Maybe This Time, page 5
A thought she didn’t much like flitted through her mind. She’d known him before she’d seen him—as soon as she’d awakened. The rotten scoundrel. She’d learned nothing new here! Wanting nothing more than to scream at him, she forced calm into her voice. “I don’t suppose that your liking this era of barbaric brutality had anything to do with my winding up here.”
Prophet shrugged. “I might have made a small adjustment in your itinerary to include a brief visit here.” He rubbed his jaw. “You needed a measure more fear.”
The man was as guilty as sin. Alyssa stomped from the pool to the boulder then glared down at him. “You put me through Hell because you wanted to be here?”
His arm draped over his raised knee, he frowned. “This isn’t Hell, Angel.”
“Answer my question!”
“I have answered you.”
“Prophet,” she said from between her teeth.
“I wanted to be here with you. You need fear to survive—later.”
“Right.” She snapped her jaw shut. “I should wring your neck.”
Her chest was heaving, and, after her last remark, so was his.
“Angel, are you threatening me?” He narrowed his eyes to slits and put a hard edge she couldn’t miss in his voice.
She stepped closer. “I bloody well am. I could have died in this Hell hole, Prophet. Just because you wanted to drop by.”
His gaze slipped from her face to her chest and stayed there. “It’s of no consequence.”
“My death is of no consequence?” Her blood boiled in her veins. “You insensitive, arrogant, self-centered—”
“Angel.”
“—pig-headed man. How dare you—”
“Angel, you’re nude.”
“—say my death is of no . . .” She stilled, not daring to look down at herself. “Um, nude, did you say?”
He nodded, rocking the back of his head against the boulder. The look in his eyes warmed with mischief and the corners of his mouth twisted into a crooked grin she positively hated.
Looking down, she saw she was naked as a newborn. “For pity’s sake.”
“Are you upset?”
Damn his innocent tone. “Upset?” she screamed. “Why would I be upset? I always strut around without my clothes!”
His glare wilted her, and she covered her chest with her hands. Where was her bloody fur anyway?
“Not anymore. I don’t approve.”
She let out a heartfelt groan. The man was driving her crazy. She muttered a few more curses on his head, then opened her eyes. He was walking away. “Where are you going?”
“Come.”
“Wait!” She searched the ground for her clothes. “Prophet, wait! I can’t find—”
Something whirled around her legs and up over her torso. Her fur. She was dressed. The scratches were absent from her legs. And her feet weren’t bruised or even tender! “Did you do that? Prophet, how did you do that?”
His deep voice carried back to her. “It’s of no consequence.”
Blasted man. She raced to catch up with him. The herbs. He’d said that the herbs were to heal her injuries. So why couldn’t he just say he’d done it? Glaring at his back, she mimicked him. “It’s of no consequence.”
His laughter carried back to her.
“Bloody, blasted man.”
THE BARBARIANS had left the cave. Alyssa didn’t ask where they’d gone, just as she didn’t ask about her food. For the first time since she was a toddler, she ate something she couldn’t identify. It looked like paste, had the texture of meal, and tasted bland. It filled her stomach, but it wasn’t at all appealing. She couldn’t cook worth a flip, but even she could do better than this.
Sitting cross-legged beside her, Prophet rested his hand on her thigh. “Are you curious about your food?”
Her leg jerked, and she saw a twinkle in his eye. “In some things, ignorance is bliss. I vote this is one of them.”
Letting out a throaty chuckle, he stood up. “Come.”
“Again, come? Where are we going now?” She took another bite. “I’m not ready for another adventure just yet, Prophet.”
He held out his hand to her. “We’re going to bed.”
“To bed?” She jerked back her hand. “Together?”
He looked resigned. “If I’m not with you, I can’t protect you.”
Every muscle in her body contracted at once. Protect her? In the bath, yes. But in bed? Who would protect her from him? Yet, he was a prophet. And no prophet that she’d ever heard of had romantic inclinations. Maybe she didn’t need protection from him.
