Maybe This Time, page 3
With a zipping whistle, the platform under her feet cracked. Yellow, green, and blue prisms streaked wildly through the tunnel. Alyssa’s mouth rounded in an “oh” and, hunching her shoulders, she cupped her ears.
Wincing up at him, she crowded her feet onto the small section of crystal that didn’t float away. “What happened?”
Weak fear lit in her eyes. He hated it. But she had to learn not to dispute him. She wasn’t slow. She’d figure it out. “It is of no consequence.”
That remark earned him a frown he’d be feeling for a week. She licked her lips with a smooth, pink tongue. “Now, look, Prophet.”
He sighed and tapped his fingers against his bicep. “Yes?”
She nodded. “I’ve tried to be patient, but I want some answers—without the cryptic nonsense. And I’d appreciate it if you’d can the drivel.”
“Drivel?”
“Me being soft and gentle—and I resent being compared to a rose. A thorn, maybe, but never a rose.” She shot him a warning look. “It’s been tried by the best. My petals don’t crush.”
True enough, he admitted. But, one way or another, she was going to bend, and hopefully to blossom. “I see.”
“It’s clear by your expression that you don’t see at all. But you will.” She gave her jacket hem a tug. “Now, I gather I’m supposed to travel somewhere and you’re to act as my guide. So let me just ask you a question or two and then we can get on with it. You can explain the rest as we go.”
He had her attention. Nervous, Alyssa rattled. When she slid into her authoritarian mode, she was afraid. Still, her fear had been too long in coming to be safe for either of them. “How long are you going to talk before you get to your questions?”
She stopped in midsentence to glare at him, then drew in a shuddery breath. “Since I still exist, I assume Heaven and Hell are real. Am I correct?”
He shrugged. “Maybe.”
“What kind of answer is that?” She grunted. “Don’t you know?”
“What I know isn’t relevant. It’s what you know that matters.”
She rolled her gaze, then asked point-blank. “Am I going to Heaven or Hell?”
Before they were done, he imagined she’d think she’d spent a fair amount of time in both. “Not exactly.”
Her frown deepened, and she stiffened her shoulders. “Look, we’re discussing my future here. Just talk straight about it, okay? If not to Heaven or Hell, then where am I going?”
“You’ll see . . . in good time.”
“I don’t care for puzzles.” A warning in her tone, she laced her hands behind her back. “Actually, I hate them. They irk me.”
He well knew that they did. And right now, he was the puzzle irking her most—and thoroughly enjoying it. “Regardless of preference, we must master some puzzles.”
“And this is one, mmm?” Caught up in her thoughts, she paced a path on the jagged crystal and nearly walked off its end.
Beautiful. Head to heel. “Exactly.” Smiling to himself, Prophet touched the hilt of his sword. The platform began moving with her, staying solidly beneath her feet.
Alyssa groaned.
He hiked a brow. “What is it?”
“Nothing.” She flushed and lowered her gaze.
“You must answer me.”
“Must?” She shot him a disgusted look. “A little macho, don’t you think?”
“Not at all.” He slid her a wicked grin. “Well, perhaps a little.”
“You’re cute.” She let her gaze sweep his length. “But not that cute.”
If her pupils hadn’t dilated and her nostrils flared, he might have believed her. “Cute has nothing to do with it. It comes with clout.”
“Whatever.” She shrugged, but her cheeks went pink. “I read this book once about a woman who died and was stuck in limbo forever.” Alyssa looked up at him, clearly wanting reassurance.
He didn’t give it to her. “And?”
“It isn’t like that here, is it? I—I don’t think—”
“It depends,” he waffled, needing to see how she’d react under pressure.
“Tell me it’s not like that.”
He held her gaze, and said nothing—one of the hardest things he’d ever had to do.
“If it is, I won’t stay here.” She lifted her chin. “I just . . . won’t.”
“You can’t deny your destiny, Alyssa.” For her, limbo would be torture. She was a doer, not an observer. “Remember the rose?”
