Part 22 (1/2)
”Turn the pointy end of this aerial vehicle to northwest. Three-three-zero should be about right.”
As they arrived at a nice, safe, mountain-clearing alt.i.tude, she engaged the autopilot and turned to Warlord.
He looked like h.e.l.l. A long cut on his chest oozed blood onto his crumpled two-hundred-dollar s.h.i.+rt, and his eyes were closed hard, the skin over them crusting over, as if he were trying to keep evil visions at bay. One fist rested over his heart, the other over his gut, and his legs were braced as if he were fighting a grim battle.
She was sorry, but she didnat have time for sympathy. ”Whatas the plan here? Youare in bad shape, and to tell you the truth, Iam not feeling so good myself.”
He stared at her through one dull green eye. ”Itas the poison. Even a trace is toxic to someone like you.”
”Iam not dead, just feeling ill.”
”You also swallowed a few molecules of my blood, and that will fight the venom.”
”Why? Whatas so special about your blood?” Other than the fact that it makes me see things youave seen, hear things youave heard, fall into your memories, your mind.
He grimaced and didnat answer.
”Itas because youare one of them.” And that made her furious all over again. ”Youare a . . . a Varinski.”
His unwounded eye sprang open, and he glared fiercely. ”No, Iam a Wilder. My name is Adrik Wilder. Remember that.”
”Why should I?”
”Because if I die of this, I want one person to remember my name.”
”Youare not going to die.” Not after all this, he wasnat. She wouldnat allow it.
”No?” He groaned and moved his long legs as if the joints ached. ”Go back in the cabin. Get in the right overhead. Get out my clothes.”
She did as he commanded, and when she came back in he was naked, huddled on the seat, his formal wear crumpled on the floor beside him.
She sized him up with a single glance. His body looked longer, thinner than it had been in the Himalayas, and yet the muscles were sculpted. He had scars on his shoulders, pale and crisscrossed, and across his chest and down his arm, a vibrant tattoo, two thunderbolts of glorious red and gold.
Despite her fervent hopes while they were apart, his genitals were still intact.
”When did you have time to get a tattoo?” She touched the thunderbolt lightly.
”Itas not a tattoo. Itas the mark that came to each Wilder boy at p.u.b.erty, the one that proves heas part of the pact with the devil.” He winked. ”Itas a swell gift to get along with a cracking voice, body hair, and inconveniently timed erections.”
”But you didnat have it before.”
”I did, but as I grew more evil, the stain shriveled and became black.”
”Like your eyes.”
”Yes. Like my eyes. And as with my eyes, as Iave stepped back into the light, the color has returned.” He s.h.i.+vered, and goose b.u.mps spread over his skin.
She started to shove his arms into the black T-s.h.i.+rt, but when he leaned forward she caught a glimpse of his back. The crisscrossed scars covered him from his b.u.t.tocks all the way up his spine and from shoulder to shoulder. Some were deep, cutting ridges through his skin. In outrage she asked, ”What happened to you?”
”It doesnat matter.” He took the T-s.h.i.+rt and pulled it on.
”Doesnat matter!” She pushed him into the black flannel s.h.i.+rt and wrapped him in the thigh-length camouflage coat. ”How could that not matter? Someone beat you!”
”Doesnat matter,” he repeated.
Kneeling at his feet, she fed his legs into long underwear and a pair of camouflage combat pants. ”It was that Varinski, wasnat it? The guy who defeated you in battle.”
”How do you know that?” he snapped.
So she was right. She had seen into his mind. Into his memories.
Every time she tasted his blood, their mindsa connection grew stronger. . . .
But he didnat realize it, and she didnat want to explain what she couldnat comprehend herself. ”Doesnat matter,” she imitated him.
”You are an aggravating woman.” He pulled up the pants, dug in the pocket, and found a piece of paper. He shoved it at her. ”In an hour, call that number. Youall get Jasha. Give him these coordinates and tell him Adrik needs him.”
”Whoas Jasha?”
”My brother.”
”Why donat you call him?”
”Thereas a pretty good chance he hates me.”
”You have that effect on people.”
He caught her by the back of the neck, held her as he leaned down, and kissed her hard. ”But not on you.”
”I do hate you,” she said automatically.
At least, she had hated him for two years, and for good reason. But no matter how hard shead tried, she hadnat forgotten him.
Now, as she stared at his face, so close to hers, as fever flashed through him, as his pupils narrowed and he shuddered in agony, she knew what head risked to rescue her.
Maybe she still hated him. She didnat know. But death pumped through his veinsa”through her veins, alsoa”and she would not let it take them.
They had unfinished business.
Warlord sat back, his face twisted. ”Whether he hates me or not, thereas a pretty good chance Jasha will come. If he believes you.”
”I canat wait to make that phone call.”
”I prefiled the flight plan with the FAA. Weare about to change it.”
She remembered the guy on the runway. ”Good idea.”