiness, then sobered just as quickly. “Restore her to the way she should be.”

“And if I can’t?”

“I don’t accept failure.”

“You should have thought of that when you told Ernez to strangle her.”

Before Carreon could comment, or grab and squeeze Trinidad’s throat to prove he’d lost all patience with her fucking banter, Ernez returned. The club was now blessedly silent, which accentuated the way Maria wheezed. As though she were drowning in air.

“Go on,” Carreon ordered Trinidad.

On an exasperated sigh, she lay on Maria again and ministered to her, breathing more air into her mouth, touching each part of the woman’s limp body.

For a moment, there was a spark of awareness in Maria’s expression. A what’s happening? look. It extinguished quickly, leaving that same vacant stare.

Minutes later, Carreon finally snapped, “Enough.”

Without objection, Trinidad rolled to the side and rummaged through Maria’s purse, pulling out a pack of Camels. The unfiltered kind that gave the most kick. With her cigarette lit, she pulled deeply on it as one would after great sex. Ignoring the previous warning that she wasn’t supposed to smoke in here.

Trinidad’s insolence was the least of Carreon’s concerns. He’d deal with it later when he could focus solely on her, teaching obedience, submission to his will. Lessons he’d enjoy and she’d endure.

“Finish her off,” Carreon ordered Ernez, gesturing to Maria.

“He should leave her here,” Trinidad said.

Carreon looked over. “Why?”

Did she want to practice on the woman? Had Trinidad considered, as he had, that she might strengthen her gift by using it?

“Who healed for you before you came here last night?” Trinidad asked.

“What business is that of yours?” Carreon answered.

She filled her lungs with more smoke, releasing it with her words. “My guess is you’ve lost that person. To Neekoma? I heard rumors earlier about a battle with his men over a woman called Liz.”

Carreon said nothing.

Trinidad picked a piece of tobacco from her tongue. “I’ve heard she’s not only a healer, but painfully honorable.” She smiled as though she found the thought decidedly naive. “You want her back.”

He didn’t answer.

She regarded Maria. The woman’s chest rose and fell with her labored breathing while the rest of her body had absolutely no muscle tone. “Before Ernez finishes Maria off for good, I think there’s a way you can use her to get Liz back.”

Having joined Liz and Jacob at their table, Zeke had encouraged Liz to eat.

“You need to keep up your strength,” he said.

“I’ve had enough, really.” She pushed her barely touched plate aside.

He brought it right back. “We don’t waste food here. We’ve stored a lot, but we still need to send our men out for provisions at times. They’re always risking an ambush from Carreon’s men just to make certain everyone here is well fed.”

Zeke’s heavy dose of guilt worked. Liz finally finished everything on her plate.

He and Jacob escorted her from the dining hall. No one watched them depart, not even Kele. She’d left the kitchen minutes before. On the way to Dr. Munez’s room, Zeke, Jacob and Liz happened upon the women who’d voted for them to leave. Each of those ladies avoided eye contact and conversation, ducking into whatever rooms happened to be available, closing and locking those doors as they passed.

Jacob pretended not to notice the lingering resentment. Zeke did the same. Liz sighed repeatedly.

At the door to her father’s room, Zeke spoke to his brother. “Don’t leave. This will only take a minute; then I want to see the prisoners.”

“Do they need to be healed?” Liz asked.

Zeke was about to exchange a glance with Jacob but thought better of it, not wanting Liz to see and interpret it as something bad. That would come soon enough. “No. Your father’s already seen to everyone. We have something we’d like to talk to you about.”

Her eyebrows drew together. “What?”

“Let’s go inside.”

He gestured her into the room. Jacob watched Liz with that same yearning expression he’d worn in the dining hall. Zeke’s chest ached with sorrow rather than jealousy. He loved them both and wished this hadn’t gotten so complicated, but it had. However, right now all that mattered was Liz’s continuing survival.

“Don’t leave,” he murmured to Jacob.

His brother screwed up his face. “I’m not, all right?”

“Make certain Kele doesn’t come anywhere near here.”

“Why would she?” Jacob seemed surprised at Zeke’s worry. He spoke quietly as Liz and her father embraced. “Kele knows she’s lucky you let her stay with the clan. I don’t think anyone could be more ashamed. It’s my guess she’d risk her life to protect Liz and her father as she did with us last night.”

Deep down, Zeke believed the same, until the disturbing images from his vision returned. That hand around a knife. Blood on the blade. The thumbnail polished a deep red or black.

He went into the room, closed the door and spoke to Liz’s father. “Do you want to start this or should I?”

“Start what?” she asked.

“You can’t heal anymore,” Dr. Munez said.

Liz regarded the man, then Zeke, her lack of emotion saying she’d suspected this intervention. “Why not?” she argued with her dad. “You can’t possibly mean I’ve lost the ability to do so. That’s not true.” She gestured to his leg. “I healed your ankle.”

“Then you passed out in the Jeep,” Zeke said.

She frowned. “I did not.”

“Yes, you did,” her father said. “You don’t recall it, but I saw. Zeke shouted your name several times. You didn’t respond, not until I laid my hand on your shoulder and poured more of my healing gift into you.”

Even though she kept shaking her head to deny her father’s words, blood continued to drain from her face.

Zeke went to her. “You better sit down.”

Liz pushed his hands away and stepped back. “What does my healing have to do with any of this?”

“Each time you pour your gift into anyone,” Zeke said, “you drain yourself. That never happened before the reanimation, but it’s doing so now.”

“So what?” She said to her father, “Even if I deplete myself to the point of death, you can keep reanimating me.”

“No fucking way,” Zeke said. “We don’t know if it will work a hundred times or even once more. We can’t take that chance.”

She seemed surprised and concerned, as if she’d never considered such a complication, though not for long. “Surely there’s a way around this. You need me. If you get hurt or…” She covered her mouth with her hand, clearly unable to finish, horror in her eyes.

Zeke softened his tone. “It’s all right. Nothing’s going to happen to me. Your father’s here. He can—”

“No.” She dropped her hand. “What if he can’t?”

“I’m old,” Munez said, “but I do have a few more years left.”

Liz made a sound filled with heartache. Her eyes got shiny. “Don’t say that. Don’t ever even think it, please. There must be something I—we can do so I can still use my gift.”

Zeke considered what he’d thought of earlier. When he had a chance, he’d present his plan to her and Jacob. Now wasn’t the time. “We’ll work on it.” He went to the door and spoke to Liz. “Stay here until one of my men comes for you.” Zeke glanced at her father.

The older man nodded that he understood and would make certain she obeyed.

“Wait,” she protested.

“I can’t.” Zeke closed the door on her and joined Jacob in the hall.

His brother leaned close and whispered, “What went on in there? Did you tell her she couldn’t heal anymore?”

“Yeah.”

“How’d she take it?”

“Not well.”

“I can imagine. So what does happen when she heals now?”

Zeke felt wearier than he ever had. As succinctly as he could, he explained the problem to Jacob.

His brother looked like a man who’d just been given a death sentence by his doctor. “Is she all right now?”

“She’ll be fine as long as she doesn’t heal again.”

“Ever? What if something happens to her father? Can he heal himself?”

“It doesn’t work that way.”

Jacob muttered an obscenity. “We have to fix this.”

“I’m working on it. Where are the prisoners?”

Jacob stared at the door to Munez’s room, worry, yearning, frustration playing across his features.

Zeke elbowed him. Jacob frowned. “What?”

“Our prisoners. Where are they?”

He regarded the closed door once more. Liz said something, her voice muted. Her father answered, his words also impossible to understand. “One of the safe rooms,” Jacob mumbled.

“I want to see them. Come on.” Zeke took his brother’s arm and led him down the hall. Twice, Jacob glanced over his shoulder at the room.

Zeke suppressed a sigh. Jacob in lust was bad enough. Jacob in love and worried was almost too awful to see. “What’s been going on with the prisoners?”

“Nothing.”

“And that means?”

Jacob pulled his arm away from Zeke. “Some of the men tried to get them to talk. They wouldn’t tell us shit. Paul suggested torture. The guys were all for that. I talked them down. Said we’d leave it to you.”

“I’m not going to torture anyone.” Zeke refused to sink to Carreon’s level. Right now, he simply wanted to get a good look at them.

He and Jacob went down three more halls. In the middle of the last, Jacob slowed and rested his hand against the wall. The hidden door swung inward. Within the small room, Paul and Kele sat to the left. Assault rifles rested on each of their laps.

Despite Kele’s weapon, relief whispered through Zeke when he saw that her nails were unpolished. Probably always had been.

More than a bit of remorse crossed her features. Studiously, she avoided looking at Jacob. That one action told Zeke that even if she hadn’t relinquished his brother in her mind, she wasn’t going to make a play for him again. She’d seen where her jealousy had led and seemed to have no desire to return to those days.

“Do you want me to leave?” she asked. “I will if you want.”

Zeke gestured Kele back into her chair and regarded the prisoners across from them, disturbed by what he saw. Or rather, what he didn’t see.

Neither of the men had hair long enough to blow in the wind. They’d shaved their heads like Carreon’s. Their features were rough rather than handsome, their clothes a solid black rather than blue denim. They also appeared older than the man in Zeke’s vision, possibly mid-thirties.

Did they know who the other man was? Would they tell him?

Hatred filled their eyes even though the clan had brought them food.

An empty plate and coffee cup were stacked on the nightstand from the breakfast one of them had enjoyed. The other had barely started to eat.

Why? Had he held back, thinking the food was poisoned or drugged? Had he waited until his partner had finished to see what would happen?

The man shoveled a forkful of scrambled eggs and hash brown potatoes into his mouth and chewed slowly. Manacles held his and his partner’s ankles to the chairs on which they sat. Each had his left hand secured to the arm of the chair, leaving the other free in order to eat.

Zeke spoke to them. “If Carreon’s not at his stronghold, where would he be?”

The man on the right, who was bulkier than his companion, stared at a spot on the wall above Kele’s head.

The other spat. The food in his mouth sprayed Zeke’s jeans.

Paul stood so quickly, the legs of his chair scraped the floor. He pointed his weapon at the one who’d spat.

“Easy.” Zeke put his hand on the barrel, lowering it. Icy determination rather than rage coursed through him.

Paul growled, “A couple of bullets to his knees, like what they did to Samuel, will get him to talk.”

The man spat again.

“No,” Zeke said. “We’ll let Carreon deal with them like that.”

The prisoners exchanged a glance, then regarded Zeke cautiously.

“After you’ve been here awhile, we’re going to release you,” he said. “Right into Carreon’s lap. No matter what you tell him really happened here, he’ll believe you talked. You told us all of his secrets. What do you think he’ll do about that?”

The men’s swarthy faces turned pale.

“You have two choices,” Zeke explained. “You tell us what you know and join us, or face Carreon once we send you back to him.”

“You’re lying,” the bulkier one growled.

“Care to find out if that’s true?” Jacob asked.

They exchanged another glance with each other.

Now that Zeke had their attention, he asked, “Which one of Carreon’s men is in his late twenties with dark hair, longish past his ears? He’s a pretty boy, not like you guys. What the ladies would call handsome. What’s his name? Who is he?”

Jacob turned to Zeke and whispered, “What the hell are you talking about?”

Ignoring his brother, Zeke coaxed more images from his vision. “He’s wearing a T-shirt, denim jacket and jeans…possibly hiking boots. He’s—”

Zeke stopped. The prisoners, Paul, Kele and Jacob faded away. In the place of this room, he saw the desert landscape outside. A bone-dry breeze whipped around him, stirring up sand and dirt, the sound nearly as loud as the static from his vision. He smelled the earth baking beneath the oppressive sun.

Overhead, a bird squawked.

The young man from his previous vision held up his arm to shield his face. He mouthed something Zeke couldn’t hear. His expression made it seem like a plea or a—

Zeke’s breath caught as a bullet tore through the young man’s belly. Another ripped through his heart. He stumbled back and fell to the ground, dust puffing up around him.

No.

Liz leaned over the young man, wanting to bring him back. As she did, her lids grew heavy, her shoulders slumped. Zeke screamed for her to stop. She didn’t hear. He ran toward her, but no matter how much distance he traveled, she was still too far away, the life force draining from her, leaving her—

“Zeke.”

He blinked and stared at Jacob, who’d gone as white as their prisoners had a moment earlier.

“What did you see?” Jacob asked.

Zeke wasn’t certain what any of it meant. As always, his fucking visions showed just enough to confuse him, taunting him with clues he couldn’t yet read.

“Jacob!” Ike’s voice called from the hall. “Are you down here?”

He stuck his head out the doorway. “Yeah. What’s wrong?”

“Is Zeke with you?”

He went into the hall. Ike and several of the other men were there, each armed with an assault rifle.

Bile rose to Zeke’s throat. He forced it down. “What happened?”

Ike spoke before the others could. “There’s a man not too far from the tunnel’s entrance. Our cameras just picked him up. Looks like a hiker. Could be a trick. Maybe Carreon told him to dress that way. Our guys are already headed out there to see—”

“What’s he wearing?” Zeke asked.

“Jeans, a white tee, denim—hey,” Ike interrupted himself as Zeke bolted down the hall, followed by Jacob. “Where are you going?”

Outside. To keep his men from shooting the man, and Liz from having to revive him. To find out who the fuck he was. Why he’d been in Zeke’s visions.

Chapter Eight

Trinidad’s suggestion was so simple and delightfully insightful, Carreon smiled. “You’re very cunning, aren’t you?”

She pulled on her newest cigarette, then released the smoke through her nose. “Yes, I am.”

Carreon grinned at her continued arrogance. In time, he’d make her more docile than Maria, with Trinidad watching him carefully to see what he’d do, never quite knowing what to expect. For now, though, he encouraged her bluster, wanting to see where it would go.

He offered his hand.

She enjoyed a bit more of her smoke before accepting it.

Once she was on her feet, Carreon pulled her against him. Luckily, for her, she kept her cigarette to the side, not burning him as she had Ernez. If she had…well, no woman would live through that with him.

Trinidad parted her lips, her focus on his mouth as though she expected a kiss. Carreon knew she could feel his erection, given how she’d pressed her cunt against it.

With his attention on her mouth, he hid his distaste for the stench of cigarette smoke and spoke to Ernez. “Who do we use for our computer systems?”

Ernez gave up the man’s name immediately.

Carreon cupped Trinidad’s ass, enjoying how plush and incredibly soft it was. He pulled her closer. She didn’t resist. He hadn’t expected her to. “Where is he now?” Carreon asked Ernez.

“At this hour, probably still at home, having breakfast.”

“Call him. Tell him we need to get into Neekoma’s systems.”

Those in Zeke’s clan weren’t the only ones who could hack into someone’s computer. However, Carreon didn’t want any data wiped out as Zeke’s people had done with the GPS. He was fairly certain Zeke’s men would stop that kind of cyber-attack before it could happen—if it were even possible to do something like that given the technology the Others must have provided Neekoma’s clan. What else could explain their ability to hide so well in the desert…to have access to an underground tunnel system they’d used to escape?

Unfortunately, the Unknowns had left Carreon’s people with little in the way of otherworldly gifts. Only a few in their clan had the ability to heal, to reanimate. That wasn’t right or fair. More so than ever, Carreon demanded everything, especially Zeke’s stronghold and his power to see the future. “We need to send him a message. I want that to happen within the hour.”

Ernez went to the phone.

Carreon ran his free hand down Trinidad’s silky arm and pressed his face to her hair. Despite the smoke, she still smelled of honeysuckle and musk, steamy nights and reckless sex. Before he was through with her, she’d please him greatly. He trailed his fingers to her hand and took her cigarette.

She stiffened a bit in protest. Carreon knew it wasn’t fear. She seemed to have none. Unless that was an act. If she displeased him in the least, he’d have to find out sooner rather than later.

Easing back, he gave her a gentle smile, then leaned over—taking her with him—as he stubbed out the smoke. He used the empty plate Ernez had previously offered her, which he’d eventually put on the coffee table.

“I wasn’t finished,” she said.

“Neither am I.”

With his arm around her waist, he directed her to the credenza. A Cuisinart coffee maker and a stack of Styrofoam cups were to one side, a tray of pastries and bagels to the other.

“You’re hungry?” she murmured.

He ran his fingers over her nipple. At last, her areola tightened, which seemed to lengthen the tip. Gently, he twisted it between his thumb and forefinger. “Very.”

Without further direction, she faced the credenza, bent at the waist and lifted her ass. Her high-heeled boots, along with her parted legs gave Carreon an excellent view of her cunt and anus.

She folded her arms on the furniture, then glanced over and regarded him through a veil of blue-black hair. “Enjoy.”

Was there any doubt?

In no hurry for this to end, Carreon ran his fingers over her smooth cunt, exploring her sex, locating her clit. Despite Trinidad’s nonchalance, her cleft had grown slick with new moisture, lubricated in readiness for a man’s shaft, the nub erect. Testing her reaction, he stroked it.

She wiggled nicely as though unable to help herself. Pleased with her response, Carreon next concentrated on her anus. The ring of flesh was hot, and tight as could be, hugging his little finger as he worked it inside. With that part of her filled, he drove three fingers into her cunt and thumbed her clit.

A gasp escaped her. She actually moaned.

His cock thickened with the sound, the power he had over her. Proving it, Carreon rubbed her clit, noting the increased moisture that generated within her slit. He thought the same thing now as he had earlier. No woman could fake that intimate lubrication. He relished her whimpers, her struggle for air.

Ernez spoke to the man he’d called, telling him what they needed.

Trinidad’s sheath tightened around Carreon’s fingers. She was nearing climax, all because of what he was doing to her.