But this prophet was afflicted. Misguided. And he had the hottest gaze she’d ever seen leveled on her. Sizzling, she lowered her gaze to his chest. “Um, are you suggesting that we make love?”
He shrugged his indifference. “If you like.”
If she liked? Talk about an ego death blow. So much for her self-assured sex appeal. “I most certainly do not like.”
“Fine.” He waved a calm hand at her. “Come.”
His nonchalant attitude confused her. He looked like a man who enjoyed women. Hell, what he looked was downright lusty. She’d have to be blind to have missed that. And so bloody virile. So why didn’t he like?
She wasn’t half-bad looking. She’d even been told she was beautiful once or twice. And the men saying so had been sober. Though beautiful might be stretching the truth, looking at her had never set a man to gagging.
Good grief. What was she doing? She didn’t want to sleep with Prophet—not really. Well, okay. Maybe part of her did—the crazy part. True, looking at the man’s body melted her bones. But that was his fault. If he wouldn’t strut around in that scrap of fur he excused for a loincloth . . .
He was deliberately enticing her. If she wanted him, it was his fault for parading too much tempting skin. How could he expect her to look at him and it not fuel her imagination? Of course her libido kicked in. The man had muscles up the yang-yang. And he flexed them all the time. If he didn’t want her to want him, then he shouldn’t flex and strut his stuff. She was a normal, healthy woman, not a stone.
She dug her heel into the dirt. The muscled maniac flaunted his body like a beacon, intentionally tempting her. It was definitely his fault that she wanted him. And that was the simple truth.
But if that were true, then why was he indifferent about making love to her? She grimaced. It would’ve been nice if he’d wanted her—or not wanted her. Lord, his indifference rankled . . . and he knew it. He’d set out to seduce her, knowing he’d reject her. The bloody, blasted man!
“Come, Angel.”
His voice was tender, irritating. She tilted her head and looked up at him, letting him see her turmoil in her eyes. “Why is it that when I’m with you, I wind up confused? Until you came along, I knew my own mind.” She kicked at the dirt, lifting a little puff of dust. “I think I need some space, Prophet. For perspective—you know? You go on. I’ll sleep here.”
“It’ll grow cold in the night,” he warned her, then walked away.
“Prophet?” she called out. When he paused, she added, “Where are those men—the barbarians?”
“They won’t return until morning.”
“Oh.” She watched him resume walking and called out again. “Prophet?”
“Yes, Angel.”
She swallowed her pride, determined to ask the question. But if he laughed at her, she’d hit him. Right in his king-sized biceps. “Are there bugs?”
He turned his face from her, and she suspected he hid a smile. But he wasn’t laughing. “A few,” he confessed. “Most fly, though a few do crawl.”
“I knew he was going to say that,” she muttered under her breath. “I just knew it.”
He disappeared behind his throne. No sooner had he stepped from her sight than she began to imagine creatures crawling all over her. And the temperature instantly seemed to drop twenty degrees. She fought against it as long as she could, but when goose bumps rose on her goose bumps, she slapped at the nonexistent bugs on her legs and arms, and went to him.
Behind the throne in a little alcove, he lay stretched out on the ground, his arms folded and hands tucked behind his head. A furry black animal skin covered him, feet to chest. Asleep, he looked relaxed, even more handsome and . . . warm. “Prophet?” she whispered softly.
He didn’t answer. Now what was she supposed to do? She scuffed the ground with her toe and muttered. Well, she sure wasn’t going to stand here and freeze while he slept all snug and toasty. “Prophet?”
Still no answer. She nudged him in the side with her toe. “Prophet, are you still awake?”
“Mmm?” He didn’t open his eyes.
She couldn’t look at his face. She tried, but she just couldn’t do it. “I hate bugs.”
“I know.” He lifted the edge of the fur. “Come to bed, Angel.”
THE MAN did have his good points.
Prophet radiated more heat than a two-ton furnace, and his chest made a wonderful pillow. Alyssa closed her eyes and snuggled closer to him. She took in a deep breath. He smelled good, too. Warm and woodsy and male.