Blinking furiously, she resumed pacing, stretching her path. “The truth is, I’d rather be in Hell. At least there you know what to expect.”
“Fire and brimstone?” he suggested.
She tilted her head. “That’s not exactly the way I have it pictured.”
Cooking. Alyssa despised it. “Hell’s kitchen?”
She went ashen. “Does Hell have a kitchen?”
He couldn’t do it. He’d eaten a few of her meals. They hadn’t killed him, but they could’ve. No one in the universe deserved that kind of torture. Especially Alyssa. Cooking would be her hell. “Angel—”
“Since I’m not going there, that’s irrelevant. I’m here, for what that’s worth, and I don’t much like it, either.”
She rambled on, asking about getting transfers, dispensations. That tugged at his heartstrings and he tried again to interrupt. “Angel.”
Still, she went on. And half-wondering why this woman had to be the woman who tied him in knots, he raised his voice to be heard. “Angel, you aren’t going to be stuck in limbo or in any kitchen!”
She stopped suddenly and stared at him; alert, relieved, and hauntingly beautiful. Aching to hold her, he fisted his hands to keep from reaching out to her. It’d been so long. And the odds were stacked against him ever having the chance to hold her again. Maybe just this once.
The amulet at his neck vibrated briefly then stopped. It was time. “You’re the product of a failure in the system, Angel.”
“Failure?” She narrowed her eyes at him. “I’ve never failed at anything important in my life.”
“That’s not true. But it’s the system, not you, that’s failed.”
“The system?” Perplexed, she wrinkled her brow.
He should have known. She’d never accepted anything without proof. “Life, Angel.” Noting her confusion, he explained. “From medieval times until the twentieth century, a negative imbalance in the electrical impulses coming from Earth caused many to leave their current level of learning and to proceed on to their next level too soon.”
“What?”
“Think of it as a short circuit.”
“Uh-huh. And what caused this short circuit?”
He lifted a shoulder. “Some say pollution. Some say greed.” He gazed deeply into her eyes. “Many don’t say, they just accept.”
Alyssa paused to think about this. The hole in the ozone layer near Antarctica? The destruction of the Brazilian rain forest? How could those—or other—things cause this?
No, Prophet was just misguided. Dead was dead and that was that. Still, she’d be stupid not to humor him. She specifically recalled dying and, though she didn’t understand it, she was here—wherever here was—and not six feet under in some cemetery. Until she learned the lay of the land, a misguided prophet was better than no prophet. “What do these impulses have to do with me?”
“Like many others, you left your current level too soon—without first discovering all you needed to fulfill your destiny.”
“Okay. So . . . ?”
“So,” his gaze scorched her soul, “now you must go back.”
“Go back?” Innately knowing he didn’t mean to her life in New Orleans, she cringed, not liking the sounds of this at all. “To what? Or to where, for that matter.”
He sounded sympathetic. “To some of your learning levels.”
A shudder zipped up her spine. “To some of my what?”
“To some of—”
“This is a joke,” she interrupted, pacing again. “My secretary, right? Margaret is always going on about karma and soulmates and weird—” Alyssa turned to Prophet and planted her hand on her hip. “Did that contrary witch put you up to this?”
“No,” he said, giving into the urge to smile. “Your secretary is contrary, but she is not a witch. Nor is she dead. Have you forgotten that you are?”
Her blush told him she had forgotten. She might as well confess. “Transitioning takes time.”
“Unfortunately, we’ve precious little to spare.” He lifted a finger.
Their platforms merged, bathing them in a hazy golden light that caressed his skin. A silver speck glittered on his jaw. She brushed at it, then waited for him to explain.
He chose not to. Instead he cupped her face in his big hands, and stroked her cheek with his thumb. His gaze darkened, grew intense and searing. Her cheeks tingled. And she swore she was glowing like his amulet inside. “Prophet? What’s happening to me? I—I feel—”
His breath warmed her face. “Shh, Angel.” He fanned her temples, her cheeks, with wisps of touch.