He stopped immediately and pulled both hands away, giving her no time to question his action or to protest. Already he’d lowered his fly and released his stiffened cock, thick with arousal, so sensitive he had to grit his teeth to keep from making any sound.

Unceremoniously, he buried his shaft in her cunt until she’d taken him to its root. The snug fit, her wet heat made Carreon forget everything except his own pleasure. Drowning in her warmth, he thrust into her again and again, taking what he wanted.

Ernez finished his call. He waited patiently to the side to provide his report.

Carreon didn’t acknowledge him. Trinidad, on the other hand, turned her face to the man, giving him her attention.

Fuck that. Carreon slipped his hand between her legs and stroked her clit. Her back arched in response to what he knew were the powerful sensations rolling through her. However, she didn’t turn away from Ernez.

For that, Carreon knew he’d punish her. Later. Now, he rubbed harder, faster, as he continued to drive his cock into her, demanding she focus on what he was doing to the exclusion of all else, wanting her to climax.

She lowered her head and offered an extravagant moan that signaled her release. Gripping her ass, Carreon thrust into her as hard as he could, enjoying what was his, proving his dominance. On an uninhibited growl, he came.

For the next several moments, her huffing and his merged, the same as their bodies.

Ernez waited until the sounds had quieted, then spoke with caution. “He’s working on it now. He’ll let us know when you can send your message.”

A bead of perspiration skimmed Carreon’s cheek, then slipped to his jaw and dropped. It fell on the small of Trinidad’s back. She inhaled deeply in answer.

To the side, Maria made an inarticulate sound, part gurgling mixed with a grunt that proved how useless she was as a stripper and a mother. However, those sounds would soon bring Liz back to him.

This was inconceivable. Worse, it was insane.

Liz argued with her father as she’d never done before. “You really expect me not to heal you if you’re injured? That I’d save myself instead? You actually believe I wouldn’t heal Zeke or Jacob if something were to happen to them?”

“You have no choice.”

“That’s bull, Papa. You know it.” Liz stopped pacing. She went to the side of his bed and looked down at him. Despite his messy hair and cheeks roughened with white stubble, he was still an elegant man and all too kind. “You’re lying, right? This is no different from what you told Carreon when he wanted you to heal his men. You’re just trying to protect me, that’s all.”

“No.”

Liz stared at him, not certain whether he was telling the truth or not. All of her life, she’d believed everything he’d said without question. Then, Carreon had killed her. On the other side, she’d spoken to her mother, who’d revealed the secret Liz’s father had always alluded to but never exposed.

“Many times your father lied to keep from healing the fallen,” she’d said, “telling Carreon they were too far gone to help or that he could only bring them so far, which left them in a vegetative state. He also lied to protect you.”

He had to be doing the same now.

As though her father had read Liz’s mind, he took her hands in his, holding them gently. “You can’t risk healing anyone or bringing them back. Not me. Not Zeke or Jacob. If you do…” He seemed unable to finish. His chin trembled.

Oh God. She brought back her hands. “You expect me to do nothing and watch all of you die?”

“It may not come to that.”

“But it could,” she cried. “Carreon’s not going to give up until he has both of us back, along with Zeke.”

“That’s why we have to stay here.”

He’d said it so easily, as though it were a real solution when it was not.

Liz recalled how Zeke’s people had tried to block their entry into the stronghold. What if Isabel’s hostility flared again, convincing the others she’d been right after all, with that overruling the previous vote they’d taken?

“For how long?” Liz asked, then thought of something else that had slipped her mind. “What about my practice?”

She’d left abruptly the night Carreon and three of his lieutenants had come for her so she could heal Zeke. She hadn’t returned or given any indication when she’d be back. Surely, her staff wondered where she was, what had happened. By now, they might have thought to contact the police and report her as missing.

“Carreon forced me to call there,” her father said. “I spoke to your receptionist and explained there was a family emergency. That you wouldn’t be in for several weeks. When that time’s passed, we’ll contact them again somehow.”

Liz pushed her fingers through her hair, feeling like a caged animal suddenly. “I can’t accept this. There has to be something I can do to use my gift.” She grabbed his hand that bore the reddish stain, which marked him as a healer. “If you push as much of your life force into me as possible, then—”

“No.” He yanked back his hand, his sudden strength surprising. “I don’t know what it will do to you. It may be too much for your body to handle since I brought you back. Something’s changed in your physiology. I saw it in the Jeep. I didn’t consider it at the time. I simply reacted to you losing consciousness. I could have harmed you forever then. I might have killed you with no way of restoring your life.”

Liz’s breath hitched. Her pulse raced at the thought of dying at her father’s hands and only because he’d tried to save her.

However, that hadn’t happened, had it? She refused to accept that it ever could. “You didn’t. If you go slowly, you can pour enough of your life force into me that my body stores it. Then I can heal again without any bad effects.”

He crossed his arms over his narrow chest. “We don’t know that, and we won’t. I refuse to chance it. Not to save myself. Not to save Zeke or Jacob.”

He couldn’t mean that. Liz recalled how close Zeke and Jacob had come to death. How she’d caressed them as she healed, coaxing them to take their first full breaths, feeling their hearts beating strongly again.

“Please,” she begged.

Her father turned away, refusing to listen.

Zeke, Jacob and Kele had left the stronghold from a rarely used exit that allowed for foot rather than vehicle traffic.

A gust of wind whipped their garments and drove dust into their faces. Squinting, Zeke held his hand over his nose and mouth until the air settled. His brother and Kele did the same.

The sun beat down from a flawless sky, heating the ground to a point that it shimmered in the distance, creating a mirage that resembled a large pool of water. Bleached rocks and stunted vegetation disputed that notion. Plant life ran uninterrupted along the base of the mountain range. Some of the soil glittered from minerals within it.

Zeke turned, then gestured for Jacob and Kele to follow.

They carried assault rifles and their two-way radios clipped to their jeans. It hadn’t been Zeke’s idea for Kele to join them. She’d insisted, wanting to prove her loyalty.

“It doesn’t matter if I die,” she’d said to him when he demanded she stay in the stronghold.

“It matters to me,” Jacob argued. “It matters to all of us. You’re being foolish.”

“I have to do this,” she said to him, then spoke to Zeke. “I’m asking you to let me. Give me a chance to prove my loyalty.”

He hadn’t wanted to take the time to argue with her, so here they were, circling the area, coming upon the intruder from behind.

His vehicle was nowhere in sight, his attention on the ground. If he was an ordinary hiker, it might be that he was looking for some pretty rocks to take home with him. Could be he was a grad student, studying desert flora or insects and was in the desert to collect samples of each, storing them into his backpack that hung over one shoulder.

Of course, he might be studying the ground because he was searching for tire tracks that would lead him to the stronghold’s location. That wasn’t something Zeke had worried about until now. This area was so remote there were no roads or trails nearby. No hikers had ever come this far. No hikers had ever been in one of his visions.

Carefully, Zeke and the others approached. The wind was on their side, blowing in their faces, not delivering their scent or the sound of their footfalls to the intruder.

He focused on something to the right, then moved toward it.

The white plume of a jet streaked across the sky. Closer to earth, birds flew past, perhaps on their way to the corpses of Carreon’s three lieutenants.

This man hunkered down and studied the soil. Past him, the wind had whipped up a dust devil that whirled for several moments only to blow itself out.

Perspiration coated the back of Zeke’s neck. A drop rolled down his spine. He held his breath.

Now.

He signaled to Jacob and Kele. They raised their assault rifles in concert with him. However, they’d promised not to fire unless Zeke gave the signal. No way was his vision going to play out with bullets striking this man in his belly and heart. Even if that happened somehow, Liz would never know. Zeke would see to it, not allowing her to reanimate this guy or anyone else.

“Show me your hands or you’re dead,” Zeke said.

The young man turned and stared at the three rifles pointed at him. He raised his hands as he pushed to his feet.

The wind pulled at his hair just as it had in Zeke’s vision. Dust coated his clothing as though he’d been out here awhile. Why?

“I mean you no harm,” he said.

Sure. “Drop your backpack.”

He did instantly. It landed on the ground with a muted whap, dirt scattering around it.

Zeke gestured to Jacob. His brother grabbed the rucksack. When he was a safe distance from the young man, Jacob opened the top flap and examined the contents.

“It’s just water and food,” the intruder said.

Jacob nodded. “He’s right.” Leaving the item, he went to the man. “Hands behind your head.”

Immediately, the intruder assumed the position. Jacob patted him down. He even checked his socks and shoes, then stood. “No weapons.”

That should have been a good thing, but it didn’t ease Zeke’s tension. If this man was nothing more than a hiker or grad student, letting him go could prove problematic. Back home, he’d talk about being threatened by a group of people with weapons. He might interest the cops in why anyone was in this particular location. The authorities might believe drugs were involved and could possibly investigate.

To avoid that, they’d have to keep the young man here as their newest prisoner. Surely he had a family, possibly a wife and maybe even a kid. What would they think when he didn’t return? What would they do?

Shit. “Why are you here?” Zeke asked.

The young man lowered his arms, then froze as though he realized the movement might get him shot because he hadn’t obeyed. When that didn’t happen, he blurted, “I’m looking for Liz.”

Of course he was. Carreon had sent him after all. That made all of this so much easier than having to keep him from a normal life, a wife and child that certainly didn’t exist.

With the mention of Liz’s name, Jacob had grabbed his two-way radio. He spoke into it. “What are the cameras showing?”

“Nothing,” the voice crackled back. It sounded like Ike’s.

“How far away are you looking?” Jacob asked.

“As far as we can go. No one’s out there. No vehicles are headed this way.”

Zeke didn’t get it. This guy was alone and unarmed but was still looking for Liz? “Check the food,” he said, half expecting some toxin or explosive to be inside.

“I’ll do it,” Kele offered.

She sniffed the bottled water, then poured it out and waited. After several seconds, she said, “The ants are still alive.” She next opened the candy bars and trail mix, showing both to Zeke.

The food proved to be exactly what the packages said.

“Hidden compartments?” Zeke asked.

“There are none,” the intruder said.

Kele checked anyway. “Nothing.” She held the backpack at an angle so Zeke could see there wasn’t anything inside.

“How do you know Liz?” Zeke asked.

“All of our clan knows who she and her father are. That she’s healed for Carreon.”

“Your leader,” Zeke said.

“No.” The young man matched Zeke’s frown. “My half brother. I’m his oldest sibling, Diaz.”

Chapter Nine

Unable to tolerate the unacceptable, Liz left her father’s room.

She heard him scrambling to his feet behind her, the bedsprings creaking as he left the mattress. He called from the doorway, “Liz, don’t. Zeke wants you in here.”

Zeke wanted a lot of things she didn’t agree with, couldn’t accept.

She walked backward, away from her father as she spoke. “I’ll be fine. There’s nothing to worry about.”

“Liz!”

He wasn’t young enough to catch up with her. Liz used that to her advantage and roamed the stronghold, searching for Zeke. She had to convince him that he and her father were wrong. There wasn’t anything the matter with her.

So what if she’d fainted in the Jeep—something she still couldn’t accept. Anything could have caused it. Exhaustion. Continuing terror at what Carreon would do. Any freaking thing.

Even if it were more than that, she had to heal no matter the consequences. She couldn’t just let the people she loved slip away while she remained safe. How could she live with herself after that? Losing her father was unthinkable. Never seeing Zeke again was a possibility she couldn’t endure. There was no way she wanted to go on without him.

There had to be a solution to this. If she began slowly, tending to a small cut perhaps, then working her way up to more serious injuries, surely nothing bad would happen. Zeke would see that she remained alert and alive. He’d stop this nonsense, no longer keeping her from fighting at his side to insure his safety.

In the kitchen, women and men were preparing food. Upon seeing her, they exchanged glances, then stared without offering any greeting or challenge. Liz couldn’t recall which of these women had voted for her and her father to leave the stronghold.

“Hi,” she said, having no other choice than to speak first.

No one offered a greeting in return.

Liz hadn’t really expected one, but there had still been some hope, which she dismissed quickly. She spoke on a sigh. “I’m looking for Zeke. Do you know where he is?”

Each of the women and the few men shook their heads.

Whether they were lying or not wasn’t something Liz could determine.

She checked the dining hall next. Not there. Nor was he in the large communal room where the youngest of the children sometimes played while the adults relaxed nearby.

Liz recalled the last time she’d been in the bosque, an area of thick vegetation hidden between the mountain’s many peaks. There the older children had a chance to play outside, run off their energy. Salt cedar trees and cottonwood provided shade and some relief from the blistering temperatures.

Today, no one was out here. Leaves rustled in the scant breeze, parting momentarily to allow the brutal sun to shine through.

After returning inside, Liz went down countless halls and finally ended up in an area with a long table and numerous chairs, reminiscent of an office’s conference room. It was also empty.

Where was everyone, aside from those in the kitchen? Especially the men? Did Zeke have them on guard duty to make certain the stronghold was safe since Carreon’s last attack? Had they holed up in some hidden room, while they planned an assault on him? What if Zeke got injured…or killed…during the strike? What if Jacob or the other men couldn’t retrieve his body and bring it back for her or her father to reanimate?

How many hours or days after death would it be possible to bring Zeke back to life? The time limit wasn’t infinite. If his people were anything like hers, his body would retain its heat, there’d be no decay, making him seem as though he were only sleeping. However, within weeks he’d crumble to dust.

Taken from her forever.

Liz wrapped her arms around herself and gasped at the sudden pain in her belly, driven by intolerable sorrow. She tried to calm down but couldn’t. Her thoughts…her worries…continued to bombard her.

Even if her father could save Zeke dozens of times, that couldn’t last forever. When her father passed, she’d be the only one who could heal Zeke, Jacob and their clan.

And she would. If anyone tried to stop her, she’d fight them. What other choice did she have?

Ignoring the pain in her gut, Liz hurried down other halls and checked as many rooms as she could. During the assault, Carreon’s men had shot off the locks. The few times she’d reached doors that were still intact, she found them bolted, not allowing her entrance. Within a couple of those rooms, she’d heard voices and had knocked, then asked, “Zeke, are you in there?”

The voices went silent. No one answered.

Jacob’s room proved empty. So did the one that must have belonged to Kele. Pictures showed her, Jacob and other clan members at various events. High school graduations. Dances. Parties.

This didn’t make sense. Where in the hell was everyone?

Liz returned to her father’s room, thinking—hoping—Zeke might have come back looking for her. The room was also empty, the door to the bath closed. Someone had laid fresh clothing on the bed, no doubt for her father to use after he finished his shower.

Not knowing where else to go, Liz ended up in Zeke’s room. He wasn’t in here either. She sank to the edge of the mattress and fought a sense of dread. No matter how secure this place was, how much he wanted to protect her, something truly awful and unexpected was about to happen.

Within seconds, the feeling became so unbearable, Liz fled the room, determined to find Zeke. To make certain he was all right.

The meeting room was one of the few places Carreon’s men hadn’t shot up. Its distance from the living spaces had kept it untouched, the same as the dining hall and the area where all the stronghold’s systems and computers operated.

Thankfully, the Others had made that location as inaccessible as possible. Zeke and his men had put in additional safeguards. Their thinking went that if anyone did breach this place, they wouldn’t be able to access any of its systems. They’d be trapped in a maze of halls, easy pickings for Zeke and his armed clan.

Precisely what had happened during the attack with Zeke’s people winning. This time.

Several of the men and elders sat at the long table. Among them, Isabel. Her expression revealed nothing of what she thought of this newest problem. The younger clan members, who hadn’t been able to get a chair, stood near the walls.

On Zeke’s left side sat Kele. On his right, Jacob. Across the table from them was Diaz.

Samuel and Paul had their assault rifles trained on the young man, prepared to fire if Diaz threatened anyone in the least.

What he’d just revealed was more troubling to Zeke than any move he could have made.

“I went into hiding when Carreon took over,” he’d said a few minutes before. “I heard Carreon’s other male siblings did the same. We knew he didn’t want to share his so-called kingdom. Not that any of us wanted it.”

He’d leaned forward, then sat back quickly as Samuel stepped closer—his knees fully healed by Dr. Munez. Samuel pointed the muzzle of his rifle at Diaz’s head.

“I wanted nothing of my brother, just for him to leave us alone,” Diaz had explained, glancing from Samuel’s weapon to Zeke. “I was running my aunt’s carniceria when Carreon had our father assassinated. My mother and her brothers had already died in previous battles. The only family I have left is my aunt and cousin. Pedro’s only thirteen.”

“Why are you looking for Liz?” Zeke asked.

Jacob spoke before Diaz could answer. “You’re lying about how you found our stronghold—or almost found it before we surprised you.”

“That’s not true.”

Diaz leaned up again, this time ignoring the rifle’s proximity, its muzzle nearly touching his temple. “Carreon’s men are as arrogant as he is, believing everyone else is stupid. I used that to my advantage so I could find Carreon and hopefully Liz. She wasn’t at her practice when I called. A lady there told me she was away on a family emergency. Didn’t know when she’d be back. I sensed it wasn’t true, that Carreon was keeping her a prisoner just like the rumors I’d heard about her father. What other choice did I have than to follow Carreon’s men to his stronghold? It’s exactly as I told you; I’ve been tracking their movements, waiting for an opportunity to hopefully see her. Last night when I arrived, Zeke was already driving away with Liz and her father, leaving Carreon’s stronghold. Fleeing, I thought. I was too afraid to tail them. I didn’t know what Zeke would do if he saw me, so I waited, then simply followed the Jeep’s tracks.”

“In the dark,” Kele said, her distrust evident. “On foot, no less.”

Many members of the clan murmured, their comments equally suspicious. Isabel said nothing. Her full attention remained on Zeke.

Diaz blew out a sigh. “No, of course not.”

“Where’s your vehicle?” Jacob asked.