She turned and snuggled her backside closer to him. He fitted himself against her and draped her waist with his arm. Even weary-to-the-bone, him being so close heated her blood, but she closed her eyes and willed herself to relax.
Soon the lulling sounds of his steady breathing and the stillness of the cavern soothed her tired mind, if not her tumbling thoughts. Was she dead now? She felt pain here, and desire; she must be alive. The dead didn’t ache—according to Prophet. And she had to admit that in the tunnel what she’d felt had been the absence of pain. Here, she ached like Hell. Near sleep, she mumbled. “Prophet, why do I know you?”
He didn’t answer. She stacked her hand on his and toyed with his fingers. He had strong hands. Wide, strong, good hands. “Prophet?”
His voice was a husky whisper. “I can’t tell you, Angel.”
“Why not?” She rubbed his calves with her bare toes.
“A guide must lead, not divulge.”
She brushed his arm with her cheek and felt the muscles there swell rock hard. Her heart pounded, and her throat went husky thick. “Did you love me?”
He buried his face in her hair. “Rest now. We leave at dawn.”
A knot of fear coiled inside her. She shivered. “When I wake up, I won’t be here, will I?”
“Shh, tomorrow is soon enough to worry about the trials ahead.” He stroked her hair. “Tonight, sleep. Restore yourself.”
The inconsolable ache she’d felt on parting from him in the dark tunnel flared in her again. And, again, she couldn’t explain or deny it. Her voice reflected her turmoil. “Prophet, kiss me goodbye.”
He shifted his weight and she rolled flat, the back of her head resting on his arm. His gaze told her more than the thousand words he could have spoken. Unbidden, her feelings poured out in words she had never said to another person. “I don’t want to be without you.”
“Angel.” He sipped at her lips as though only she could quench his thirst, telling her with his touch all she needed to hear.
This is what she had missed in life. She arched her neck, granting him access to her throat. This oneness that came with sharing her feelings with him.
He kissed a path down her neck to the soft spot behind her ear, raked her earlobe with his teeth, then returned his mouth to her lips. Her heart pounded against his chest. The feel of his hair against her bare skin had her thoughts fleeing, forbidding any awareness other than the feel of him to exist inside her.
He raised his head and looked deep into her eyes. She felt scorched, branded, soothed.
She felt loved.
“Sleep now, Angel.” His breathing ragged, he kissed her eyes closed, pulled her into the circle of his arms and whispered close to her ear. “Sleep.”
ALYSSA SLEPT in his arms.
For the first time since he’d last held her, Prophet felt content. She was his love and, before too many more nights passed, she would again be his lover. But not yet. Dear God, not . . . yet.
He studied the full curve of her lips, the gentle sweep of silvery lashes shadowing her cheeks. His angel. His body ached for her, for the sweet pleasure of filling her flesh. But even more than his body, his heart ached for proof that maybe this time their separation would be over for good.
The amulet at his neck vibrated against the hollow of his throat. He cupped the crystal in his palm and sensed its warm glow. The Elder was summoning him.
Sliding his shoulder out from under Alyssa’s head, Prophet untangled their legs then waited for her to stop her annoyed grumbling. When she settled back down, he got up.
A short distance away, he met the Elder.
“She lies with you, Prophet?”
“She’s my woman, as well as my destiny, your grace.”
Looking thoughtful, the Elder stroked his long beard. His eyes, as colorless as the crystal at his neck, reflected no light. “Does she recall Kevan?”
“No.” Disappointment shafted through him. “She doesn’t.”
“I see.” The Elder stood statue still for a long moment. “The Council has given your quest much thought. As your trial is a most difficult one, we have decided to grant you a concession.”
He didn’t like the sound of this. Not at all. “What concession?”
“You may tell your woman of your short-term trial, but not of the changes that must come from her. Those she must learn for herself.”
“I’m not sure I understand.”
“You may tell her of your next learning level mission. But you are forbidden to reveal the particular tribulations either of you will face long-term, or what she must learn to conquer that level and move on to the next.”
