Parallel Desire (14 page)

He started to pick her up and carry her, but she released another small moan and kept murmuring a word he couldn't make out. Leaning over her, he bent his head low, just stroking her hair in a soothing gesture. "What is it, Shell? I'm right here. Tell me."

"Time." She groaned, pulling her knees up tight against her body, cradling herself like a baby. "Oh,
time
."

Jake jolted, sitting upright, his hand frozen against the top of her head. She'd been time walking—that had to be it. A flash of guilt hit him.
This
was what he'd tried to bribe her into doing for him? When the cost was clearly such spearing pain? What a bastard he was. If he'd known, he never would have asked, not when this was the price she had to pay. Maybe she'd even been trying to time walk for
him
,
he thought darkly, but that was when he noticed the bonding stone clasped loosely within her right hand. It dangled, the chain dripping from her flaccid fingers like a dead weight.

Very delicately he worked the necklace out of her grip, lifting it to eye level. The primexia gleamed beautifully beneath the dim lights of her room, definitely not a cheap bonding stone by any stretch of the imagination.
Nate
,
he wanted to curse, that stupid bastard of an Antousian spy who'd taken her heart and broken it. An unexpected rush of protectiveness shot out of his core—something so male and ancient, it had to be truly murderous in its intent. With a final glance at the dangling bonding stone, he slipped it back into the suede box; at least she wouldn't have to see it again that way.

She stirred slightly, her head shifting in his lap as she rolled onto her side, and that's when he saw the other piece of evidence, the telltale sign that she'd been walking back into her broken past. Gleaming within her other palm was a small holographic disk. He frowned, stroking her hair slowly, wondering what harsh memories might be frozen within the disk. A check of the chip's monitor revealed that it hadn't been engaged in more than two years. So that wasn't what had sent her into the seizures—those had definitely been the result of her time walking.

Stroking her damp hair, he studied the chip within his hand. It had to be his fault that she was in such raw pain, all because he was a
vlksai
,
just like Nate. There could be no other explanation for her digging into the past like this, not with what had just transpired between them up in the meeting room. Clearly just being with him unlocked too many painful memories.

Rotating the silvered chip, he deliberated.

She was out cold; he could look—couldn't he? Just take a small, guilty glance into her past. Cursing himself as no better than Nate, knowing that some part of his soul was cold and wrong, he flipped the small disk into the air and engaged its images.

The 3-D replay opened wide within her room, right in the center. Whoever had recorded the fucking thing had done a great job of capturing Shelby's joy that day. She kept fingering the stone about her neck, her face flushed with emotion. Friends gathered around her, kissing her, and then someone dumped the last of a champagne bottle over her long, flowing hair. Gods, the thick golden waves had been down practically to her waist, and she'd been wearing them loose that day.

Weird for a soldier, he thought, placing a protective hand against her forehead. She didn't stir at all, and he felt totally guilty. In fact, he almost snapped the holographic disk shut, but something compelled him onward.

Something?
Someone.
It had to be Nate. The Antousian, the man she loved, was definitely somewhere on this strip of memories. He growled at the thought, the hoarse, possessive sound escaping from deep within his chest before he could stop it.

The scene continued; then, a tall, dark-haired man, his hair soaked from champagne, stepped into the action. With a dramatic sweep of his arm, he dipped Shelby into a swooning dive of a kiss, dropping her halfway to the floor. Her hands slid about his neck, holding him close, and Jake nearly exploded right out of his skin with jealousy.

And hatred. And bitterness. How could that fucking
vlksai
have treated her so callously? He'd been using her, and that should have been enough right there. Why the pathetic ruse, the heartbreaking effort to pretend he loved her?

Abruptly the images ended, retracting back inside the disk until the only sound within the room was Shelby's uneven, startled breathing. Jake glanced down at her and realized that he had her in a thoroughly protective posture, one arm thrust across her torso, the other cradling her head. With a gentle gesture, he rubbed his thumb back and forth across her cheek.

"It's going to be okay, Shell." She suddenly seemed as fragile as a baby bird, its frail heart thrumming nervously. He stroked his fingertips down to her chest and began massaging his thumb over her pounding heart, willing it to slow its tempo.