“Hidden behind one of the boulders not far from where you saw me.”

Without being told, two of Zeke’s men left the meeting room to find the vehicle and bring it back here.

“So you waited until first light to search for the Jeep’s tracks,” Kele said, “when the wind would have blown many of them away.”

“Many, but not all,” he countered.

“And what did you intend to do once you found our stronghold?” Kele asked. “Wait some more for Liz to come out?”

“I hadn’t thought that far. I had to find the entrance first. That was my main concern at that point.”

Jacob leaned up in his chair, presumably to ask his own question. Zeke spoke first. “Why are you looking for Liz?”

An anguished look swept across Diaz’s handsome face. “Carreon’s men have been recruiting the clan’s boys to fight your people. They offer them money they’d never had, a chance to lead a good life, or so they believe. They approached Pedro. He’s a sweet kid. He refused. You don’t do that with Carreon’s men.”

He paused to swallow, his body shuddering visibly with whatever his mind pictured. “They cut Pedro up pretty bad, made him an example to force the other boys to do exactly what they said. They dumped Pedro on my aunt’s doorstep and warned that if she tried to find one of the clan’s healers—or worse, if she took him to a hospital or doctor, they’d know—they were watching—and would stop her. They’d then finish Pedro off. They’d done it to another boy earlier in the year.”

Diaz leaned against the table toward Zeke, agony in his expression. “If Pedro was going to survive, my aunt couldn’t defy them. She’s been taking care of him ever since. But she’s no healer. He keeps getting worse. She finally got word to me. Pedro needs help or he’ll die. I’ve heard Dr. Munez has refused to heal any longer. That only leaves Liz. I know of no other healer in our clan.”

Although Zeke understood Diaz’s pain, he didn’t want to face it. His vision returned of Liz weakening, then possibly dying as she healed. At first, Zeke had thought she was tending to Diaz. Now that he thought of it, he wasn’t certain. It might have been Pedro he’d seen. He’d been too focused on Liz to notice whom she’d been trying to save.

Jacob bumped his shoulder.

He looked at his brother, then past at Isabel. She continued to regard him, her expression blank, her thoughts inscrutable. “What?” Zeke asked Jacob.

Leaning close, he whispered, “Clearly, he’s lying.”

If he was, then Zeke figured Diaz was the world’s best actor. He saw unfathomable terror and sorrow in the young man’s eyes, the same Zeke had experienced when he’d cradled Gabrielle’s lifeless body and then Liz’s. His gut churned at the memory. A sour taste filled his mouth. He swallowed it down. “I’m sorry, but we can’t help you.”

Diaz pushed to his feet. Samuel clamped his meaty hand on the young man’s shoulder and forced him back into his chair.

“You have to let me talk to Liz,” he begged. “I’ve been in hiding long enough that I know how to evade Carreon’s men. I can bring her to Pedro when they’re not watching. She can heal him; then she can come right back to this strong—”

“No,” Zeke interrupted. He couldn’t risk that. Wouldn’t. It killed him to let a young boy die, but he wasn’t about to trade Liz’s life for anyone’s.

Kele turned to Zeke. “Maybe we could bring Pedro here.”

Isabel frowned.

“No,” Diaz cried, “the trip would kill him.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Jacob said.

Diaz shouted, “How can you say that and claim to be a man?”

“Easy,” Jacob said, unfazed by the outburst. “Even if your cousin dies, Dr. Munez can reanimate him.”

A moment passed before Diaz reacted, his eyes rounding. “What?” He gripped the lip of the table and leaned forward. “He and Liz can bring back the dead?”

“Not Liz,” Zeke said. “She can’t help you.”

“Yes, I can.”

Zeke turned at her voice, stunned to see her standing in the doorway to this room. How long had she been there? How had she even found this spot? It was supposed to be impenetrable behind a maze of halls.

He pushed out of his chair so quickly, it rolled away from the table on its casters and smacked into the limestone wall. The lighting in the room brightened momentarily from the furniture’s contact with the stone.

Liz’s expression noted that and the stains on Zeke’s jeans from Carreon’s man spitting at him, before she again focused on Diaz. “Where is Pedro?”

“No,” Zeke snapped. “You’re not doing this.”

“I want to,” she said, her voice achingly soft.

It drained Zeke’s anger, turning it to desperation. “No.”

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, “but you can’t stop me.”

“You actually believe that?”

“What are you going to do, Zeke? Lock me up? You want me to let a child die? Not even try to heal him or bring him back?”

Yes. He wanted to shout it, but couldn’t. He didn’t want anyone harmed, would have given his own life to make certain that didn’t happen. All he asked was to have her safe and with him always.

His vision said otherwise, unless…

Zeke recalled something Liz had said days ago when he foolishly believed she could help the clan’s little ones if they fell ill or got injured. It was what he’d told his people when they were deciding whether to let her and her father stay. “You don’t heal children, remember? You don’t know what your power will do to them.”

“Pedro’s no child,” Liz said. “From what I overheard, he appears to be in his early teens.” She asked Diaz, “How old is he?”

“Thirteen.”

“What difference does that make?” Zeke muttered. “He’s still a kid.”

“He’s already reached puberty,” Liz explained. “It’s not the same as if he was an infant or a toddler. His body’s changing, maturing. That should give him some protection against the force of the gift.”

“And what if it doesn’t?” Zeke argued, going to her. “I can’t let you do this. You know damn well why.”

Diaz spoke to Jacob. “What are they talking about?”

“Quiet,” Samuel growled.

Liz touched Zeke’s mouth. “I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t at least try. You understand that, don’t you?”

Of course he did, but that didn’t change anything.

Liz brought back her hand and went around the table to Diaz. “How far is Pedro from here?”

Before he could answer, Zeke spoke to his men. “Liz doesn’t leave this stronghold, understand?”

Some nodded immediately. A few of them glanced at Isabel before doing so.

Liz pleaded, “We have to help the boy.”

“We can bring him here,” Kele said as she had earlier.

“No,” Isabel said. She leaned up in her chair. “The woman needs to go to him.”

“That’s not going to happen,” Zeke countered. “Not while I still lead this clan.”

Isabel’s expression darkened. She pressed her lips together as though to keep herself from saying anything further.

“You’ll regret stopping me,” Liz murmured to Zeke. “Allowing Pedro to slip away.”

Everyone looked at him as they awaited his decision. Zeke wanted to take Liz’s hand and run. To go somewhere no one would ever be able to find them.

Where he wouldn’t be responsible for a kid’s death.

Seeing no other choice, Zeke blurted, “If we bring Pedro here, one of us would have to go with Diaz to protect him from Carreon’s men and to make certain they don’t follow him on his way back here.”

Jacob spoke above the clan’s murmurs. “I can go.”

“No.” Zeke wasn’t going to lose his brother either. If Carreon’s men murdered Jacob and disposed of his body, there would be no chance for reanimation. “Not you.”

None of the other men agreed to make the run.

Diaz grew more agitated. “I told you, I know how to avoid them. I’ll be careful. I can go alone.”

“You don’t have to,” Kele said. “I’ll go.”

The men stared at her. Isabel looked uneasy. Jacob spoke first. “No, that’s crazy.”

“Especially since we can really trust her,” Paul said, heavy sarcasm lacing his words. “Considering what she’s already done.”

“That’s enough,” Zeke said. “Kele proved herself in battle. We don’t bring it up again, got it?”

Again, his men nodded.

Kele pulled her attention from Isabel and glimpsed at Jacob, making it seem a guilty pleasure she had no right to indulge in. She’d pinned all of her hopes on a man who’d never been able to give her what she’d wanted and needed. Zeke thought he saw her expression softening with love that she’d never be free of. Before he could be certain, her features hardened in resolve, as though she needed to make things right.

“It makes sense for me to go,” she said. “If anything happens, I’m the only one the clan won’t miss.”

“Don’t say that,” Jacob snapped.

“Why?” She gave him a sad smile, determined yet defeated. “It’s true.”

He pushed out of his chair and strode to the other side of the room, putting distance between them.

In the past, Kele would have followed. She would have tried to entice, and if that hadn’t worked, she would have begged.

Today, she remained seated. A changed woman. Beaten finally.

Zeke spoke as kindly as he could. “You’ll have to plan this out. No one’s leaving here until I have a full report on what’s going down.”

“We can work on that now,” Kele said to Diaz.

“After we bring Pedro here, you’ll heal him?” he asked Liz.

She nodded. “Of course.”

“We’ll take care of the boy,” Zeke said to Diaz, knowing he’d only allow Dr. Munez to do so.

As though Liz had read his thoughts, she said, “I’ll take care of him.”

Zeke grabbed her arm. “Jacob.”

His brother looked over. Zeke gestured for him to follow them.

“Zeke.” Isabel stood. “I need to speak with you.”

“Not now,” he murmured, his tone respectful yet firm. “Later. I give you my word.”

He brought Liz into the hall. As they went down it, she murmured, “Will Isabel agitate the others into doing something?”

“No. She’s a good woman. She’s just worried about everyone.”

“You should have let me leave.”

Zeke gripped her arm more tightly.

Liz sighed. “I never wanted to come between you and your clan.”

“You’re not. You won’t. Just do as I say and everything will be all right.”

“You mean, like with my gift? I’m going to prove you wrong about that. You’ll see.”

That was what worried Zeke. She’d insist on healing Pedro or someone else, draining her life force, leaving him. Unless he chained her to their bed, he couldn’t stop her. She’d find a way to convince him he was wrong, when he wasn’t, which left only two other alternatives.

Have her father continue to pour his life force into her, not knowing if it would work or eventually be too much. Or have him and Jacob return some of the healing gift she’d given them when she’d seen to their injuries. Zeke hoped what they returned to her would be far less risky than the force of her father’s power.

“Where are you taking me?” Liz asked.

Zeke shook his head, not trusting himself to answer.

She looked over her shoulder at Jacob who was a few steps behind them. “Where?”

He didn’t comment either.

Zeke led her through the countless halls she’d come down, then to the lower level, stopping finally at his bedroom.

“You’re going to keep me prisoner here?” she asked.

He brought her inside. Jacob followed. “Close the door,” Zeke ordered.

His brother did.

Liz looked from the door to Jacob, and finally to him. “What’s going on?”

“Take off your clothes,” Zeke said.

Chapter Ten

Liz didn’t move, not understanding Zeke’s intent. Apparently, Jacob didn’t either.

He stared at his brother, his face betraying his confusion and surprise. So different from days before when Jacob would have delighted in her nudity and would have demanded his right to mount her first.

Liz noticed how he avoided looking at her now.

Jacob went to Zeke and spoke quietly. “What are you doing?”

Zeke’s expression grew pained, perhaps from sorrow, jealousy or a mixture of the two. He spoke on a sigh. “She needs both of us.”

Liz shook her head. “What are you talking about?”

“You refuse to stop healing,” Zeke accused. He approached so quickly, Liz stepped back without thinking. Zeke loomed over her, his masculinity heightened by his anger. “Nothing your father or I say makes a difference, does it?”

Liz rested her hand on his chest. His heart drummed fiercely, further betraying his frustration and worry. “How can I stop what I was born to do when someone’s life is at risk?”

“What about your own?” he countered.

“If anything happens to me, my father can—”

“No, he can’t,” Zeke interrupted. “He doesn’t know what his power will do. I might lose you forever.” He grabbed her arms and pulled her into him, burying his face in her hair. Anguish laced his words. “Don’t you know that would kill me? Don’t you fucking care?”

Oh Zeke. Liz wrapped her arms around him, resting her cheek against his shoulder. As she spoke, her breath puffed against his tee. “How can you even think that? I’m doing this for you. What if you’re injured?” She moaned at the thought and held him even tighter. “What if you’re killed? Do you think I could stand by and do nothing? Do you actually believe I’d want to save myself?”

Swearing beneath his breath, Zeke hugged her so hard Liz could scarcely breathe. Then, as if he’d made a decision he released her and stepped back. His eyes were shiny.

Jacob stood to the side, looking lost.

Zeke cleared his throat, then said, “When you healed me and Jacob, you poured your life force into us. I don’t know how your gift works. I wish to fuck I did. But I’ve been thinking that the part of you we have inside of us—what allowed us to heal—can hopefully be returned to you. It can somehow undo what the reanimation changed.”

“What?” Jacob blurted.

“It’s all we have,” Zeke said to his brother. “What if her father’s gift stops working on her? What if it’s too strong and does more damage than good? They’re related— so sharing the same genetic material might also be a problem. I don’t know for certain. And I sure as hell don’t want to risk finding out that her father’s healing power killed Liz without any possibility of him bringing her back. We have to do this.”

Clearly bewildered, Jacob shook his head. “Do what?”

“Make love to me,” Liz answered. “Get as deep inside of me as you can. Return to me what I gave to you.”

Surprise and naked desire registered on Jacob’s face, followed quickly by apprehension. He regarded his brother as though he expected an argument from him because Liz had guessed wrong and there would be another fight over her.

Zeke spoke softly. “I don’t know what else to do. Liz needs your help.”

She could see that Zeke believed as much. Never had he appeared as torn. He didn’t want to share her. She’d known that shortly after she’d healed Jacob. However, Zeke was willing to do this to make certain no harm came to her. That if she continued to challenge him and saved anyone, she wouldn’t risk her life.

Jacob looked more uncertain than Liz felt. “You’re sure about this? What you’re asking me to do.”

Zeke nodded.

“What about you?” Jacob asked Liz. Doubt made him even more hesitant. Gone was the cocky warrior who’d demanded she pleasure him, who’d played at sex and love. He was a man who didn’t know where he belonged, what place he had in her life—if he had any at all.

“I know you don’t love me,” he said, filling the growing silence before she could. “Just seeing how you look at Zeke tells me what you feel for him. That’s okay. Nothing I can do about it.” He looked past her as though it pained him to have admitted that and to meet her gaze. “But do you at least like me a little? It doesn’t have to be a lot. I’m not expecting or even hoping for that. Just a—”

“Jacob.” She’d spoken his name gently so he’d stop. She ached for him, her sympathy mixed with tenderness she’d never be able to deny. Leaving Zeke’s side, she went to Jacob and cupped his face in her hands so he had to look at her.

Longing and despair shone in his eyes.

Oh baby. Liz ran her thumbs over his cheeks, feeling the rasp of his coming beard, enjoying how male it felt. “You’re wrong. I like you so damn much.” Especially when he wasn’t putting on an act to try to compete with his brother. When he allowed himself to be the man he really was…gentle and kind. “I always have.”

He swallowed. “You’re sure?”

“I’ll prove it to you if you let me.”

Jacob glanced past her at Zeke. All the previous times Jacob had wanted her, Zeke had made certain to stand in his brother’s way.

Not now. HeZeke joined them, sandwiching her body between his and Jacob’s.

Liz’s belly fluttered at their size and scents, the warmth radiating from their skin.

Zeke pressed his cheek to hers and spoke loud enough so his brother could hear. “Take off your clothes. Now.” Straightening, he said, “Unless you want Jacob and me to do it for you. We will, won’t we?” he asked his brother.

Jacob nodded. “Sure. I’m game.”

Liz suppressed a smile. “I’m capable of undressing.”

“Then show us,” Zeke said. He stepped back. So did Jacob. Both brothers crossed their arms over their chests, waiting for her to disrobe.

At the moment, all Liz could do was regard them…her men. Both tall and rough in a good, protective way, their long hair giving them a slightly uncivilized appearance, which added to their masculine appeal. Her body weakened at the thought of their hands and mouths on her, their powerful bodies pressed close, their heat and strength, their cocks in each of her openings, not only thrilling her, but returning what she’d once given to them.

The room seemed to sway with the promise of both men taking her again. Heat rose to Liz’s chest and cheeks, making the room’s mild temperature seem too hot suddenly, her clothing restrictive.

With all of her attention on them, Liz toed off her moccasins. Jacob regarded her naked feet. Zeke, her expression. Liz didn’t try to hide her love or that she’d be his for as long as they both lived. Giving him a smile that belonged to him alone, she pulled off her tee and tossed it aside.

The garment hit Jacob’s leg. He didn’t appear to notice. He stared at her bra.

Zeke’s breathing picked up. He tightened his arms as though he needed to control himself. His muscular biceps flexed. Liz nearly moaned at how commanding he was…and so damn beautiful. She lowered her bra straps, taking her time, making him want her as no man ever had.

Except for Jacob. He regarded her bra with such fascination and longing it seemed he’d never seen one before.

Giving him a show, Zeke too, Liz undid the clasp. The lingerie slipped off her arms, baring her breasts. The room’s tepid air did nothing to tighten her nipples. The attention her men provided did the trick. Her areolas puckered. The tips grew hard. She tossed her bra.

It hit Zeke’s belly.

He grinned. So did she.

All that remained were her jeans and panties. Liz made quicker work of the button and fly than she’d originally intended. Haste seemed prudent now so she might know their fevered touch, the wonder of their bodies, both brothers taking whatever they demanded, expecting her to yield to them.

Her cleft grew damp at the thought of being used so well, so relentlessly.

She pushed her panties and jeans over her hips, past her knees, to her ankles.

Zeke reacted first. He went behind her, one hand holding both of her wrists, his other moving over her breasts. Liz rested her head on his shoulder, exposing her throat. Zeke kissed her there, then suckled. The sweep of his tongue registered throughout her body. Weakened by the delicious sensations, Liz released her weight into him and emptied her lungs on a breathy sigh.

Zeke tightened his grip, letting her know he wouldn’t release her for a very long time. Certainly not until all three of them were sated…and some of her healing gift had returned.

Jacob went to his knees at her feet. He ran his hands down the insides of her naked thighs. Liz trembled, liking that. However, she wanted far more. His face to her pussy, his mouth on her slit.

