Rising Darkness (Game of Shadows #1)(73)

Gentleness fled, along with his control. He thrust hard and impaled her. She tilted her head back and cried out again, wrapping her legs around his hips. Elbows planted on either side of her head, he succumbed to barbarity and sank his fists into her fabulous, wild hair, pinning her down as he moved inside of her, harder and faster, until his own climax twisted him up. The pleasure was excruciating, necessary.

All the while he watched her face, her beautiful face. Her lips were parted, her gaze blind, as she stared inward, focused on what he was doing to her.

I am the only one, he thought. The only one who has driven you to this extremity. The only one who has given you this kind of pleasure, this completion.

And by God, I am going to be the last lover you will ever take.

The very last, and only one.

Chapter Twenty-four

THEY SQUANDERED THEIR veritable wealth in minutes, their staggering fortune in seconds, on pleasuring each other. Then, as the last of the coals in the fireplace faded and the darkness was complete, they fell asleep. The last thing Mary knew was Michael resting his head on her shoulder, his big body sprawled over hers, a heavy, reassuring weight.

She woke suddenly with a hand clamped over her mouth. Predawn filtered into the cabin, turning everything bleak and gray. Michael leaned over her, his broad, naked shoulders and head in silhouette. Her heart kicked. Staring up at him, she gripped his thick, strong wrist with both hands.

His shadowed gaze was the polished steel of a drawn sword.

“Get dressed,” he said. “Hurry.”

She nodded. He rolled out of bed in one smooth, lithe motion. When she scrambled across the bed and would have risen, he gripped her shoulder. “Be careful. I kept the trees tall around the cabin on purpose, but long-range rifles can be remarkably accurate. Don’t take a chance and stand in front of the windows.”

She nodded again, slid to the floor and scurried in a crouch toward the dresser where she had left her clean, dried clothes. As she went she saw Michael out of the corner of her eye. He stood at the table and had already slipped on a T-shirt and his shoes. He strapped the sheath of a long knife to his thigh. The assault rifle lay within his reach.

She tore into her clothes, cursing her slow shaking fingers, and wriggled into her sweatshirt. As she yanked her shoes on and tied them, she heard a hawk scream outside. Her head lifted. When she had been attacked, she had heard that same sound coming from a countless number of hawks. There was no time to braid back her hair. She yanked it into a ponytail.

Michael strapped the sword to his back. Then he settled two belts of magazine clips across his shoulders. His expression was calm, even peaceful. She took one look at him and a fresh wave of dread threatened to buckle her knees. What did he know that would make him arm himself like that?

He pivoted toward her. “All right,” he said. “Now it’s your turn.”

He grabbed her with one hand. With the other he reached for the vest hanging on the back of a chair. “What are you doing?” she said. With an effort she kept her voice as quiet as his. “What’s going on? What do you know?”

“Meet Kevlar. It’s your new best friend,” he said. He didn’t wait for her to do it herself. He began to stuff her into the vest. It was far too big for her and felt strange, thick and stiff and heavy. “We have problems coming our way. Right now they think they’re being sneaky. You’re going to take your gun and slip out the back bathroom window. That path I told you about, the one that leads north to the lake—there’s an opening in the back clearing. It’s not very noticeable. I’ve kept that overgrown too. You’re going to take the path, skirt the lake and keep going north. I’ll catch up with you in a bit.”

“No,” she said. She gripped his forearm. The corded muscle felt as hard as marble under her fingers. “We’ll both go. Michael, let’s just run.”

“They would follow,” he said. “Then we would have to fight them a quarter of a mile from here, or a half a mile from here, and I wouldn’t have the advantage of the cabin or familiar ground for cover.” He grabbed her other arm and tried to force it through the second armhole. “You need to go. I need to stay.”

“Stop it,” she said. She twisted away from him and slipped out of the vest. “I’m not going.”

He took her by the shoulders and jerked her toward him. “Don’t do this,” he growled in her face. “We don’t have time to argue. They haven’t circled around the cabin yet but they will. You are getting out of here.”

“I can’t just leave you!” she snapped. “I need to help.”

He said with rapid force, point-blank in her face, “If you need to help then you will leave. Now. You’re a liability if you stay.” He grabbed the vest from the floor and began to stuff her back into it. “You’re a doctor, not a soldier. You don’t know how to fight, and we’ve had no chance to really train together. You’re vulnerable, and you’re a target. I need you to protect yourself so I can be free to do what I need to do. Otherwise I’m expending all my energy trying to protect you. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” she said. She foiled his efforts by going limp, slithered out of the vest and sat down hard on the floor. He glared at her. She pointed to the vest. “I’m not wearing that. It’s too big. You make sense. I’ll go. But only if you wear the vest. Don’t argue with me about this. It’s a waste of time.”