"I won't let you get hurt again," he promised softly. He'd seen enough of good women dying in this war. The love of his life had died right on his watch, and although Shelby's life wasn't in danger, her heart most definitely was. Hell, he had the power to back off right now and prevent the possibility of causing her any more pain.

Right then and there, a vow bubbled up from deep inside of himself, uttered before he could hold it back. "I will protect you, sweetheart. I promise."

And at that same moment he knew one thing for certain; he could
never
stay away from her. So he would protect her—if need be, from himself.

I
t was nightfall. Shelby stirred
on the floor, disoriented at first, surprised by the darkness of her room.

Oh, crap. She'd skipped time again.

She drew her knees tight against her chest, pressing her forehead against them with a banging thud.
Way to go, girl. Like you really needed that lovely stroll down memory flippin' lane
.

It had been months since she'd "gone under." Then again, she hadn't exactly time walked in months, either. And Jake wondered why the commander didn't expect her to operate in her gift? Well, this latest seizure would be the answer to that one with a big fat
bingo.
The blackout stunts kept her on a medical exemption.

She stretched her arms overhead, groaning at how sore her muscles felt. Yep, she'd obviously done a great job of seizing all over the place.

"I was afraid to move you," came Jake's voice from out of the darkness. "I'm sorry you had to rest on the floor."

The deep, raspy sound of it, totally unexpected, startled her. She blinked her eyes and saw him propped up on her bed, arms behind his head. He wore a haggard expression, and a late-day growth of beard covered his jaw as if he'd been watching over her for many hours.

She rubbed her eyes. "When did I black out?"

"A couple of hours ago. I stuck around to make sure that you were all right."

"You saw … it? What happens to me?"

"Yeah."

She groaned, feeling her face burn shamefully at the thought of Jake watching as her arms and limbs jerked … her whole body rebelling in spasms. "Sorry."

"Nothing to apologize for. I have some experience with seizures, you know. Hope was … is … well,
was
a diabetic." He had to keep reminding himself that in this timeline, her diabetes had been totally cured by genetic therapy.

He didn't say anything else, and she was thankful. She cringed at the thought of what he'd witnessed. There was a rustling on the bed as he shifted, then the full, quiet sound of him sighing. She worked her way into a kneeling position, feeling in the semi-darkness for her bonding stone and the disk, but there was only smooth wood beneath her fingertips.

"I put it all away on your desk."

"That isn't none of your business, that stuff," she snapped, wondering what in the world had possessed him to pull a little cleanup job while she was out cold.

He swung his legs off the side of the bed. "It looked to me like you were … upset. So I figured I'd put it away before you woke up. So you wouldn't, you know, have to deal."

"Why, Jakob Tierny! You're the protective sort. Who'd have guessed it?" Her anger totally dissolved at the image of Jake bustling around her room, trying to take care of her. Something warm burned inside her chest, too, at the very thought of his kindness.

"A regular godsdamned knight in shining armor, that's me." He laughed, the sound causing a warm flood of desire to shoot through her whole body. "You got my number, baby."

Baby.
It was the way he said it, how his voice got huskier, throatier.
Hotter.

Abruptly, he stood. "You're okay now, right?"

She bobbed her head, struggling to tamp down the instantaneous lust that he'd just unlocked within her. "Fine and dandy."

He strode slowly across the room, his gait slightly uneven, as if maybe his leg was bothering him. As he moved past her, he brushed his hand gently atop her head, letting his fingers trail tenderly over her hair.

"Are you limping?" she asked, watching him move haltingly toward the door.

He stopped, turned back to her. "Old war injury, that's all."

"What happened to you?"

He thrust a hand through his hair, his whole body trembling visibly at her question. "Bad shit, Shell. Let's not talk about it."

She struggled onto her own feet. "If your knee is bothering you, let's go over to the med center. I can wrap it, ice it—"

"It's
fine
."

Okay, so she'd stepped into something here, obviously, but then he chuckled quietly, his demeanor softening.

"My legs were shot out from under me during a big battle down in Denver a couple of years ago."

This time it was Shelby who trembled. "That's … that's what happened to Scott back in December. That's how I met him. Only he was wounded at Warren."

"Yeah, I know." He laughed again, a darker sound. "That's why I figured it was better to keep quiet about it with you. It's spooky even to me, the way my path and Dillon's have crossed … and separated. Too bad I was wounded in this body, Jake's body, so I'm stuck with the ongoing pain."