He remained where he was and guided her to lift her feet from her jeans and panties. Once he’d pushed the garments aside, he murmured, “Spread your legs.”

Liz did so immediately. Her sex felt hot and achy, needy of a man’s touch.

To make certain she kept herself open to them, Zeke slid his right foot inside of hers, then did the same with his left. Naked and opened to the Neekoma brothers, Liz waited for their next move.

Again, Zeke acted first. He ran the tip of her nipple between his thumb and forefinger. A jolt of pleasure tore through her. Jacob interrupted it, his mouth on her cunt, his tongue stroking her clit.

Oh my God.

The sensations were needed yet overwhelming, nearly more than Liz could bear as Jacob slipped two fingers inside her sheath. Held captive by his touch and Zeke’s, she had no choice except to submit. Neither man would allow her freedom.

While Jacob tongued her clit and worked his fingers in and out of her as he would his cock, Zeke again kissed the side of neck and ran his roughened palm over her breasts. The friction of his touch and Jacob’s emphasized how helpless she was against their carnal hunger and strength—how they demanded that she submit. Just as their male ancestors had most likely behaved with their women, tolerating no disobedience. They ruled. The females surrendered, especially those they’d taken captive from enemy camps.

A wanton and delicious thought that sent her over the edge.

Liz’s orgasm came too quickly, tearing through her. She moaned loudly—lewdly, she thought—then slumped against Zeke, whimpering at him suckling her shoulder and squeezing her breasts. Jacob hadn’t stopped licking her nub. That part of her was still hypersensitive thanks to her climax. Liz needed him to stop.

He didn’t. He ran his free hand down the furrow beneath her cheeks, his fingers circling her anus.

She shivered at the intensity of that contact and endured, giving herself fully to him, because she wanted to.

He concentrated on both of her openings even as Zeke resumed suckling her throat and playing with her nipples. How long they used her, Liz wasn’t certain. Time seemed to have stopped, the seconds and minutes replaced by a lick, a stroke, a wanting sigh.

At length, Jacob removed his fingers from her sheath and pulled his other hand from her ass. When he abandoned her clit, Zeke lifted Liz into his arms and put her on the bed. There she lay, sprawled indecently, her nudity displayed to both men.

The brothers regarded her as they undressed. Zeke beat Jacob by a few seconds. Both of them were erect, their balls plumped by lust, their bodies flushed with desire. Liz noted the network of veins on Zeke’s cock and sinewy arms. She regarded Jacob’s broad chest and hard abs.

Zeke climbed on the bed and lay on his back. Jacob followed, his weight also shaking the mattress.

Liz didn’t wait to see what would happen next, knowing what the Neekoma brothers craved. Straddling Zeke, she took his thick cock and directed it into her sheath, her slit juicy and wanting of him. Her body eased down his, swallowing his sex, taking him as deep as he could go. Zeke inhaled sharply. Liz released a wanton sigh at his size, how relentlessly he stretched her so her body would shelter his.

The pleasure was intense, but not nearly enough. Liz needed it all. Draping her torso over his, she sought his lips.

Zeke’s tongue filled her mouth before Liz could think to do the same to him. His kiss was wild with passion, tender with love. An incredible combination that touched her soul. The noise she and he made thrilled her. So primitive. So necessary.

If Jacob thought the same, he didn’t voice his opinion. Nor would he allow Liz to ignore him. He settled between her and Zeke’s legs. With his hand on the small of her back, he directed her to present her ass to him.

Readily, she obeyed.

Jacob placed his hands on her buttocks and eased them apart. His thumbs stroked her anus.

Liz gasped around Zeke’s tongue. He slanted his mouth for better penetration and deepened his kiss.

Jacob ran his hand over her belly to her mound and touched her clit.

A shock of pleasure rippled through her. She had no chance to indulge in it.

Jacob had stroked her there to merely bathe his fingers in her moisture. He now brought them to her tight ring, lubricating it.

She wiggled at his touch. Didn’t deter or stop him. Jacob rubbed the head of his cock against her anus. Liz trembled in anticipation of his crown entering her, the invasion of his rigid yet silky flesh.

The wait wasn’t long. Jacob eased the tip of his shaft into her tightest opening, then tunneled inside.

The pressure proved so intense and seductive, Liz pulled her mouth from Zeke’s. Several sounds escaped her, betraying her lust, her desire for this.

Zeke pumped his hips, a demand that she work her body up and down his cock. Jacob was already fully within her other opening, his fingers pressed into her hips to make certain she couldn’t get away from him.

Filled by both men, Liz surrendered to each. Immeasurable feelings coursed through her along with a sense of being restored. Not only emotionally, but that they were returning some of her life force to her.

Or was she merely imagining that?

Liz didn’t know and couldn’t dwell on the matter. The bed shook with each thrust and pump, the springs squealing. The noises they made were far more enticing. Jacob grunted. Zeke groaned. Moan after moan spilled from Liz followed by a whimper of delight as Zeke slid his hand between their bodies and worked her clit.

Ah. It was more than any woman could endure, the pleasure too great, the wantonness complete. For minutes, the brothers enjoyed her and Liz did the same with them. At last, she came on a strangled cry. Jacob followed, the racket he made uncivilized. Zeke was the last, his baritone filling the room with sounds of immense pleasure.

Liz collapsed on top of Zeke, her gasps muffled by his shoulder. His chest pumped with his harsh breaths. Perspiration coated his skin. Panting, Jacob leaned over Liz and kissed her back. Not to be outdone, Zeke again suckled Liz’s neck.

Both of their actions told her they weren’t anywhere near sated. Nor were they through with her.

A stack of ham sandwiches lay on a tray in front of Kele and Diaz. Next to it were cups of coffee and glasses of milk.

He hadn’t taken one bite of the food. Nor had he sipped the offered drinks. Given his growling belly, Kele knew Diaz had to be starving. His worry over Pedro must have made him oblivious to his body’s needs.

She was no different. Her hunger repressed by her thoughts of Isabel’s disapproval and Jacob’s concern over her welfare…how he actually seemed to care for—

Don’t, she ordered herself, afraid to dwell on him.

She had no right. Leading Carreon’s men here had nearly cost Jacob his life. She’d allowed her jealousy, her unending love for him to color her choices. Her life would never be the same.

No matter how much time passed, her clan would never forgive her fully. She saw it in their eyes, heard it in their cautious responses to her questions or comments since they never spoke to her first. The people she’d grown up with, had trusted and loved, now treated her worse than a stranger. To them, she might as well have been a member of Carreon’s clan. Their expressions betrayed the contempt they felt.

Kele had seen that on the faces of the men when she’d offered to go with Diaz. She’d noted Isabel’s distrust. So different from the relationship they’d once had. Then, Kele could have gone to the older woman for solace and guidance, as she would have done with her own grandmother when the woman had been alive.

Not any longer.

There would be no comfort from Isabel in the future, no matter how badly Kele might crave it. Jacob was lost forever too. She harbored no more foolish hope that she could make him desire her alone. That had been a fantasy she’d lived for too long. Liz coming here put an end to it. If only Kele had accepted the truth then, she wouldn’t have betrayed her clan.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

She didn’t deserve to be here. She shouldn’t be pining for Jacob right now, wondering, worrying about what he and Liz were doing.

Had they made love already? Were they doing so now? Kele had caught the look on Zeke’s face when he said Jacob’s name. Zeke intended to share Liz with his brother for reasons Kele didn’t understand and had no right to pursue.

She’d never have the love she wanted from Jacob. It was a miracle she still had his compassion.

Diaz turned the laptop toward her. It displayed a Google Earth map. “This is the route we need to take from here…unless you have a better suggestion.”

Kele was fresh out of ideas. The one she’d had about Pedro coming here had divided the clan once more. The one before that had turned disastrous. What if the clan’s children, or the women and older men, had gotten hurt in the battle she’d caused? How could she have lived with herself then?

“Kele?”

She blinked and focused on Diaz. He had some of Carreon’s features, but not his pale blue eyes and cold stare. Warmth, humanity, the capacity for love welled in Diaz’s dark eyes.

“Can you think of a better route than this?” he asked.

She regarded the map, not really seeing it. Something bumped against the ceiling. It came from one of the teens’ bedrooms, not Zeke’s, where he, Liz and Jacob surely were right now. Kele’s mind didn’t care. She kept picturing Jacob on top of Liz, his cock inside of her, their bodies and mouths joined.

Her belly cramped, stealing her breath. She feared she’d cry.

No, don’t. Get a hold of yourself.

If she didn’t, Diaz would see. He’d ask too many questions that she wouldn’t answer. He might alert the others. They’d know then that she hadn’t stopped loving Jacob, not even a little, which would only increase their mistrust. Especially Isabel’s. She and the rest wouldn’t want Kele to leave, wouldn’t believe she could do this without harming them again. She’d lose her last chance to prove her loyalty.

To make amends.

Her heart ached, but she ignored the pain. With all the will she owned, Kele forced herself to concentrate on the map and to answer Diaz. “I don’t know. Give me a sec.”

It took several minutes before she could actually focus her attention on the problem at hand. Once she had, Kele made changes in the route, updating the map. During the next hour, they discussed strategy. Various members of the clan popped in and out to retrieve items they’d forgotten when they’d left the meeting. Many of them lingered outside in the hall and conversed quietly, no doubt trying to catch what Kele and Diaz said.

They spoke little. He wrote all of their plans down for Zeke. The clan wouldn’t allow them to leave without his consent.

At length, Kele nibbled on a sandwich, hardly tasting the meat. Diaz finally gave in to his hunger and finished half of the food on the tray. He was on his second glass of milk when Ike hurried into the room. Earlier, he hadn’t been at the meeting, no doubt tending to other security matters instead.

He ignored Kele. Clearly—rightfully—he was still angry at how she’d used him to leave the stronghold the night of the battle. Addressing Diaz, he asked, “Where’s Zeke?”

Kele answered. “He left with Liz and Jacob.” The pang of sorrow returned, sharper than before. “They’re probably in Zeke’s bedroom.”

Diaz stood. “What happened?”

Backing away, Ike mumbled, “There’s something we need to show him.”

“What?” Kele asked, also on her feet.

Without answering, Ike ran from the room and bolted down the hall.

Chapter Eleven

Jacob had been the first to recover from the lovemaking. Days before, he would have gathered Liz into his arms and expected her to submit to him once more, which would have given Zeke no other choice except to challenge him. If he hadn’t, then Zeke’s other option would have been to watch his brother. To wait for Jacob to finish with Liz while he hungered for her again.

No longer.

A while ago, Jacob had been ready to take her, yet he deliberately waited to see what Zeke had in mind.

A lifetime of knowing Liz was what he required. Please work, Zeke’s thoughts had repeated endlessly as he hoped that he and his brother had returned some of Liz’s life force to her. If they hadn’t…

Zeke couldn’t think of it; the prospect was too daunting and hastened his arousal, his need to have still more of her.

The mattress had bounced as he’d left the bed. He offered Liz his hand.

Blinking slowly, still obviously fatigued from her numerous climaxes, she’d slipped her fingers over his. Her hand was delightfully warm, her breathing slow and steady. However, when her lids slid down, Zeke’s panic flared. He blurted, “Are you all right?”

Jacob pushed to a sitting position and looked down at her, clearly concerned.

“Yeah.” She yawned. “I’m savoring.”

Zeke wasn’t certain whether to groan, laugh or bitch up a storm at her for frightening him like that.

Jacob didn’t look convinced that she was all right. He leaned over her shoulder, his hair sliding down her arm. “You’re sure?”

“About what?” She looked at them both.

Her eyes were bright with health and life, alert now, her savoring apparently well past.

“Never mind.” Zeke squeezed her hand and led her from the bed to the bath. Jacob followed and touched several of the rocks.

In seconds, warm water filled the tub where it swished and swirled. More moisture misted from the limestone ceiling, directly above the receptacle, to create a gentle shower-like effect.

Liz put her palm beneath it. Pearls of water collected in her hand and dripped from her fingers.

Zeke kissed her shoulder. Jacob, her cheek. “Come on,” Zeke murmured, directing her into the tub. “We’ll give you a bath.”

She looked down at herself as though checking to see what they wanted to wash away. “Why?”

“Because we want to?” Jacob asked, joining them.

Zeke had to smile at his brother’s guileless, eager answer. The three of them being together in here would have seemed impossible days ago. It wasn’t something Zeke would have permitted, given his love for Liz.

His feelings for Jacob were as deep—the kind only brothers can have for each other—and no longer complicated. In Zeke’s mind, they’d never again be rivals for Liz. She belonged to him, always would. However, Jacob would also have a part in their lives. He no longer seemed to mind his secondary status. He seemed content with it, grateful.

Liz regarded Jacob’s erection. Water streamed from the ruddy crown. She actually licked her lips and answered his question with one of her own. “Know what I’d like to do?”

Zeke eased Liz’s damp hair from her neck and kissed it. “What?”

She took the soap, lathered her hands and sank to her knees.

Her breasts seemed to float on the bubbly water. She worked the scented lather over Jacob’s dark bush and Zeke’s, then down both of their rigid rods.

“Okay then,” Zeke breathed, having no objections to her intimate touch.

Jacob said something similar. After that, Zeke couldn’t focus on anything other than Liz’s hand caressing, fondling, squeezing his cock.

Damn.

She ran her thumb over the tiny opening in the head and stroked the bumpy skin on the back. Zeke gritted his teeth at the pleasure tearing through him. He pressed his toes into the stone to keep from tottering back and losing his balance.

As he heaved in air and attempted to regain some control, she concentrated on Jacob, no doubt working her magic on him.

My turn now, Zeke thought. Come back to me, touch—sweet Jesus.

She’d taken him into her mouth.

Zeke clenched his jaw so tightly it hurt. However, it did keep him from screaming his joy at the incredible sensations she’d generated. With his head hanging between his shoulders, he watched her lips moving up him, finally touching his dark curls. At the same time, she fondled Jacob’s balls.

His brother gasped, swallowed loudly, then gasped again.

Zeke’s shoulders bunched. He squeezed his fists at Liz licking and suckling his cock. She did it so well he was a breath away from climax.

She pushed him over the edge by cupping his balls and squeezing them gently.

He came on a choked cry, not certain his legs would hold him much longer. As he struggled to remain upright, Liz ministered to Jacob, cleansing his cock and balls thoroughly, then taking him in the same fashion.

Eventually, they’d washed her, making certain her openings were prepared for their further use. Jacob got to bathe her breasts. She’d pressed her face against his shoulder as Zeke washed her cunt, then her tight ring of flesh.

He’d returned to her soft folds and explored them and her clit so thoroughly Liz came yet again.

At last, they were back in bed, this time with Jacob taking Liz vaginally from behind. As she submitted to his carnal need, she’d licked and loved Zeke’s cock, his balls.

Their newest orgasms were as powerful as the first. They collapsed as they had earlier. After another brief rest, they finally stirred.

Zeke ran his fingers down Liz’s arm, unable to stop touching her, checking to see if she was all right. Jacob was no different. He stroked her hip. Glancing at each of them, she murmured, “Did it work?”

Zeke brushed his mouth over hers. Jacob eased her hair away and kissed her temple.

“Did what work?” Zeke whispered.

“Your plan to restore me…to return what I’d given to both of you.”

Zeke exchanged a glance with Jacob. His brother looked as though he hadn’t a clue what to say and was going to leave that up to him.

Suppressing a sigh, Zeke regarded Liz. Contentment registered on her features, her color was rich, her breathing relaxed not exhausted. She looked about as hearty as a person could. For how long? He didn’t want to think about it.

“I can’t be sure,” he said. “We’ll have to keep doing this until I’m certain.”

“That’s right,” Jacob said, cupping her breast.

Amusement and skepticism played across her face. “When do you think that might be?”

The memory of her slumped over in the Jeep returned to plague Zeke. “I don’t know. Let me take this slow, all right?”

“But what if—”

“Shhh.” He rested his forefinger against her lips. “Relax. Go back to sleep.”

Liz wrapped her hand around his finger and pulled it away gently. “And then what?”

“More of this,” Jacob answered. He snuggled his face against her neck and kissed it.

She sighed happily.

Zeke watched for a moment and then surrendered to weariness, thankful for it. He wanted only to sleep for a little while longer. To forget the bad that always seemed to be awaiting them.

He breathed deeply and held it, forgetting to release the air. His vision was that quick and ruthless. His body stiffened at the image his mind revealed.

That same female hand wrapped around a knife, the blade wet with blood.

Whose?

He tried to see details, but couldn’t. A silk scarf had floated into the scene, its fabric black. The same as the nails on that woman’s—

No.

The scarf was around a female’s throat. The woman with the knife? A man’s hands tugged on the ends, using it as a garrote to strangle her. Her mouth opened in a soundless scream. She’d already clawed the man’s hands in an attempt to get him to stop. He tightened his grip.

Zeke struggled to see more.

His vision showed only her mouth and throat, her futile struggle to survive. Her skin turned the same shade as a bruise while her thickened tongue pushed out between her lips.

Falling. Zeke watched her body drop to the floor, the movement so fast she was no more than a blur, her individual characteristics unidentifiable. Without warning, the scene changed, morphing from her into Carreon’s face.

He regarded the strangled woman, his light eyes empty of sorrow or regret. His mouth formed one word over and over…

Liz, Liz, Liz.

She backed away from Zeke in his vision. Grief flooded her features. Tears dampened her cheeks. Why? He reached out to her, but she was too far away to touch, Carreon suddenly at her side. He’d clamped his hand on her arm so she couldn’t move, couldn’t leave him.

Liz!