Prophet’s concern deepened to worry. “Why is the Council offering us this concession?”
The Elder sighed, distinctly imparting that he would rather not say, but realizing he’d only be asked repeatedly until he answered. “The Council is of the opinion your woman will again fail to become universal. But we are not without hope for her, or compassion for you.” The Elder frowned. “You have given her your love freely throughout time. The Council feels you deserve the woman you have chosen, and it wishes to give you what assistance it can to assure your mission is successful. That said, I would be remiss in my duty to you if I didn’t confess that, even with the Council’s efforts, I am personally doubtful that your woman is capable of fulfilling her destiny.”
Kevan clamped his jaw. “She won’t fail, your grace.”
The Elder’s expression grew grave. Deep creases formed in his skin and grew deeper. “I hope not, Prophet. For your sake, I sincerely hope not.”
Something wasn’t right here. The Elder wasn’t disclosing everything. Prophet sensed it, though he didn’t sense the reason behind it. Regardless, he couldn’t allow the Council to make concessions—not without opening his and Alyssa’s relationship to intense scrutiny. They would spend eternity trying to overcome the stigma. “Please, express my gratitude to the Council, your grace, but I refuse their offer. Alyssa will succeed—without concession.”
“Prophet, don’t refuse this offer out of blind loyalty.” A warning rode in the Elder’s rasp; a warning Prophet couldn’t ignore—or agree to accept. “Without help, your destiny will remain an illusion.”
Prophet stiffened his spine, clenched his jaw. “My love for her has never been an illusion. And it’s not for me to fail or succeed in this quest, and you know it. You yourself so much as said that Alyssa will determine our fates. I believe in her. She’ll succeed. She’ll become universal and capable of loving. And she’ll love me.”
The Elder’s expression went from grave to grim. “Your confidence in her awareness and abilities is false, Prophet. Your love for her blinds you to the truth. Don’t be foolish about this. The treasures of a foolish man are not everlasting.”
“Foolish? I love her!”
“Your feelings have never been in doubt. But it’s your woman we’re discussing, and she does not love you.”
The truth stung. “Isn’t that the purpose of this mission? For Alyssa to learn the virtues she didn’t learn previously, to restructure her character so that she does have the ability to love me?”
“That’s your purpose, yes. But your destiny? That, the will of the human spirit shall decree.”
Prophet repeated the words he’d heard on beginning this quest. “Have faith in your humble servant, your grace. I’ll teach Alyssa to love me. She won’t fail.”
The Elder sighed deeply. “So you insist on refusing the concession?”
“Respectfully, sir, yes.”
“Your faith in one who has let you down so often is commendable, my son. The Council will be most pleased.” The pity and worry heard before returned to the Elder’s voice. “Personally, I hope you won’t regret this misplaced devotion.”
Prophet smiled. “Every man must seek his destiny. Loving her is mine. Knowing that, how could my devotion to her be misplaced? How could I regret the choice of my heart?”
“I’ll inform the Council of your decision. Though I feel your loyalty to the woman is foolish, I wish you well.”
The Prophet inclined his head. The Elder’s silvery image faded.
“ANGEL. ANGEL, wake up. It’s time to go.”
Alyssa opened her eyes. The sleep-soft confusion and unfocused discontent in them stole Prophet’s breath.
“Not yet,” she mumbled, snuggling deep into the warmth of the fur.
He touched her shoulder, bare beneath her fur wrapper. Her skin was warm, enticing. He forced his voice firm. “Alyssa, we have to go now.”
She came fully awake and sat up. “Where are we going?”
“It is time to advance to your first learning level.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck and clung to him. “I’m afraid, Prophet. I don’t want to leave you.”
He held her, smoothed her long, tangled strands of hair. Fear. She had learned blessed fear. His eyes burning, he swallowed a knot of emotion lodged in his throat. “The unknown is often frightening.” How could he tell her that her learning would be worse than frightening? She had so much to endure and overcome. He couldn’t comfort her. Her fear was necessary to her survival. To in any way ease her mind would put her in further jeopardy.