"Was … anyone there, to help get you to safety?" Shelby asked him softly, and he followed her line of thought. She could see the flash of pain in his green eyes.

"Hope was already long dead by then." He hesitated, clearing his throat before he continued. "I was left by my enemies, bleeding out on the back alley where we'd had the street fight. I come from another world entirely, Shell. Everything there is in ruin, and society has slipped into chaos. It all went straight to hell after our own version of events at Warren."

As if reading his thoughts, Shelby whispered, "What happened at Warren in your time?"

He sighed, closing the distance between them, and squatted down right beside her. Without speaking, he reached for a lock of her hair, rubbing it between his fingertips thoughtfully.

"It played out very differently, that's what. Our whole war changed because of what the Antousians did with those missiles. In this time … everything's new. Strange to me."

She turned her cheek against his hand, resting it in his warm, rough palm. "So maybe things are gonna go differently for you, too, then," she suggested gently. "Maybe?"

Maybe you can have a future, a good one, where your wife doesn't die and your baby daughter isn't lost to you.

"I'd like to think that."

"I—I wish you weren't going to be part of that warehouse operation," she admitted in a rush. "It scares me."

"Did you time walk that, too?" he asked, dropping his hand. She heard panic edge his words.

"No, not even close," she reassured him. "It's just a really big risk, going into that nest of vipers."

"You know I have to take Tierny down, Shelby. And you know why."

She reached for his big hand, drawing it close against her knee. "But if this time is different, and everything is happening differently, why do you have to go after him? Let us send a team in; don't walk in there with a flipping bull's-eye on your back."

He took a long time to speak, then finally said, "You care about me. That's what this is about." He sounded … pleased. A little excited. Optimistic. As if, despite her ditch-and-run job up in the conference room earlier, they might still have a chance.

Which was totally the truth.

"Of course I worry about you."

"
Care
for me. You care for me—don't you? Even knowing what I am, my twisted genetic map … you still have feelings for me."

She swallowed hard, gripping his hand tighter, refusing to meet his gaze. "Yes."

Before she knew what was happening, his mouth was against hers and he was drawing her close up against his hard chest. Gods, his hands were traveling all over her body—down her back, around her waist. She looped her arms about his neck, plunging her tongue deep within the warm cavern of his mouth. He tilted her head back, one palm coming to rest against her cheek.

Her breathing became ragged, and she ached for all of him—to be swept within his arms to the bed across the room, and taken soundly beneath him. Breaking the kiss, he pressed his face against hers, dragging in long, slow scents. She dared to do the same, her body quaking with tremors in reaction. He smelled like fresh snow, mountain rain, the scent of him so gorgeous she could have drunk from it for hours.

He pressed his forehead against hers, gripping both of her arms tightly in his. "I better go."

"Why?"

"Because you need your rest." With a slight whoop, he bounded to his feet, his leg suddenly much better. Planting hands on both hips, he began to laugh, a strangely innocent, almost boyish kind of giggle.

"What's so funny?" She quirked an eyebrow, not sure how kissing her had elicited this particular reaction. "It ain't exactly complimentary to laugh at my kissing technique, you know."

He glanced down with a lopsided grin on his face. "I'm laughing because, sweet Shelby Tyler, you just gave me the best damned news I've had in months."

She gave her head a little shake in confusion. "News?"

"That you care about me."

Before she could react or respond, he swooped down, planting another wet kiss right on her lips, and murmured, "So I'll see you tomorrow."

"See you tomorrow," she repeated, too stunned to even argue.

As the door closed behind him, she pressed the back of her hand to her lips, still feeling the taste of him on her mouth. He'd just declared his intention to pursue her, hadn't he? Wasn't that what he meant?

Lord, how had she ever imagined stopping a warrior like Jake, when he'd chosen pursuit? Not a chance in hell, not for her: She'd been a goner to the man ever since that beer brawl down in Texas. No, nix that. She'd been a goner since Scott Dillon had come into her medical area five months earlier.

See you tomorrow.…

Which would leave exactly six days until he put himself right in the line of fire with their enemies, the same enemies who had destroyed so many of her friends five years earlier.