Zeke’s thoughts screamed for her. He lunged at Carreon, needing to kill him. The bastard disappeared with Liz, leaving Zeke alone with another horror. He gaped at a woman’s legs sprawled on a carpet. She wore jeans that looked all too familiar. The ones Liz wore?

No, no, no, no, no—

The moccasin on her left foot was partially off, still hiding her toes. The area beneath her legs was damp. With what?

Zeke flinched at a burst of light, the whoosh that accompanied it. Fire? Yes. The flames licked the moccasin, the foot. Where? How? Not Liz. Couldn’t be—

“Zeke?”

Liz’s voice, her touch, wrenched him from the vision. Shuddering at what he’d seen, afraid to know what it meant, he pulled her close.

She held him as tightly. “What is it?”

Zeke looked at his brother. Worry pinched Jacob’s features. He pushed to his elbows. “Another vision?”

Zeke managed a swallow and nodded.

Liz eased back so they’d be face to face. “What did you see?”

“I don’t know,” he blurted, then growled, “I don’t fucking know.”

“Tell us,” Jacob said. “Maybe we can figure it out.”

“How?” Zeke tensed even more. “This so-called gift is a goddamn curse. How am I supposed to make sense of what I see?”

“Just tell us,” Jacob repeated, “and maybe we can—”

“I saw a woman’s hand holding a knife with blood on the blade. I have no idea whose blood it was. Then a man was using a scarf to strangle a woman. I don’t know who they are; I couldn’t see their faces. As Carreon watched, he kept repeating ‘Liz, Liz, Liz’.

“You were backing away from me,” Zeke said to her, speaking even faster. “Your cheeks were wet as though you’d been crying. Carreon wouldn’t let you go. Then I saw fire.”

Jacob frowned. “What kind of a fire?”

“The kind that destroys a body,” Zeke said. “I saw a woman’s legs. The flames touched her foot. She didn’t move.”

Jacob’s face lost too much color. He glanced at Liz. “Where did this happen—where’s it supposed to happen?”

“I don’t know,” Zeke said through his teeth.

Liz touched his arm. “Did you recognize anything in your vision from this stronghold?”

He thought back as well as he could and shook his head.

“From Carreon’s estate?” she prodded.

“I have no idea. The images flash by so quickly, I can’t concentrate on details.”

“Were the woman’s legs mine?”

“No.” He pulled her back into his arms, his breathing ragged with worry. “You’re not leaving here. You’re never leaving my side. I won’t allow—”

The pounding on the door stopped him.

“Zeke,” Ike called out. “Are you in there?”

“Oh shit, what now?” Jacob muttered.

“Yeah,” Zeke shouted to Ike. “Give me a minute.” He left the bed and pulled on his jeans. Jacob did the same. Once Liz was decent, Zeke opened the door.

Ike shifted from foot to foot, clearly agitated.

“What’s happened?” Zeke asked.

“We’re getting a transmission from Carreon.”

“What?” Liz blurted. “How could he send a transmission here? He doesn’t know where this place is.”

“He had someone hack into our systems,” Zeke said, then spoke to Ike. “Has he breached anything else?”

“No. He can only transmit to us. The rest of our systems are secure.”

Zeke touched Liz’s arm. “Stay here while Jacob and I—”

“I want to go with you. Please. I have a right to know what’s happening.”

“Dammit, I don’t want you to.”

“I know that.” She spoke far more softly than he had. “But how can I protect myself or my father if neither of us knows what’s going on? If something happens to you or Jacob am I supposed to simply guess what’s coming?”

“Nothing’s going to happen to any of us,” he argued. “You don’t have to protect me or Jacob. We’re supposed to do that for you.”

“Zeke, please, don’t do this to me.” She rested her fingertips on his cheek. “I need to be there. You need that too. I’m the only one who’s been with Carreon. I know what makes him tick. Whatever he says, I’ll be able to tell whether he’s lying or not.”

“She has a point,” Jacob said. “She should be there with us.”

“She has to,” Ike finally broke in. “Carreon insisted on it.”

Zeke frowned. “Why?”

Ike ran his hand over his mouth, then took a deep breath before continuing, “He’s threatening to murder a woman unless you and Liz meet with him.”

“Oh my God,” she whispered.

Zeke held back an oath. They followed Ike to the meeting room. On the table was a large monitor that hadn’t been there before. Kele and Diaz sat to the side of it, interrupted in their strategy to get Pedro. Next to them were Paul and the clan’s other young men who excelled in information technology. Their monitors showed what was on the larger screen. Both Kele and Diaz watched the transmission, their expressions troubled.

Zeke moved in front of the largest monitor and the camera that would transmit his image.

Carreon’s face filled the screen. His lobe was swollen and red from Liz having yanked off his earring, his throat and neck scored by her nails, his light eyes frosty with contempt. “Where’s Liz?”

She joined Zeke, standing next to him.

Carreon smiled.

Zeke took Liz’s hand. Her fingers were icy and shook slightly.

“I’ll make this brief,” Carreon said, then spoke to Liz. “You and your father are coming back to our clan. Where you belong.”

“Never,” Zeke said.

“Never?” Carreon mimicked, his smile deadly. “Don’t be so certain of that.” Again, he addressed Liz. “Do you want to see anyone die because of you?”

Zeke squeezed her fingers, a warning not to answer or play into Carreon’s sick game. “This transmission is over,” Zeke announced.

“Very well,” Carreon said. “If that’s the way you want it and you refuse to bargain, this is what’s going to happen.” He moved to the side, out of view.

Zeke put his hand up to keep his people from shutting down the transmission.

The camera showed a well-appointed office that could have been in a thousand places. In front of the desk was a brawny young man Zeke had never seen before. However, the black scarf in his hands was the same one from Zeke’s vision. The man had wrapped it around a woman’s throat. Zeke’s breathing picked up. He recognized the scene and her mouth. In minutes, her tongue would protrude from her lips.

The camera’s angle showed her from the waist up. Her breasts were bare, her eyes rolling into the back of her head from lack of oxygen.

“No!” Liz shouted.

“Liz, Liz, Liz,” Carreon crooned out of camera range. “You want this to stop?”

Zeke squeezed Liz’s hand again so she wouldn’t answer. The woman made gagging noises. Her face turned a dark red, but she didn’t fight. She seemed incapable of doing so, her arms hanging limply at her sides.

Zeke whispered to Liz, “It’s a trick.”

“No, it’s real,” she breathed.

“If it was, she’d be fighting.” Zeke recalled the scratches on the man’s hands in his vision. He looked for them now.

“Carreon must have drugged her,” Liz moaned.

He came back into camera range, standing next to the man and woman. “Do you want this to stop?”

“Yes,” Liz cried.

“Good. I want you and your father at my stronghold within—”

“Not going to happen,” Zeke growled. “Neither of them is leaving here.”

“Do you agree with that, Liz?” Carreon asked.

Zeke answered before she could. “It doesn’t matter if she does or not. I’m not letting either of them go.”

“I see.” He sighed deeply, then murmured, “That’s too bad. Do it,” he said to the young man.

Liz gasped and turned away as he finished strangling the woman.

Horrible noises poured from her before it was over. Zeke knew he’d never forget them or the way she’d fallen to the floor, her limbs flopping lifelessly.

“Still want to stay with Neekoma?” Carreon asked.

Liz shuddered. Zeke pulled her against him. He kept her face to his shoulder so she couldn’t see the woman’s body.

At Liz’s silence, Carreon inhaled deeply as though trying to control his irritation. “I’m giving you and your father twelve hours to return to my stronghold. If the two of you aren’t there when the time’s up, another woman will die.” He reached for something to the side.

Liz trembled. Zeke tightened his hold on her, then stared at the woman Carreon pulled into camera range. She was young, quite beautiful, her blue-black hair fanned over her shoulders, her eyes an unusual shade of green, given her warm skin tone. The camera revealed her bare breasts, just like the first woman. Had Carreon raped her and the other one? Had the young man? One of them had tied this young woman’s hands behind her back. Tears dripped from her sooty lashes. Her expression registered pure terror.

“She’s next,” Carreon said, “unless Liz and her father return to my—”

“Please do as he says,” the young woman cried out. “Help me. Please.”

“I’m giving you twelve hours,” Carreon said. “After that, it’s her life, then someone else’s. Perhaps I’ll choose a child next.” He gestured to the woman on the floor. “That one has—or had—two kids. Twins. Do you want to be responsible for those little boys dying too? Remember, it’s your decision.”

The monitor went black.

Liz moaned.

Zeke held her close and spoke to his men. “Did you get the location?”

Paul shook his head. “He has it set up so we couldn’t track it.”

“I can’t let someone else die,” Liz cried.

“You won’t,” Zeke said. “We’ll fix this.”

“How? You don’t know where he is. Where he has those women.”

“Why were they nude…at least from the waist up?” Jacob asked.

“He probably raped them,” Ike offered.

Liz whimpered.

“Maybe not,” Kele said.

Zeke frowned at her. “What do you mean?”

“Didn’t you notice their makeup? How heavy it was? Who looks like that?”

“Prostitutes,” Jacob answered.

“Or performers,” Kele said, then spoke to Paul. “Play it back. Stop when Carreon moves out of camera range.”

Zeke watched the recording as the others did. Once Carreon’s image was gone, Kele said, “Freeze it there.”

The frame filled the screen.

“Look to the left of that guy’s right shoulder,” Kele said, pointing her pen. “See that thing on the wall? Looks like a calendar to me. The kind used to promote businesses—maybe the one where they are. Could be it’s a gentleman’s club or a strip joint. Can you bring the calendar up?”

Using image-enhancing software, Paul isolated the area, blowing up the picture until a fuzzy blob filled the screen.

“Sharpen it,” Zeke said.

Paul tried. However, the way the light fell on the glossy paper had created shadows that obscured part of the wording.

“Lighten it,” Kele said.

Paul did. That only washed out more details.

Jacob swore.

“You’re not going to be able to find that other woman,” Liz said to Zeke. “She and those kids are going to die because of—”

“No, they’re not,” Zeke interrupted, then spoke to his people. “Keep working on it. Do a search of all the strip joints and gentleman’s clubs in a two-hundred-mile radius of here.”

“That could be hundreds,” Jacob said. “If Carreon drove there. What if he took a private plane or helicopter after he fled his stronghold? He could be in Vegas for all we know.”

“Show the recording to our prisoners,” Zeke said. “They must know where that office is. If they refuse to talk, remind them of what they’re facing when we release them into Carreon’s hands. How he’ll believe they betrayed him.”

Leading Liz from the room, Zeke spoke over his shoulder to his men. “Do whatever you need to in order to get an address.”

“Then what?” Liz asked in the hall.

“We find Carreon and kill him. We save that woman and anyone else he’s threatened.”

Carreon checked his watch against the clock on Ernez’s desk. Fifteen minutes had passed since the transmission with Trinidad playing the role of her life.

“Please do as he says,” she’d cried. “Help me. Please.”

Carreon turned to her.

She watched Ernez wrapping Maria’s body in trash bags, readying it for pick up by another of Carreon’s lieutenants that Ernez had just called. Within hours, the corpse would be in a remote part of the desert. By the time anyone found her, if that were even possible, only bones would remain. The authorities wouldn’t waste a moment on her. They didn’t grieve missing and possibly murdered strippers.

“You were very good,” Carreon said to Trinidad.

She smiled smugly.

Carreon answered with a grin, thinking how nice it would be if she also had a bit of humility to go with her conceit. He sobered. “However, you better hope that Liz believed you.”

His tone and that “however” finally did it. For the first time, Trinidad regarded him as one would a dangerous predator. Unfortunately, it didn’t temper her arrogance. That, he sensed, would come a bit later.

She asked, “Are you going to have Ernez kill me if she doesn’t?”

Carreon shrugged helplessly. “I promised Liz that. I wouldn’t want to disappoint her, now would I?” He glanced at his watch once more. “Better hope she gets with the program. If she doesn’t, you have less than twelve hours to live.”

Chapter Twelve

It was worse than Liz had ever imagined. She’d known Carreon would never give up until he got what he wanted. Even so, she hadn’t allowed herself to consider that he would murder his own people—defenseless women, for God’s sake, and possibly children later—until she and her father returned. How had Carreon even known she was alive? That her father had reanimated her?

Oh my God. He’d watched the tapes from the security cameras in his stronghold. How could she have forgotten about them?

“Liz.” Zeke tightened his grip on her hand, refusing to let her pull away from him.

She had to, leaving him forever. Only by returning to Carreon would she save innocent lives. Who knew how many would die if she didn’t do what that monster demanded? Her belly ached with grief even as crushing rage tore through her. As she had on the night of the battle, Liz considered how she might get close enough to murder Carreon. Stop this insanity.

If that were even possible.

A part of her knew how hopeless it was. Once she returned, he’d imprison her as he had her father, not allowing a moment’s freedom. The only time she’d see him or anyone else would be when he forced her to heal.

“Dammit, Liz.”

She continued to fight Zeke, trying to pull her hand from his as she considered her future.

If Zeke was correct about her condition, she wouldn’t last very long after she healed someone. He and Jacob wouldn’t be around to pour back into her what she’d given them. Her father couldn’t help either. There’d be no further reanimations, because she wasn’t about to allow her father to return to Carreon.

Even if everyone was wrong and she survived a healing, Carreon might torture her on camera to force her father’s hand, to make certain he came back.

Was that what Zeke’s vision had foretold?

“You were backing away from me,” he’d said. “Your cheeks were wet as though you’d been crying. Carreon wouldn’t let you go. Then I saw fire. The kind that destroys a body. I saw a woman’s legs. The flames touched her foot. She didn’t move.”

Was she that woman? Had Carreon or Roberto brutalized her to the point of unconsciousness? Had Zeke’s refusal to let her father return so angered Carreon that he’d actually burned her alive?

The enormity of what might be—what she had to do—overwhelmed Liz and stole all of her fight. She stopped twisting her hand, which forced Zeke to loosen his grip. When he turned to her, Liz sagged against him and whispered, “I love you so much.”

He caressed her.

Jacob stood behind them in the hall. He held back. Extending her arm, Liz invited him closer.

“We’ll get him,” Jacob said. He rested his hand on her shoulder and kissed her cheek, his touch gentle. “We won’t let him harm that woman or anyone else.”

Liz murmured, “He won’t do anything if I go back.”

“No fucking way,” Zeke said. “Jacob and I won’t let you.”

“That’s right,” he said.

Liz rested her forehead on Zeke’s chest, relishing the moment and the little time they had left. “I have to. It’s the only way. If I’m able to heal, that might appease him. It could buy you time to plan your attack and get rid of him for good.”

“I won’t allow it,” Zeke growled. He held her tightly. Rough breaths poured from him as though his anger was at its limit…or he was battling despair. “We’ll figure something out. He won’t win.”

Liz had no strength left to argue. Carreon had already won. All that remained was for her to find a way to leave the stronghold and allow her destiny to play out as it should have from the beginning.

She and Zeke weren’t meant to be together. They’d been born as enemies, not lovers. Being with him had caused nothing but grief for his people and her clan. She recognized that inescapable truth on Isabel’s face.

The older woman had just come into the hall, stopping at what she saw. Her leader and his brother giving solace to a woman who had no right to it.

“Zeke,” Isabel said. “We need to talk.”

Liz felt his body tense.

“Later,” he said, clearly irritated.

“No. Now,” Isabel insisted.

“I’ll take Liz back to your room and make certain she’s safe,” Jacob offered. There was no lust in his voice, merely a desire to help.

Despite Isabel’s presence, Zeke cupped Liz’s face in his large hand and pressed his cheek to hers. “Everything will be all right,” he whispered.

Liz didn’t believe it. She saw Isabel’s expression and recalled what Carreon had threatened.

Zeke followed Isabel to one of the smaller meeting spaces where the women sometimes played cards or caught a moment for themselves away from the boisterous children. Unlike the main meeting room, there were several smaller tables in here surrounded by comfortable chairs.

Isabel closed and locked the door.

Zeke braced himself for the worst.

Rather than speaking, she went to a cupboard on the far left. Inside were packaged snacks—Cheetos, Snickers, Pringles, Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups. She reached behind them and opened a hidden compartment. From there, she pulled out what appeared to be a stack of photos.

Isabel placed them side by side on the table nearest to Zeke, then said, “Look at these.”

He wanted to ask why but figured it would only prolong whatever this was leading up to. Zeke wondered if those were photos of his parents. Did Isabel honestly believe she could use their memory to shame him into doing what she wanted?

He wanted to tell her it wouldn’t work. He ached to leave.

On a heavy sigh, he went to the table and regarded the pictures. Taken at various times, clearly different decades, they depicted several members of the clan dressed in that period’s clothing. Like the garments, the scenery behind them also changed. The oldest photos showed the desert landscape dotted by teepees, their people wearing buckskin, their braided hair decorated with eagle feathers. In the later pictures, Anglo clothing and storefronts replaced the earlier Comanche lifestyle.

Many of these photos appeared to be from the early eighteen hundreds. Was the process to take pictures even available then? How was it possible that it had been so good? These were remarkable images, as sharp as those from today’s digital cameras. Not understanding, Zeke glanced at Isabel.

She tapped her finger against the table. “Look at the pictures. Tell me what you see.”

“Our people,” he said.

“You’re not looking,” she accused. “You’re not seeing. You’re deliberately being blind about this, just as you’ve been about everything concerning your clan since you brought that woman here. Look.”

Clenching his jaw, Zeke regarded the pictures, not knowing what in the hell he was supposed to be looking for. A sign that he shouldn’t have brought Liz here? A message written in the dirt or in the sky? A particularly threatening scowl that would reveal what his ancestors thought of—

Zeke’s musing stopped as he more closely studied the faces. Once he had, he compared the earliest picture to the most recent one. All of the people in it were different, of course. The previous ones gone because they’d died as many as a hundred-and-ninety years before.