Her mind and soul opened, welcoming him. Somehow she knew that resisting would prove futile, but why didn’t she want to try? Why didn’t she fear him, or resent his invasion?
His effect on her startled her, left her breathless—and believing. “When I go back to these former learning levels, what must I discover?”
He bent low, covered her lips with his. She whimpered. His kiss was staggering, achingly familiar. They’d definitely kissed before, time and again. So sweet. So tender. So . . . long ago.
Rubbing the silky, dark hair covering his chest, she trembled. The scent of his skin, the ripple of muscle ridging his abdomen, every curve and plane of his body that she touched was known to her. Even the jagged scar on his shoulder triggered some forgotten memory just out of reach.
He raised his head. A shadow slanted across his eyes and his voice sounded gruff, emotional. “Angel.”
Waves of pleasure rippled through her. “I know you,” she whispered. “Prophet, I know you!”
“Yes.”
Sensing grief in him, she met his molten gaze. “How?”
He refused to answer. Disappointed, she stroked the ridge of his scar. “What must I discover?”
A slow smile curved his lips, so easy, so sure and devastatingly handsome. “Me.”
“You?” She flattened her palms against his broad chest and frowned. “But you’ll be with me?”
“Not always.” Regret lit in the bottoms of his eyes.
She could ask why, but he wouldn’t answer. “Where will you be? How will I know you?”
Certainty replaced the regret. “You’ll know me.”
That she feared he was right, galled her. “You appeal to me, okay? I admit it. But this goes beyond lust, Prophet, and your ego has no business messing around with my future.”
“Your future is important to me. Never doubt it. And if I’m arrogant, well, no one here is perfect.” He slid her a killer smile, then shrugged and threaded his fingertips through her hair. “Spun silver.” He sighed contentedly. “I remember the feel.”
He remembered more than the feel of her hair. She was sure of it. And this tenderness frightened her in a way his arrogance hadn’t. It got to her, and it shouldn’t. “I know you, yet I don’t know you. You say I must discover you, that I’ll be in—” she paused to gulp in air, “—one of my former learning levels.” She moved her hands to his waist and squeezed his sides. “Don’t you understand why I’m confused? I don’t feel dead. I feel normal. And you don’t look dead to me. Are you?”
“Give it time. You’ll—”
“If you’d just explain it to me, I wouldn’t need time.”
“Patience, Angel.” He stroked her jaw, letting his fingertips trail over her parted lips. “You’ll find me. You’ll make your discoveries, and all of this will become clear to you.”
He was about to leave her; she intuited it. Her heart felt bruised. Why did the thought of being separated from him hurt her? Along with everything else, the pain didn’t make sense. But her heart didn’t seem concerned with logic. It just ached.
Pressing his warm lips against her temple, he whispered. “I’ll be with you soon.” His grip on her shoulders tightened, then suddenly he let go of her, reared back, and feasted on the sight of her.
The hunger in his eyes worried her. It was as if he somehow knew her intimately. But that was impossible.
He lifted her from the platform, his hands trembling, then released her. “Safe journey, Angel.”
Drifting back the way she’d come, she reached for him. “Prophet?”
When he didn’t move to draw her back, she shouted. “No! No, Prophet! Where are you sending me? Why are you sending me away?” Tears she didn’t understand flooded her eyes. Inside, she felt ravaged. And deep sobs racked her body, tore at her lungs.
She’d gone off the deep end. She must have. She who had never loved, never cried, mourned losing Prophet? How could she mourn the loss of a man she’d just met? A man she knew, yet didn’t know? A man, she feared, who wasn’t a man?
But mourn him, she did.
Through the increasing darkness. Further and further away from the light. Past the pastel bubbles that burst one by one until fog, then ink black darkness swallowed her.
Fear seized her stomach. She was shrinking, squeezing into a . . . a comfortable jacket.
Then it hit her. Oh God, the learning level was a life! The jacket was her body!
But which body? And in which life?
Two
Prehistory
SHE LAY SPRAWLED in the mud.
