Samurai Game (Ghostwalkers, #10)(31)

“Sam.” She used her sternest voice. “We need your team now. Call to them.”

He went down, a giant oak tree chopped off at the trunk, his legs completely giving out and he was on the ground, staring up through the heavy canopy at the clear blue sky, eyes wide-open. Thorn went down with him, trying to cushion his fall, a thread of desperation running through the calm. He must have lost more blood than she’d first thought. She should have pushed him much earlier to call his team, to let them know he was injured. She hadn’t because . . . well . . . she just hadn’t been smart.

“Sam, open your mind to mine. All the way, let me in.” She used her voice shamelessly, a warm honeyed tone, slipping inside his mind to settle there. He had to let her inside. She searched for threads, anything that might lead her to his team. She knew, without a doubt, that he’d communicated telepathically with them. She’d never tried to get inside another mind deep enough to find a path to someone else. If she didn’t, help might be too late.

She understood that his team’s first obligation would be to rescue Daiki and Eiji, transporting them quickly to safety. The cleanup team could take its time. And anyone coming to get Sam might think they could drive. They needed a helicopter and a medic fast. Second-generation Zenith didn’t break down the body and cause it to bleed out as the first generation had done—Sam wouldn’t need an antidote, but that didn’t mean the blood loss wouldn’t eventually kill him. The drug had forced his system to speed up, not slow down, and any wound inside his body—and he had a hole through him—might continue to bleed internally.

“Sam.” She caught his shoulders and put her mouth next to his, so that she felt every warm breath that he took. His skin felt cool, all that wonderful heat slowly dissipating.

His eyes focused on her. “Kiss me.”

The whisper was so soft she might not have heard it, but she felt the words formed against her own lips. She crossed those scant inches, settling her mouth on his, opening her mind to his, allowing him to slip into her. She refused to get lost in his kiss, pushing for him to open his mind more fully. The moment the barrier slipped, she poured in fast, afraid even as consciousness slipped away, he would close his mind to her. He was very disciplined, very trained, and she doubted he was a man who would give in to torture, yet his mind was unguarded when he kissed her.

She found that elusive thread to his leader. Captain Ryland Miller—Lily Whitney’s husband. She was ashamed of herself for hesitating. Would she allow Sam to die because of her mission? There had to be a line one didn’t cross. Letting them know of her abilities would complicate things, but Sam already suspected too much about her. She couldn’t live honorably if she allowed him to die just to keep her secrets.

I am Azami Yoshiie. I am with Sam Johnson. He’s wounded and needs a medic immediately. He’s lost a tremendous amount of blood. You’ll need several units. To stop the bleeding and keep him on his feet I administered two second-generation Zenith patches. The surge has worn off and he’s crashed from blood loss. His pulse is weak, his skin cooling fast. He hasn’t completely lost consciousness.

Her heart pounded in her chest. The small silence seemed like hours when it wasn’t more than a few seconds before a deep voice filled her mind.

We’ll have a helicopter in the air in three minutes. ETA to you, ten. Medic and blood on board.

She should have been disturbed that he didn’t ask her questions about how she had managed to tap into his mind—that meant he was a pro all the way. He didn’t even ask her about the Zenith and they had to be both outraged and shocked that not only did she know about it, she actually had some in her possession.

Medic wants to know if there’s arterial bleeding.

Not that I can see. I think there might be internal bleeding.

Roger that.

There was another short silence. She realized he was communicating with someone else.

Keep him talking, try to make him stay with you. Has he responded to you verbally?

No. Thorn felt frantic. She could feel him slipping further from her. She knew the pathway to Ryland Miller, so she didn’t need to include Sam, but as long as she was in his mind, she could monitor his brain function. He’s slipping in and out.

He’s strong. The voice was utterly calm. He’s a soldier. He’ll respond to commands. Talk to him. Force him to stay with you.

Thorn framed Sam’s face with her hands and pressed her forehead against his. “Sam, listen to me. They’re coming for us and we won’t have much time. I will not show affection to you in public, in the way Westerners do. In my family, courtship means nothing.”

His lashes fluttered and she found herself looking into his dark eyes. She was fairly certain Ryland had meant she was supposed to bark commands at Sam to keep him alert, but their connection was far more elemental, far more primal, and he responded to her instinctively—or she liked to think so. In any case, she had his attention.

“Only a proposal of marriage is treated with the utmost respect. If my brother doesn’t cut off your head and accepts such an outrageous suggestion, you will be considered family and must treat my brothers in the same manner. Such an arrangement is not taken lightly in our family. You mustn’t mention courtship when we are back with the others.”

She pressed her mouth against his. “And no more kissing.”

For one moment, her heart nearly stood still when she swore his lips curved beneath hers, the lightest of movements, but then he was fading again. Panic welled up. “Don’t you dare die on me, soldier,” she snapped, forcing a crisp, sharp command into her voice. “Open your eyes and look at me, Sam.”