Except for one individual—a woman.

Zeke’s mouth went dry. He took the two photos, placing them next to each other. The same woman was in each, nearly two centuries apart. She hadn’t changed a bit. Hadn’t aged past her sixty or so years.

No. It wasn’t possible.

Zeke stared at Isabel’s image in all of the pictures. It had to be a trick. She’d done this on Photoshop.

As though she’d read his mind, or perhaps his expression, she murmured, “The tales the elders have told about the Others—that we’ve walked among you in your earthly form—aren’t simply myths, Zeke. I’ve been with your clan from the start, well before you were known as Comanche. I was sent here to watch over all of you, to make certain your people protected the land and heritage we provided, that you didn’t dishonor your gift of prophecy or us.”

Zeke forced down a swallow and shook his head. “This is a trick.” He shoved the photos away. Several fell to the floor. “You did this on a computer.”

“Have you ever seen me looking any different than I do now?” she asked.

“This is a damn trick. It’s not going to change my mind about—”

“Have you?” she insisted.

“You know I have,” he said as intensely as she had, his voice as low-pitched. “When I was a kid.”

“And I was your mother’s best friend from high school then, wasn’t I?”

Before Zeke could answer, he noted a subtle difference in Isabel’s eyes. The pupils were no longer round, but vertical, like a reptile’s. And then the whites disappeared, replaced by a golden color.

He gaped, and the phenomenon was gone. As though it had never happened.

“Tell me,” she said, “when did I ever come to your house? When did you ever see me with your mother?”

This was nuts. Her complexion looked darker suddenly, more like hide than skin.

“Zeke?”

He blinked, because she now looked as she always had. What in the fuck was happening?

“When did you see me with your mother?” she repeated.

He snapped, “Many times.”

“When, exactly? During one of your birthday parties? At another celebration your family had, like when you won that track meet in middle school or when Jacob won that spelling bee?”

Zeke thought back to every special event he could think of, knowing there had to be countless instances when the two women had been together. They’d been inseparable. BFF’s. Two normal females.

“You can’t recall details from even one now, can you?” Isabel asked. “Because they never existed. They’re no more than beliefs I put into your mind and those of the others so I could walk among you without causing fear.”

Unable to speak, Zeke kept shaking his head.

Isabel gestured to the pictures.

He studied her hands. The nails seemed yellowed and clawed, then ordinary once more.

“How could I remain the same decade after decade, never growing older? Never dying?” she asked. “Not once have I changed in this form, and no one has asked how that could be. Do you have any idea why?”

He stepped back, not wanting to know or to consider what Isabel really was. That what he kept seeing—or at least thought he had—was her actual appearance and this might be true. When he and his clan had played the holograms left by the Others, they’d spoken English as flawlessly as he did and looked as human as anyone else on this planet. Not even close to this…thing…that seemed to be Isabel.

She went around the table, following him. “I removed or changed the memories the others had of me so no one would question my continued presence. Through the centuries, I’ve always been known as Isabel, or its equivalent, the best friend of the woman who bore the clan’s leader.”

Zeke’s voice shook. “Why are you telling me this?”

“You gave me no choice. No matter what Carreon and his men do, even his latest threat, you insist on that woman being here, on helping his people rather than your own.”

He snapped, “Do you expect me to let another woman die no matter whose clan she belongs to? Do you actually believe I wouldn’t protect Liz? I love her, dammit. I won’t let her go back to Carreon. She’d never survive. She hasn’t harmed anyone here. She’ll be able to help us.”

Isabel regarded him with sadness rather than anger. “You know what you have to do for your clan, and I can make it less painful.”

Was she joking? Isabel wanted him to deny his future with Liz, and she was somehow going to make that all right? “I don’t want to hear it.”

She continued, “As each new generation takes the place of the last, I’ve made them forget that I was there during the time of their grandparents and great grandparents. I’ll do the same with you when it comes to that woman. You won’t hurt anymore if you can no longer remember—”

“No.” Zeke trembled with fear and fury. “You can’t take Liz away from me. No matter what you try to do, I’ll always know something’s missing…I’ll always be searching for her.” He put more distance between them. “I’ll leave with Liz, her father and Jacob immediately. Somehow, Jacob and I will fight Carreon without the rest of the clan’s help. You and your kind can have the damn land, this place and all of your stupid gifts. I don’t want them. I never asked for any of this.”

“Your people need you here with them. Your ability to see the future, your enemies’ plans, protects them from Carreon and his men.”

Zeke tightened his fists. “My visions have always taunted more than they’ve helped. Most of the time they’re impossible to understand.”

“Because you’ve always fought them,” she argued. “Submit to your heritage. Accept it as you should.”

“Accept it?” Disgust laced his words. “It’s your kind—the Others—that started this mess. You’re one of them, not us. You have an obligation to my people to secure their future since your kind has jeopardized it from the start.”

“I haven’t the power to prophesize,” she said. “None of my kind do. It happened only because we mated with your people. A gift none of us expected or planned. I’m no more than a guardian.”

“With the ability to wipe a loved one from someone’s mind. To rip that from them. Do you hate me so much that you’re willing to destroy the only thing that’s made me want to go on?”

Her pity from a moment before turned to shock. She spoke more quietly than she had previously. “I love you as if you were my own son, Zeke. I feel the same about your people, as though they truly are my family. It’s not an emotion my kind knows, but I’ve learned it over the centuries…a gift I received from your clan. That’s why I revealed what I am to you, something I’ve never done with anyone else. Something I wasn’t supposed to do. I’m giving you the chance to let me help you to forget Liz and her father. I’m giving you the choice, rather than forcing it upon you.”

He stepped back again, wary that she would touch him and that would take Liz from him forever. “I’ve already told you, I don’t want it. I’ll never agree to such a thing. If I can’t be with Liz, if she’s not a part of my past, present and future, I’d rather be dead.”

“Don’t say that.”

Zeke’s shoulders bunched. His muscles tensed. “Losing Gabrielle nearly destroyed me. You know that. You saw. You talk of love as though you understand it, but you don’t. If you had even the remotest clue about its power, you wouldn’t be telling me these things, threatening me because I won’t—”

“I’m not threatening you,” she insisted. “I’m simply asking you to do what you were born to do.”

“And what’s that? Protect territory for your kind? A piece of dirt? Why? So they can prove they won against Carreon’s clan and the Unknowns, then return like kings? Or was this all done in their hope to colonize a new planet in case they had to flee theirs? Is that it? They’re going to rule Earth after my people, my ancestors, the ones I’ve loved have died or been traumatized for their ends?”

“If you don’t honor them, they will return. What will happen to your people and Liz then?”

Zeke wanted to cry out his frustration and despair at the thought of anyone…anything…harming them. He spoke without thinking. “I’ll fight them too, as I have Carreon. I won’t stop until they’re gone or I’m dead. No one’s going to hurt Liz or my people.”

“You can’t fight my kind,” Isabel whispered.

Maybe not with weapons, but there were other ways, weren’t there? “You say you love me as a son, prove it now.”

She frowned. “I’ve proven it every day since you’ve brought Liz here. I’ve made no move to stop that other than trying to reason with you.”

“Give me time to make this right.”

“There is no more time, Zeke. Every moment she’s here makes it worse for your people and hers. I overheard the men talking about Carreon’s transmission, his threats. I know what he plans to do.”

“We’ll find him before anything happens,” Zeke said. “We’ll destroy him.”

“You’ll put your clan at risk again.”

“I’ll do it alone, then.”

“No. You’re the leader. Your people need you.”

“I’ll work this out,” Zeke argued. “Carreon’s offered twelve hours. Can’t you promise me the same amount of time? Is that so much to ask?”

She regarded him cautiously. “If I were to grant that, what happens then?”

He was afraid to consider it. This time there was no way he could fail.

Kele stared at her computer monitor with one thought running through her mind. You can’t give up now. You have to do this.

There was simply no other option.

Hours earlier, after having watched Carreon’s transmission, Zeke had left the meeting room with Liz and Jacob. Isabel’s voice had sounded in the hall, stopping Zeke. From what he’d said, he’d gone somewhere with the older woman only to return to this room a short time later, his face ashen with worry.

“What’s wrong?” Paul had asked him.

“Has anyone shown the tape to the prisoners as I wanted?”

“We’re headed that way now.”

Zeke grabbed the laptop before Paul could. The man followed Zeke out of the room.

“Hey,” Diaz said when Kele went to join them. “Where are you going?”

“I’ll be back in a minute. Keep working on our plan.”

She caught up with Zeke and Paul. Zeke didn’t seem to notice her presence. Paul frowned. Kele ignored his disapproval, wanting to hear what the prisoners said.

The men weren’t as cocky as they’d been previously. However, they weren’t a great help either. They watched the recording and offered no comment.

“Where did this take place?” Zeke demanded.

The bulkier of the men spoke first. “I don’t know.”

Zeke growled, “The hell you don’t.” He grabbed Paul’s assault rifle, resting the muzzle of it on the man’s forehead. “Tell me, dammit. Do it now, or I swear I’ll pull the trigger.”

“I don’t know!” he cried, his complexion gray with fear. “I’ve never seen that place before.”

“What about you?” Zeke snapped at the other man, training the rifle on him.

The man stared at the muzzle and shook his head.

“You’re fucking lying,” Zeke shouted. He tossed the weapon on the bed and grabbed the man’s shirt, hauling him up as much as he could given the man’s hand cuffed to the arm of the chair. The manacles around his ankles clattered. “You’re going to tell me what I want to know even if I have to beat it out of you.”

“Zeke.” Paul grabbed his arm. “Easy.”

The last time Kele had seen Zeke so desperate and violent was after Gabrielle’s death when the shock of losing her had worn off. There was no stupor in him now. Rage burned in his eyes. Behind it, she saw fathomless dread. Repeatedly, he pressed for answers from both men, forcing them to watch the video over and over.

No matter how many times or ways Zeke asked his questions, he didn’t get the responses he wanted.

Eventually, Jacob had joined them. Clearly alarmed at his brother’s behavior, he’d pulled Zeke aside and asked, “What are you doing?”

“What’s it look like?” Zeke shot back. “They’re going to talk.”

“Whoa. Not if you kill them,” Jacob said.

“I won’t if I don’t have to. That’s up to them. Get out of my way.”

“Wait.” Jacob blocked Zeke from the prisoners. “What’s happened? What did Isabel want to talk to you about?”

Zeke wouldn’t tell Jacob. He pushed past his brother and concentrated again on the prisoners.

When Kele had left the room, Carreon’s men were looking to Jacob for protection against Zeke who was so despairing and exhausted he seemed on the verge of collapse.

Fatigue hunched Kele’s shoulders now, which she forced herself to ignore. She was so close.

Although she hadn’t been able to do much more than Paul had with the image-enhancing software, she’d taken what she was able to see and searched the Internet for similar calendars. A short while ago, she’d gotten a hit. A strip club in Albuquerque offered the calendar as a gift to its loyal patrons. Digging deeper, she’d learned that the club had once belonged to Carreon’s father. And now, to him.

She was certain he was there, waiting out the hours until Liz returned. Or until he had his man murder that other woman.

Bastard.

If not for Carreon, Zeke and Jacob would never have been near death. Liz wouldn’t have come here to restore Jacob’s health. The fight between their clans wouldn’t have escalated. Kele wouldn’t have put her own people at risk for a man who’d never loved her as she desired.

Shame rolled through her, making her sick. She should have left when her clan demanded it upon Zeke’s and Liz’s re—

“How much longer are you going to be?” Diaz asked, breaking into her thoughts. “We’ve already perfected our plan.”

“I don’t want anything to go wrong.”

“We’ve made it as perfect as we can. That’s all we can do.”

Kele didn’t comment, nor did she move from her computer.

Diaz sighed loudly. “It’s been a half hour since Ike told us Zeke approved our strategy and to let us leave when the time came. That’s now. We have to get Pedro.”

“We can’t go until it’s safe.”

“What are you talking about? When is that supposed to be?”

Kele looked at her computer screen, the time. “In a little bit.”

“Why wait? It’s been dark for quite a while. The drive there is going to take a couple of hours.”

The route to the strip club would take even longer. However, Kele didn’t want to arrive too quickly. “I promise we’ll get your cousin…I just want to make certain I have all of this down.”

Slumped in his chair, Diaz reviewed the strategy he’d written in longhand, no doubt believing Kele had keyed the same into her computer and that’s what she was going through now.

She wanted to keep it that way. “There’s a bedroom down the hall, second door on the left. You should take a nap. Rest before we have to leave. It’s going to be a long night.”

“I’m not tired.”

He looked as beat as she felt. “You will be.”

“I’ll sleep on the drive over.”

Kele fisted her fingers, wanting him out of this room so he wouldn’t get curious and finally look at what was on her monitor. “You might have to drive part of the way. I get tired too, you know.”

He lowered his notes and studied her as if he hadn’t considered that. “Maybe we both should take a nap.”

“No. I want to make certain we have everything down right.” She forced herself to sound neutral rather than irritated. Deliberately, she reached for the coffee pot even though she knew it was empty. She’d drunk the last of the brew an hour earlier. When only a few drops fell into her cup, she swore.

“Want me to get you some more?” Diaz asked.

“You’d have to make it.”

“So? I’m capable.” He glanced around the room. “Where’s the equipment?”

“Over there.” She inclined her head to the adjoining room, then added, “There should be some biscuits and cinnamon rolls in the refrigerator. You need to bake them.”

He frowned. “You’re hungry?”

“Aren’t you? If you’re not,” she said before he could answer, “you will be. We have a long trip there and back. It’s not like we can stop for fast food, not with Carreon’s men on the prowl. Forget it,” she added quickly, “I’ll make the stuff.”

“I’ll do it. Keep studying the plan so nothing goes wrong. But after we eat, we leave.”

Kele again checked the clock on her computer screen, calculating time and distance. She nodded, then waited until Diaz left the room.

With a few key strokes, she pulled up data from the strip club’s security cameras that she’d hacked into earlier, focusing on the one that provided coverage for the back door. The blueprint she’d found of the building showed her that’s where the office was. She fast-forwarded through the recordings and stopped frequently to check time stamps.

In the other room, Diaz moved around the unfamiliar space noisily as he searched for coffee filters, the grounds and cinnamon rolls she’d mentioned. With any luck, he’d be in there for at least another ten minutes.

She continued her computer search and backed up the tape, then fast-forwarded it once more.

Minutes later, she had her answer. At the same time every morning—once the club had closed for the night and the staff had departed—the back door opened. The man who’d strangled the stripper came outside, tossed a trash bag into a nearby bin, enjoyed a smoke, then went back in. Precisely twenty minutes later, he left the building with a briefcase, got into his car and drove away. His routine never varied.

With Carreon there, would the man do the same tonight?

He wouldn’t leave, of course. He might not even toss the trash bag. However, he quite possibly would enjoy a smoke. Why not? His monitors showed the deserted parking lot, proving he had nothing to worry about. A sophisticated security system protected the club from intrusion and from anyone turning it off.

Kele knew. She’d tried.

Carreon expected Liz and Dr. Munez to return to his stronghold where he, no doubt, had someone waiting for them. He’d want to remain at the club so he could be on camera for the next woman’s execution, just in case Liz didn’t do what he wanted. However, the prick hadn’t considered that anyone from Zeke’s clan would guess he was there, or that no security system was foolproof, even if it couldn’t be turned off. All cameras had blind spots, and Kele knew where the ones for these were.

“Coffee’s ready,” Diaz said. He stood in the doorway between the rooms. “You want it now or with the other stuff?”

She kept her focus on the screen, deleting what she’d brought up. “There’s a thermos in the lower cabinet on the right and a plastic container in the upper left cabinet. As soon as the rolls are finished you can put them in the container so we can take them with us.” She looked at him. “Once you do, we’ll leave.”

With any luck, everything would go according to plan. For Diaz, that meant his cousin would finally be in safe hands, travelling back here to be healed.

For Kele, it meant the end of Carreon and hopefully the beginning of her redemption. She would settle for nothing less.

Chapter Thirteen

You have so little time, Isabel’s voice whispered in Zeke’s thoughts, less than twelve hours.

He had to make the prisoners talk; it was the only way for him to get to Carreon and stop this madness. Zeke tried to move his mouth but it wouldn’t work. His limbs were weighted, the muscles in his neck and shoulders tense with pain. Exhaustion continued to grip him, refusing to let go.

So little time, so little—

He sank back into darkness—on some level understanding that he was asleep—and saw Liz. She smiled at him as though everything were all right. They were safe finally. Taking his hand, she placed it on her swollen belly.

“Did you feel the baby’s kick?” she whispered.

Indecent joy rolled through Zeke at the thought of their child. A son…or a little girl? He saw himself holding Gabrielle who then turned into a different baby, one that belonged to him and Liz. A sister Gabrielle would have loved and protected had she been here. Had Carreon not—

Even in his dream, Zeke couldn’t bring himself to relive her death. His sadness turned to happiness as he watched this new child growing up in a real home, not the clan’s stronghold, but a house in one of the area’s countless suburbs with grass in the front yard, a play area in the back that boasted a sand box and a swing set and—

Carreon’s office. The image intruded so quickly, Zeke flinched. He gaped at a woman’s legs, her moccasin half on her foot. Fire licking it.

Noooo.

He struggled to wake up. His nightmare—or was it a vision?—wouldn’t allow it. Like a camera, it honed in on a mark near the woman’s foot. A mole? No. A scar on the ankle that Zeke hadn’t noticed before. Couldn’t be Liz. He’d been intimate with every inch of her flesh. The only imperfection on it was the reddish stain on her palm that proved she could heal.