Rain, sleet-cold, spit down on her from a sky as dense as slate. Alyssa shivered and hauled herself to her feet.
The terrain, what she could see of it through the blanket of dark clouds, was stark, a vast wasteland of barren ridges and steep, rocky inclines covered with brown mud and scrub brush. Where was she? This was obviously a mountain. But where? And when?
Her muscles knotted and she rubbed her abdomen. Slick, wet fur grazed her palm. She looked down. A pelt, knotted at one shoulder, left her other one bare, and hung down to her upper thighs. She knew furs—mink, sable, fox—but she couldn’t identify the animal whose fur she wore. Icy rain stung her goose-pimpled skin, and she hugged herself for warmth.
A harsh whipping sound split the sky. Her instincts warned her to seek cover. Flattening on her stomach under a spiny bush that scratched her back and smelled of sage, she visually searched. An alien bird swooped low in the sky. The whipping noise grew louder, roaring in her ears, and the ground beneath her shook with each flap of the birds long, rust-colored wings. Doubting her own eyes, Alyssa stared at the creature. What kind of bird had a wingspan of twenty feet?
Its long beak fell open, exposing daggered teeth, and it screeched a deafening caw. Alyssa covered her ears with her hands, but kept her gaze glued to the creature until it flew past, then on out of sight.
No mountain she’d read about provided a home to such odd birds. Everything that huge supposedly had been extinct for eons. This place was weird. She had to find shelter. After several steadying breaths, she crawled out from under the bush, shiver upon shiver streaking through her body.
Prophet. She began journeying down the stony mountain. What she had to find was her misguided guide. He could explain—if he would.
The climb was difficult. No trail existed, none that she could find, anyway. And the mud was wet and slick, treacherous. Within minutes, her calf muscles burned and the tendons in her arches ached from the strain of keeping her upright. Climbing the corporate ladder hadn’t prepared her for climbing mountains, or for descending them.
By the time she’d hiked to a wedge of flat land, she was sweat-soaked. She paused to rest. Chilly and brisk, the wind bent the sparse grass and tugged at her damp hair. She shoved it back from her face and looked around. “God, talk about barren. And no sign of the misguided maniac.” Now why didn’t that surprise her? Less frustrated and more irritated, she slung the sweat from her brow. “Some help.”
Kicking at a loose stone, she wondered where the Hell she was. Medieval to contemporary times, he’d said, but there was nothing here to give her a clue. God, but it irked her to not know even what century she was in, much less the date. Shielding her eyes with her hand, she scanned in all directions, but saw no signs of life. If anyone was going to find anyone on this godforsaken mountain, it looked like it’d have to be her finding him.
Wait. Hadn’t he told her that? Her thigh stung and she slapped at a bug on it. He had. He’d said she had to discover him.
Swallowing a curse, she skirted a scraggly brown, spindly bush that looked like a Plant Hell reject, and continued down the steep slope, regularly checking the sky for signs of the big bird. Dark clouds hovering overhead looked ready to burst any second. Just what she needed. More rain.
Stumbling, she fell into a shallow pit. Muddy water sloshed around her ankles. Under her feet, the earth seemed compressed, dense. How could that be? Elsewhere, the ground had been soft and squishy.
An uneasy tingle crept up her spine. She backed out of the pit and studied its shape. A print? She remembered the size of the bird, and her skin crawled.
By the size of its tracks, the animal would be gigantic. She checked the ground and, a few yards away, found a second print—the mirror image of the first. And twice the yardage beyond it, was another marking. A swipe of smooth dirt looked as though it had been swept by the swish of a huge tail.
“A dinosaur?” Her stomach lurched. “No, it couldn’t be.” But before she’d seen that bird she would have sworn it couldn’t be, either. “Oh God, Prophet!” she cried out. “Get me out of here!”
Blustery wind and the rain pelting against the rocky ground answered her. Prophet did not . . . yet someone was watching her.
The tiny hairs on the back of her neck stood up. She turned in a slow circle and, seeing no one, she tried but couldn’t shake the feeling. Someone was watching her every move.