Wasn’t it?

Uncertainty screamed through him. Instantly, Zeke awoke. He was slumped over the desk in the prisoners’ room. The two men were still in their chairs, their heads hanging down with sleep.

“You okay?” Jacob asked from the doorway.

No. “How long have I been out?”

“Just a few minutes.”

“How many?”

“Only an hour and a half.”

Zeke stood so quickly, his chair fell over and smacked into the floor. The prisoners jerked awake at the noise. “How could you have let me sleep that long?” he snapped. “Why did you let me sleep at all?”

“You’re exhausted. We thought…” Rather than finish, Jacob looked at Paul.

“It wasn’t all that long,” the man said.

It was time he no longer had. Carreon wasn’t about to back down at the end of the twelve hours. Neither would Isabel. Zeke had to get Liz, her father and Jacob away from here before he no longer had the chance.

“Come with me,” Zeke said to his brother, then hurried down the hall.

“Hey,” Jacob said, catching up. “Where are you going?”

Zeke ran to his room. He opened the door so hurriedly it crashed against the limestone, causing the walls to glow, then flicker like a nightclub’s strobe light. The bed was empty.

His skin crawled. “Liz!”

She wasn’t in the bath. Zeke ran back into the bedroom. “Where is she?”

“I don’t know,” Jacob said, “but she can’t have gone far. One of our men is guarding the stronghold’s entrance.”

“That didn’t stop her from leaving the last time.” Zeke bolted from the room.

Jacob followed at a run. “Only because Carreon’s men had already gotten inside and shot Samuel.” He paused to gulp air. “She’s still here.”

“Where, dammit?”

“Her father’s room?”

He checked. Dr. Munez lay on his side, asleep. Zeke closed the door as quietly as he could, deciding that they’d come back for him later. Given his age, Munez’s pace would only slow them down now. “She must be in the dining room.”

At this hour, it was empty, the area dark. Shafts of light poured from the walls in the kitchen area, creating shadows on the long tables, the numerous chairs. Brief noises interrupted the quiet. The sounds of metal cookware tapping against burners. Cabinets being opened, then closed.

Several women looked over as Zeke and Jacob hurried inside, Isabel among them.

Zeke kept himself from shuddering at the sight of her. She didn’t look any different than she always did—always had through the centuries. However, he knew what she was.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

You have so little time, her thoughts had whispered to him as he slept. The beginning of her mind control, her wiping Liz from him forever?

He lied quickly, “Nothing. Jacob and I are just checking to make certain everything’s all right.”

She stepped toward them. It took all of Zeke’s will not to flinch or move back, which would only alarm Jacob and cause him to ask too many inconvenient questions.

“Why wouldn’t everything be all right?” Isabel asked.

One of the other women huffed. She was in her early fifties, her husband, son and grandchildren living in this stronghold. “He let Kele and Carreon’s brother leave. No telling who Kele will bring back with her this time.”

“Pedro,” Jacob said, his tone as hard as hers. “A kid who needs our help.”

“You should worry about your own,” the woman shot back.

“Kele can’t get inside unless we allow it,” Zeke cut in, his attention on Isabel, not the other woman. “What happened before won’t happen again.”

“It’s getting late,” Isabel said. “You know that, don’t you, Zeke?”

You have so little time.

He backed up, then hurried from the room.

Jacob was at his side in an instant. “What’s with Isabel? What did she mean about it being late?”

“I don’t know.”

“What did you two talk about before?”

“Could Liz be in your room?”

Jacob lifted his shoulders. “Maybe.”

She wasn’t. Zeke’s belly twisted.

“This doesn’t make sense,” Jacob said, “where in the fuck did she—hey, where are you going?”

Zeke spoke over his shoulder as he raced down the hall. “Meeting room.” It was the only place left that made sense.

He found her in front of the large computer screen, focused on the image of Carreon’s lieutenant strangling the stripper.

Zeke pulled Liz into his arms and held her tightly. He swallowed at how she shivered. “We’ll fix this,” he promised, even though he couldn’t. Not from here. Not at this time. The fucking prisoners weren’t simply refusing to speak, they really didn’t know where Carreon was.

Liz gripped Zeke’s tee in her hands and shuddered. “Carreon’s probably already sent some of his men to the stronghold so someone will be there when I—”

“You’re not going back.”

“We don’t have much time left.”

Zeke tightened his embrace, not wanting to hear the defeat in her words. He had to protect her. They had to have a future no matter what Carreon or Isabel wanted. He was this clan’s fucking leader. There had to be a way to fix this.

How? With what?

Think, dammit.

Liz moved against him as though she ached to stay, but couldn’t.

“I won’t let you go,” Zeke whispered to her. “I’ll find a way to make this right. I’ll…” He didn’t continue, not knowing what else to say.

Jacob watched them for a moment, then went around the table to the computer Kele had been using. “Maybe the answer’s right in front of us and we didn’t see it.”

Zeke shook his head. “What do you mean?”

“Let’s look at what we have and go through it again. It couldn’t hurt.” He brought up the screen and frowned.

“What is it?” Zeke asked.

Jacob sank into the chair. His fingers flew over the keyboard, then stopped. He shook his head. “This isn’t right.”

Zeke stopped hugging Liz. With his arms still around her, he turned to Jacob. “What isn’t?”

“The most recent downloads were deleted. Why would she do that?”

Who? Isabel? “What are you talking about?”

“Kele. She erased the history, or thought she had.” Jacob stared at the screen as he continued, “Nothing’s ever really gone from a computer. I’m bringing it back up.”

“Why would she delete anything as important as this?” Liz asked.

Zeke hadn’t a clue. What purpose would it serve? It wasn’t as if she was going to try to win Jacob over again. That was over. Zeke had seen it in Kele’s expression, the depth of sorrow and shame in her eyes. She hadn’t been acting. He knew she—

His thoughts paused as remnants of his earlier vision returned. Again, he saw a woman’s legs. A fire. An unpleasant taste filled his mouth. His voice didn’t sound like his own. “Does Kele have a scar on her ankle?”

Jacob studied the screen. “Maybe.”

“Does she?” Zeke snapped.

His brother and Liz stared at him. “I don’t know,” Jacob said.

“How can you not know that?” Zeke growled. “You’ve been around her since she was a kid.”

Jacob stared at him, then glanced back at the computer screen. Liz rested her hand on Zeke’s chest. “What is it?” she asked him. “What have you seen?”

“Oh shit,” Jacob said.

Zeke released Liz and went around the table to his brother. “What?”

Jacob’s complexion had turned pasty. “She found the office where the transmission took place.”

“How?” Liz blurted.

“She used the calendar on the wall.”

Zeke’s belly clenched. The images in his vision all made sense now. “She’s heading there.”

“Why?” Liz cried.

“Because she brought Carreon’s men here,” Zeke said, feeling ill. “She put the stronghold and our people at risk.” He could barely breathe. “She wants to make up for it.”

Jacob stood. “We have to stop her.”

How? Too much time had passed for them to catch up. Exactly what Kele had wanted.

“You take the next exit,” Diaz said. He gestured to the highway sign illuminated by the Jeep’s headlights. Using the faint glow coming from the dash, he checked the map. “Then we go two miles to the intersection of Carmelita and Rio Rosa. There, we turn—hey, what are you doing?” He looked behind himself. “You missed the exit.”

“I remembered a better way,” Kele lied. She wiped her left palm on her jeans, then her right. The last time her hands had been this sweaty was the night she’d gone to Carreon’s stronghold in the hopes of making Jacob her own.

Fool.

How could she have believed he’d love her after what she’d done? How could she have been so stupid?

“What better way?” Diaz finally said. “My aunt’s house isn’t far from that last exit. We’ll have to double back now.”

“It’s okay.”

He remained turned to her, watching, no doubt frowning. Kele ignored him.

“What’s this about?” he asked, his question laced with suspicion.

“I have to make a stop first.”

“Where?”

She took the next off ramp. At this hour, the streets were deserted. Carreon’s man would soon be exiting the back of the strip club to throw out the trash and have a smoke.

Please, let him do that tonight.

“We’ll get Pedro as soon as I’m through,” Kele promised.

Diaz snapped, “Doing what?”

She slowed half a block down from the club and parked the Jeep in front of a home that had seen better days. Tall weeds and grass had taken over the front yard. Paint peeled from the wooden siding. A child’s bike, its back wheel missing, lay on the sagging steps that led to the porch. The houses surrounding it were as decrepit. This street, like the others, was also empty. No one nearby.

“Kele, stop.”

She couldn’t. Once and for all, she had to make things right. Jacob still wouldn’t love her. However, maybe—just maybe—he’d like her a little more. He’d respect the woman she’d finally become. They’d be friends again, just as he always wanted. She blinked away her tears, angry at her lingering hurt. She had no right to it.

With her weapon’s stock folded, she hid it at her side beneath the lightweight blanket coat she wore. Once the sun had set, the blistering summer air had cooled to the mid-sixties. Downright chilly for this part of the world.

“Stay here,” she said to Diaz and left the keys in the ignition. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“Fuck that,” he said, “I’m coming with—”

She interrupted him, her tone unnaturally calm, “If you get killed, what will happen to Pedro?” Before Diaz could answer, she murmured, “Stay here.”

She closed the door as gently as she could to avoid making any unnecessary noise, then ran down the street and stopped short of the club’s back entrance. Noting the security cameras, Kele remained in the equipment’s blind spots and inched closer, then closer through the shadows.

Carreon’s Escalade was still here. Good. The dark blue Lincoln must have belonged to the other man.

Come out, come out, come out, her thoughts urged him as she crouched down in her vantage point.

She counted the passing seconds. A strange calm settled over her. On the drive here, she’d worried about panic, that she might be so afraid she’d rethink this. Now that the time had come, all the suspense and anguish had been foolish. She’d never felt as peaceful, because she knew she’d done the right thing by—

The back door swung open, halting her thoughts. The man she’d seen on the computer monitor wasn’t holding the expected trash bag. However, he did have a pack of cigarettes in his hand. After propping the door open with a brick, he lit the smoke and pulled deeply on it.

Kele’s heart, so calm a moment before, began to hammer. Discounting it, she pulled her weapon from her coat and lowered the stock, locking it in place.

At the faint click, the man stopped blowing out his smoke. He turned and glanced up the street, then down, his back now to her.

She bolted from her hiding place, her steps muffled by her moccasins. She rested the muzzle of her assault rifle in the center of his back.

“Make one sound or move and you’re dead,” she murmured, then took the weapon from his waistband and slipped it into her own. She found another holstered on his ankle. She threw it into the bushes that separated this property from the next and nudged him with her rifle. “Inside.”

He walked like a man going to his execution, his steps halting and far too slow. Kele’s pulse drummed against her throat and temples. She fought a wave of dizziness as they left the brief hall and entered the office.

With hours left before his self-appointed deadline, Carreon dozed on one end of the sofa. The woman he’d threatened to kill was on the other end, also asleep. As though she’d sensed something, she stirred, then blinked and stared.

Kele rammed her shoulder into the man’s back. Caught off guard, he stumbled to the side and grabbed the desk to break his fall. A paperweight tumbled from it, smacking into the carpeting.

The noise awakened Carreon. He was halfway to his feet, reaching for his weapon when Kele shot him.

Chapter Fourteen

Within minutes, Jacob had restored the data Kele had deleted—the Google map, a blueprint of the building, the location of all the security cameras, their transmissions.

“The club’s on Vincencia Street,” he said, then snapped, “Why didn’t she tell us? What the fuck does she think she’s doing?”

She wants your forgiveness and love, Liz thought, sorrow gripping her. Despite what had already happened, and Kele’s seeming acceptance that she’d never be the woman Jacob desired, she still longed for the impossible.

Zeke went to his brother. “Jacob, there’s nothing you can do.”

“Quit blocking me.”

Zeke didn’t move. “Kele’s too far away. You can’t catch up with her now.”

“We can’t let her fight him alone. What about your fucking vision? What’s going to happen to her?”

“Zeke’s visions don’t always come true,” Liz said, going to them. “They’re a warning of what might happen, not necessarily how things will turn out. You survived and so did Zeke. Even I came back.” She glanced at Zeke and added, “I’m all right.”

He looked as though he’d never believe that again. Not fully.

Holding back a sigh, Liz spoke to Jacob. “Diaz is with Kele. He hates Carreon as much as we all do. He’ll protect her.”

Jacob backed away. “Sure. If she told him what she was doing.”

“Even if she didn’t,” Zeke said, “he’ll know soon enough, and he’ll help her.”

Jacob stopped shifting from foot to foot. “You really believe that, or is it something you’re only saying to keep me here?”

“Oh God, don’t leave,” Liz said. She wrapped her arms around Jacob’s torso. His heart beat as wildly as hers. “Diaz will keep her safe,” Liz murmured. “He’ll prove Zeke’s vision was wrong. Diaz will change the future, just as Zeke did when he saw you dying during the battle here.”

Jacob made a noise that sounded resigned or tired, then caressed Liz as Zeke had when they’d first returned to the stronghold and he’d begged her to stop asking so many questions…to simply hold him. “You really believe Kele will be all right?”

It was a moment before Liz could answer. Right now, all she had was hope. “Even if she’s not, I can bring her back.”

“No,” Zeke said, going to them. “I won’t allow it.”

“That goes double for me,” Jacob said. “Your father won’t go for it either. He’ll help her, should it come to that.”

Liz didn’t argue. Now wasn’t the time. She refused to believe that she could no longer heal. That one day, she’d have to let Zeke, her father or Jacob slip away in order to protect herself.

Uh-uh. No freaking way. She’d never allow that. Nor would she consider that Kele and Diaz wouldn’t come back. “Is it possible for you to start a transmission, or whatever you call it, to the club?” she asked. “For us to see what’s going on?”

Zeke and Jacob exchanged a glance.

Liz spoke before they could. “If you can’t do it with the computer Carreon used before, what about a security camera? Maybe there’s one in the office like those outside the building. Can you hack into it, intercept the image, whatever needs to be done?”

“It’s worth a try,” Jacob said.

Zeke ran his fingers over his mouth, looking uncertain. Liz noticed how he kept glancing behind himself as though he expected someone to barge into the room. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

Jacob stopped short of the computer, waiting for his brother’s answer.

“How long will it take you to bring up an image, if you can?” Zeke said. “Is it even possible to turn on his system from here?”

“I can sure as hell try.” He started keying.

“How long will it take?” Zeke repeated.

“Maybe a couple of minutes…maybe more.”

“Do you think Kele’s already there?” Liz asked Zeke, then glanced toward the hall as he had. It was still empty. “Who are you looking for?”

“I don’t know if Kele’s already there,” Zeke answered Liz’s first question, ignoring the second. He spoke to Jacob. “You have five minutes, no more.”

“Why?” Liz asked. She went to Zeke. “Tell me.”

“Everything’s going to be all right,” he said, his attention again straying to the hall. His expression saying he wanted out of here, like a man who needed to flee.

Blood poured through Carreon’s fingers, which were clutched against his belly. He stared at Kele in horror and confusion as though he didn’t quite believe matters had come to this. He’d been defeated so easily.

He fell to his knees. A thin stream of blood poured from the side of his mouth. He tried to speak, but the words never came.

To Kele, the scene unfolded in slo-mo. On his knees, Carreon swayed to the right, the left. Her forefinger stroked the rifle’s trigger, but she didn’t shoot him again, suddenly unable to.

She’d done what the others in her clan hadn’t. She’d expected to feel elated, relieved. A creeping numbness settled over her. Her body felt heavy as though a crushing weight were pressing down on it. The weapon’s report had been so loud her ears still rang. Or maybe someone was screaming and that was what she heard.

A quick check of the other man told Kele it wasn’t him making any noise. He’d come to a rest on the floor and hadn’t moved from it, his eyes bugged out, mouth closed, his focus on her weapon.

The young woman Carreon had threatened to kill hadn’t moved either. Nor had she spoken or screamed.

Carreon sagged to the side. He struggled to speak.

The woman kept her attention on Kele.

“Kill her,” Carreon breathed.

Kele swung her weapon’s muzzle at the other man. He didn’t move.

“You’re safe now,” Kele said to the young woman, gesturing her over, away from Carreon. “I’m Kele, from Neekoma’s clan. I’ll get you out of here, I promise.”

The young woman regarded Kele’s weapon, then Carreon. At last, she left the sofa, her movements shaky and cautious as she made certain not to pass anywhere near him.

“Kill the bitch,” Carreon cried, his words gargled with blood. More poured from his mouth. He coughed, choking on it.

“It’s okay,” Kele murmured. She slipped her arm around the woman’s narrow shoulders and made certain the other man still hadn’t moved. “What’s your name?”

“Trinidad.”

“Do you have a safe place to go tonight?” Kele asked. “Relatives you can stay with who’ll protect you?”

“No…I’m all alone.”

“Shhh,” Kele said to Trinidad’s whimper. “It’s okay. I’ll bring you to our stronghold. No one will harm you there.”

“How can you say that? Carreon will—”

“He won’t hurt you. He won’t hurt anyone ever again.”

“Yes, he will.” Trinidad shivered violently. Her naked breast pressed into Kele’s side. “He told me that Liz and her father can reanimate. Even after he dies, all they’ll have to do is—”

“They won’t with him,” Kele insisted. “Even if they wanted to, I’ll make certain that doesn’t happen.”

“How can you stop it?”

Kele hugged the young woman reassuringly, not wanting her to become hysterical. “Fire,” she said, seeing the solution in her mind. “By the time the authorities get here, his body will have burned beyond recognition or the possibility of reanimation.”

“Oh God.” Trinidad bent at the waist as though she were going to be sick.

Kele swallowed, fighting her own nausea. When she’d decided to come here tonight, she hadn’t thought past killing Carreon. She’d needed to make certain he never harmed another of her clan again or anyone else. Now that he was down, helpless and writhing on the floor, she wasn’t certain she could go further.

You have to.

If she didn’t destroy his body completely, there was always the chance someone in his clan would reanimate him, and then he’d—

Abruptly, Trinidad straightened.

Kele’s thoughts stalled with the movement. She inhaled sharply at the sudden sting in her gut, Trinidad hitting her in the belly. Why?

Kele looked down, not understanding the blood spreading over her tee, Trinidad’s hand fisted around the handle of a knife. Where had it come from? Her boot? Yes. Kele saw the small sleeve inside of it. Why was she doing this?

Trinidad twisted the knife sharply, then jerked it up.

Kele gasped at the intense pain, still not understanding. She tried to fight, but wasn’t able. Already she was lightheaded from loss of blood.

“I’ll take that,” Trinidad said, grabbing Kele’s assault rifle. After another forceful jab, she removed her knife.

Like Carreon, Kele fell to her knees. Tears welled in her eyes. “Jacob,” she whispered, her bloody fingers growing slack.

She’d only wanted him to love her. Was that so wrong? She tried to say his name again, but was unable.

Trinidad stepped back, not wanting to get Kele’s blood on her boots. She went to Carreon.

Blood dirtied his shirt, pants and the floor surrounding him. She stayed clear of that too.

He blinked slowly, his blue eyes dazed with pain. “Heal me.”

Trinidad regarded his belly, crimson and wet. She recalled how easily he would have traded her life to ensure Liz’s return. She didn’t move.

“Heal me,” he ordered.

Without comment, she turned her back to him. “You take one step out of here,” she said to Ernez, “and I’ll kill you.”

He stopped at the back door.

As Kele had done with her minutes before, Trinidad gestured him closer.

He held his hands in front of himself, as though that would protect him. Gone was his previous arrogance, him treating her as though she were less than scum. He pleaded, “Please don’t shoot me.”

“In the club,” she ordered, using the barrel of the assault rifle to direct him. He backed into the room, long empty of tonight’s patrons and staff. “Get three of the largest bottles of liquor,” she said from the doorway.

Hurriedly, he did as she asked.

Once he returned to the office, she said, “Splash the booze around the bodies.”

Carreon’s mouth formed the word no. Speaking appeared beyond him now, his bronze complexion pale and sickly.

Ernez did as Trinidad directed. When the place reeked of vodka and whiskey, she asked, “Where’s the stronghold?”

“Carreon’s?”

“Not any longer,” she said, then told him what to do.

By the time flames engulfed the office, destroying Carreon for good, Trinidad was already in his Escalade. She kept the assault rifle pointed at Ernez as he drove them away.

Chapter Fifteen

Carreon was gone. So was Kele.

Liz had witnessed the horror of it all, along with Zeke and Jacob. He’d restored the transmission Carreon had previously cut off. When the picture flickered onto the monitor, Kele had her arm around the young woman Carreon had threatened to kill. He was already on the floor, gravely wounded. With frightening speed, the young woman stabbed Kele without warning and for no possible reason that Liz could determine. Stunned, she’d watched Carreon’s lieutenant splashing liquor around the bodies, then setting them on fire.

Carreon hadn’t cried out. When the flames touched Kele’s foot—as they had in Zeke’s vision—she hadn’t moved.

Jacob now sat at the table, his head in his hands. Liz had no idea how long he’d been like that. Time seemed to keep slipping away from her. The other men conversed with Zeke, their voices low, trying to decide what Carreon’s death meant to their clan. Would his lieutenants scatter in fear as Liz had believed, or perhaps hoped? Or would they regroup?

During the exchange, Isabel came into the doorway. Liz noticed how Zeke tensed at the woman’s presence, as though he were afraid of her. Why? What had she threatened him with when they’d spoken?

“Is it true about Carreon?” Isabel asked Zeke.

“He’s dead,” Zeke shot back. “His body destroyed by fire. He’s beyond reanimation. You have what you want.”

She stepped into the room.

Zeke immediately went to Liz and pulled her back, away from the woman.

“What’s going on?” Liz whispered to him.

He didn’t answer. His focus remained on Isabel.

The older woman went to the computer monitor, its image frozen on the flames in the strip club’s office, the last communication sent before the fire had destroyed the lines and cut off the transmission.

“Do you want me to play it back for you?” Paul asked Isabel.

She regarded Zeke and said, “Kele’s also gone.”

Jacob made a pained sound.

“She died protecting her clan, her people,” Zeke said, fury lacing his words. “Not this stronghold. Not the damned land. People matter, nothing else. I’ll fight for my kind too, those I love. And I’ll win.”

What was he talking about? What was going on between him and Isabel? Liz glanced from Zeke to the woman.

She nodded once as though to say she’d heard or believed what he’d said, then left the room.

“What was that about?” Liz asked.

“Nothing.” Zeke hugged her hard. “Everything’s all right,” he promised, “just stay in this room. Don’t leave without me.” He watched her for a moment as though making certain she’d obey, then went back to his men.

Liz watched them as her worry moved from Isabel to Diaz. Where was he? Had the young woman and Carreon’s lieutenant seen him when they’d left the strip club? Had they taken Diaz prisoner? Was Roberto torturing him for information on this stronghold or threatening to kill Pedro if Diaz didn’t talk?

Oh please, not that.

Liz covered her mouth with her hand, quieting her whimper. Zeke glanced over, checking on her. He seemed to have aged several years in the last hours. Liz wanted to tell him she was all right, at least physically, but couldn’t manage it.

She sat next to Jacob and rubbed his back. He grieved quietly over Kele, having loved her in the end even if it wasn’t in the way she’d needed.

Liz prayed Kele hadn’t suffered, that she was with her parents now. At peace and safe at last. Be happy, please, she thought and fingered tears from her cheeks.

More time fled by. Liz had no idea how much. Men came into the room, then left, only to return later. Everyone looked bone tired, but no one slept.

Was it dawn yet?

“Hey,” Paul suddenly shouted from the hall. “They’re back and headed this way.”

Liz exchanged a look with Zeke and Jacob.

“Kele’s back?” Jacob hollered, his tone incredulous and hopeful.

“Diaz and the boy,” Paul called out.

Zeke left the room immediately, followed by several of his men. When Liz tried to follow, Ike stood in her way. “Zeke wants you to stay in here.”

“I need to heal Pedro.”

“You’re not leaving,” Ike said. He was a mountain of a man, his determination as powerful as his physical strength.

Liz backed away from him and paced the length of the room.

Jacob pushed back in his chair. “This is all my fault.”

“No, it’s not,” she said.

“If I’d only given Kele what she needed, she wouldn’t have done this, dammit.” He hit the table with his fist. “She wouldn’t be gone.”

“She wouldn’t have been happy either. She would have known your feelings weren’t genuine. It would have been a slow death for her, knowing that pity more than love was behind what you did. Do you honestly believe she would have wanted that?”

He continued to frown even as his shoulders sagged. “I don’t know.”

Oh, Jacob. “Kele did what she wanted to do,” Liz murmured. “What she had to do. In the end, she—”

Footfalls sounded down the hall, stalling Liz’s words.

“I’ll take him to the next level,” Zeke said. “There—”

“No, here,” Diaz insisted. “He’s already too weak to be moved any more than he has been.”

Zeke said something Liz didn’t catch. Diaz continued to argue, his voice also lowered, his words indistinct.

Seconds later, Zeke carried Pedro into the meeting room and put him on the table.

Liz leaned against it for support. She stared at the wounds Carreon’s men had left on the boy’s lanky body. Many were infected. Sweat matted his dark brown hair and bathed his face, no doubt from a fever.

“You’re going to be all right,” she said.

“No.” Zeke grabbed her wrist to keep her from touching Pedro.

She twisted her hand, trying to get free. Zeke wouldn’t let her. “I have to do this,” she insisted.

“Get her father,” Zeke ordered Jacob.

“No,” she said. “His power’s stronger than mine. If he uses it on someone this young, it might cause more harm than good like it did with his sister. He finally told me about her. What happened.”

“What are you talking about?” Diaz said. “You can heal. You can reanimate. Dammit, do something to help him before it gets that far.”

Pedro moaned.

“Don’t let him suffer because you want to protect me,” Liz begged Zeke. “I’ll be all right. You and Jacob saw to it earlier. You can see to it again. Please, you have to let me do this. I’ll never forgive myself if I don’t do something.”

Zeke glanced at Jacob. His brother looked as unsettled as he did.

Pedro stiffened as though he were about to convulse. He gasped.

Zeke’s hand fell away from Liz.

She murmured to the boy, “You’re going to be all right. I’ll take care of you. Carreon and his men will never harm you again.”

Diaz stayed close to his cousin as he spoke to Zeke. “I swear I didn’t know what Kele had planned. She left me in the Jeep and ran toward the strip club. I should have followed sooner. Maybe if I had…” He shook his head and continued, misery in his words. “By the time I could see the building, it was on fire. The man and woman we saw during that earlier transmission drove away in Carreon’s SUV.”

“It’s all right,” Liz said when Zeke didn’t comment. “We don’t blame you.”

A strangled noise poured from Zeke as Liz laid her hand on Pedro’s forehead that burned with fever. Gently, she stroked it, doing everything she could to control her power so she didn’t pour too much or too little into him.

Within seconds, his forehead cooled. His color returned.

She worked on his wounds next, healing the deep gouges left by Roberto’s torture.

Within minutes, Pedro opened his eyes and looked around, confusion on his youthful features.

Liz moved aside as Diaz went to his cousin. He pulled the boy into his arms.

Zeke touched Liz’s shoulder. “How do you feel?”

She couldn’t lie to him. “A little tired—but only because I haven’t slept, the same as you.”

Zeke didn’t appear convinced. “Jacob, take care of things here, all right?”

His brother looked as though he wanted to join them. After a moment’s pause, he didn’t argue the point as he might have in times past. He simply nodded. His expression said it all. This wasn’t about passion…it was about making certain Liz was all right and accepting that she belonged to Zeke first.

Despite her insistence that she wasn’t an invalid, Zeke carried Liz to their bedroom and wouldn’t allow her a moment free of his touch. His lovemaking was tender and desperate, betraying his love, his worry. Through the coming hours, he took her repeatedly, burying his cock deep within her cunt. With his mouth on hers, he quieted her pleased cries with his tongue.

They made love as if this would be their last time…or as though it were their first. Unruly desire made their actions and responses fevered, out of control.

Even as Zeke rested, he wouldn’t pull out of her. Liz slept so deeply at times, he strained to hear her breathing and kept checking her pulse.

It beat steadily.

How long would it last?

He ached for sleep, but didn’t dare surrender to it. When the time came that he couldn’t keep his eyes opened any longer, he’d have Jacob come in here to hold and protect her…to mount her if that proved necessary.

For now, Zeke ran his fingers over her arm and back. He kissed her cheek and buried his face in her hair, pouring his love into her, strengthening their bond. It didn’t matter that they’d come from different clans. That they’d once been enemies. No one would separate them now.

Not even Isabel, or whatever her real name was.

Zeke fought panic as he wondered what her next demand might be and how he could fight it without her removing Liz from his mind. Maybe it was an empty threat. Maybe not. When Isabel made her move, would he have time to flee this stronghold with Liz, Jacob and her father? What if he wasn’t able to do—

His thoughts halted at the hissing he heard. Accompanying it was dazzling white, signaling his newest vision. He tried to fight it, didn’t want to know what new horrors the damned future would bring.

Relentlessly, his mind focused on the images that bled through the intense glare. He saw the young woman Carreon had threatened to kill earlier, her dark hair and black nails. She stood next to a man Zeke couldn’t see. Shadows fell across his face, obscuring his features. Lust and violence radiated from the two of them, no different from Carreon.

Zeke blinked rapidly, suddenly straining to see more, to determine what the vision meant.

Impossible. The images evaporated as quickly as they’d arrived, leaving him unsettled, uneasy about his clan, Jacob, Liz.

As though sensing his distress or having felt the tension in his body, she awakened. Her eyes were clear, her color good. “I love you,” she said.

Zeke held her so tightly he feared he’d crush her but couldn’t help himself.

Liz didn’t complain. She hugged him in return and whispered, “Carreon’s really gone.”

She sounded astonished as many did when a world leader was assassinated or a film star met an untimely end. Some people are so much larger than life they seem immortal.

Not Carreon.

“Yes,” Zeke said.

“It’s over, then?” she asked.

He wanted that more than anything else, but sensed it was not. The evil that was coming would be even deadlier than it had been with Carreon.

Again, he recalled his vision. The woman’s dark nails, her blue-black hair and a detail he’d forgotten.

Her smile—empty, predatory.

Epilogue

Trinidad leaned against an arm of the leather sofa in what had once been Carreon’s penthouse suite. Soft lighting glowed beneath the lamps’ bronze shades. Coppery pavers and beige walls gave the space a Southwestern feel.

Carreon owned—or had owned—the entire building. His most important lieutenants and their families lived here so he’d always been able to keep an eye on them. On the night Carreon had died, Trinidad went to his stronghold, her intent simple. To steal as much as she could—money, weapons, the priceless art and drugs she’d heard he had there—then disappear with the treasure, selling and using it someplace else. Perhaps Vegas. Maybe New York. Even Mexico had crossed her mind.

Roberto Amo, the man who’d made torture his specialty, had been waiting for Liz and her father at the stronghold. He stopped any hope Trinidad had of escaping despite the assault rifle she held. He had his own, along with several armed men who would have killed her in a moment on Roberto’s orders.

“I should make you scream,” he’d said upon learning of Carreon’s death from Ernez. How Trinidad had ordered him to burn the body. “Then I should kill you slowly.”

“But you won’t,” she’d murmured. She’d seen the lust in his dark eyes, the sexual tension building in his large body.

He’d smiled at her audacity, then took her in front of Ernez, mounting her from behind, demanding she submit to him. During the following days, he’d enjoyed her repeatedly, their coupling wild, just as Trinidad liked. She left scratches on his back and ass. Marks from his belt crisscrossed her buttocks, his punishment meted out not only to arouse her but to make certain she obeyed his every command without hesitation.

Roberto gave her no other choice.

It took him less than a week to fill the power vacuum left by his former boss. Anyone who dissented was tortured, then murdered. Roberto stepped up the clan’s recruitment efforts among their people.

He lounged on the sofa now, his muscular legs crossed at the ankles, his expression neutral as one of his lieutenants explained the progress in finding Zeke’s stronghold. A prize Roberto intended to take along with the land and whatever other riches they had. Like Carreon, he wanted more than simply having Liz and her father as his prisoners, always ready to heal or reanimate for him. He also craved Neekoma’s ability to see the future.

Roberto interrupted his lieutenant. “You still have no idea where Neekoma and his people are holed up.”

“We’re working on it day and night,” the man said.

He was in his late thirties, married with two daughters. The few times Roberto had allowed Trinidad out of his bedroom and this suite, she’d seen the little girls at the pool or in the hall. They were four and six with wavy brown hair like their father.

“We’ll find it,” he insisted. The five men next to him nodded.

Roberto said nothing. The room fell into an uneasy silence.

“We will,” the man murmured.

Roberto held out his glass to Trinidad for her to refill.

“You belong to me now,” he told her the night of Carreon’s death. “You’ll do whatever I say without question. Without pause.”

Obediently, Trinidad took his empty glass and padded to the wet bar. She felt the other men staring at her nudity, the red marks on her ass. Roberto didn’t allow her to wear clothing around him or his men, as though being naked would somehow intimidate or shame her. The same as the collar he’d put around her throat. At night, he ran a chain through the loop in the front and secured her to his bed. While he slept, he clearly didn’t want to worry about her being able to escape…or using a weapon to harm him.

The idea absorbed her as she mixed his next Scotch and soda. She regarded the pistols and rifles strewn carelessly about the room, all just out of her reach of course, then considered whether her slight ability to heal might also be used to kill. She’d often pressed the mark on her palm against Roberto’s chest, willing it to send a shock through his system, much like a bolt of lightning would, injuring his heart.

Given his healthy color, it hadn’t even come close.

She wondered what her life would have been like if she’d been born a man with so much privilege and power at her disposal. The ability to give orders at will.

“You know that’s not allowed in here,” Ernez had barked when she’d only wanted to enjoy her cigarette.

“Heal me,” Carreon had demanded.

“On your hands and knees,” Roberto had insisted more times than she could count. “Spread your legs, lift your ass.”

For now… Only for now. Trinidad knew how to play the game.

She brought Roberto his drink and gave him a placid smile she didn’t feel, her rebellious thoughts saying what was in her heart.

No one tells me what to do.

At least not for long.

She’d wait, she’d watch for the proper time to deal with Roberto, and then perhaps Zeke Neekoma too.

About the Author

Tina Donahue is an award-winning, bestselling novelist in erotic, paranormal, contemporary and historical romance for Samhain Publishing, Ellora’s Cave and Kensington. Booklist, Publisher’s Weekly, Romantic Times and numerous online sites have praised her work. Three of her erotic romances were named finalists in the 2011 EPIC competition. The French review site, Blue Moon Reviews, chose one of her erotic romances as their Book of the Year 2010 (erotic category). The Golden Nib Award at Miz Love Loves Books was created specifically for one of her erotic romances. Two of her titles received an Award of Merit in the RWA Holt Medallion competition (2011 and 2012). Tina is featured in the 2012 Novel & Short Story Writer’s Market. She was the editor of an award-winning Midwestern newspaper and worked in Story Direction for a Hollywood production company.

Content

Deep Within Me
The Prophecy - 2
by
Tina Donahue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Epilogue

About the Author