Seduced by Crimson (15 page)

They were all silent. Now that his eyes had adjusted, he saw their faces—all Asian—but of different ages and sexes. Nine in all.

"Who is he?" hissed a woman with dark shadows beneath her smeared eye makeup.

"A friend," Xiao Fei answered in a respectful tone.

"And the child?" asked another woman.

"An orphan." Xiao Fei pushed her way inside, forcing her presence on people who watched her with narrowed, suspicious eyes. She was stopped by the woman with smeared makeup, who grabbed her arm.

"We don't have room," the woman hissed.

Without a word, Xiao Fei handed over her Glock. There was a moment's consideration and then the woman nodded in grudging acceptance. Patrick pushed forward. "What are you doing?" he whispered into her ear.

"Payment for the three of us. Nobody gets safety space for free." Xiao Fei took a deep breath, then waved toward the back. "Put the plants and the light there."

"Plants?" snapped a young man. "What the hell do we need—"

"Shh!" came the immediate response from the others.

The teen subsided into an angry whisper. "Why do we need some stupid plant?"

"Because
she
needs it." The statement came from an old man with a quavering voice, but his words were cold and clearly final.

Patrick worked his way to Xiao Fei's side. "So they know who you are?"

She twisted, and he felt more than saw her face him. "They do not know for sure. But they guess."

"I was right. You are the one."

She sighed. "I am only one."

"
The
one," he pressed.

"The only one alive." She gripped his arms, the fierceness in her body easily transmitted to him. "I am not enough."

"You don't know that," he said.

She didn't answer. She busied herself with gently setting the child down on a makeshift bed. The boy fussed as she did, but she shushed him and soon he settled into a fitful sleep.

Patrick surreptitiously slipped the amulet out of his satchel and dropped it around his neck. It burned, the cold stone and intricate metalwork quickly heating as it settled against his skin. He knew from experience that he wouldn't actually sear. He'd become used to the feel, though the heat seemed stronger than usual. He endured the pain because it seemed clear he would have to be touching the thing the next time he made any attempt to close the gate.

He glanced around, acutely aware of the hostile stares of the others in the cramped room. Fortunately, he and Xiao Fei were behind a shelving unit and thus hidden from just about everyone's line of sight. Or so he hoped.

Xiao Fei straightened right into his arms; he'd designed it that way. She gasped and tried to pull away, but he didn't let her. This was too important.

"You are the one," he repeated.

"Stop it—"

"And so am I," he stressed.

"Patr—"

He kissed her. He didn't want to hear her denials or excuses or anything else. In truth, he didn't want to hear at all because then he would remember they were in a cramped cellar with nine other people—and that somehow, some way, right now he had to make love to her.

From Patrick Lewis's journal.

June 1, 1988

I think I can do it
—
become a pro surfer. I'll get a cool line of clothes, too. Lisa's got loads of ideas on that stuff. She says it'll make lots of money. She's already sketched some. As soon as Dad signs the Hang Ten sponsorship papers, I'm going to show it to the rep. But I've got to win the classic first
.

So it all works out. Lisa's working on her fashion design. I get the time to practice. At least we're teaching surf school together. I still get to see her in a bikini, and there's no interruption in the waves.

I even like teaching the sand rats now. They're always oohing and ahhing. One kid asked for my autograph! That started this whole thing, but I have to admit: it's cool being a celebrity.

Guess now I know why Jason likes it so much. Except, he's getting money for what he does. It's weird that he's rich now. I can't believe how much money people are giving him. Obscene amounts. My prize money goes right back into my stuff. Even with the sponsorship, I still have to work as an instructor. Especially since Dad won't pay for any of it anymore.

But Jason's got a car and girls, too. Lisa says it's weird how all the cool girls just fall all over themselves for him. Even girls who are smarter than that, girls who don't give a shit for anybody are suddenly all ga-ga over Jason.

Still, I'm happy for him. And it's cool that I don't have to be all worried about our money differences anymore. Hell, I've had to bum a loan from him a couple times
—
even with interest
.

Actually… I'm worried about him. It's summer now, and he's really pushing his powers. He's tired all the time. He says that bugged-out eyes and saggy skin really draw chicks. It's that dark-lord image. They all want to mother him. Lisa says that's bullshit, but whatever. He's got the girls.

It's just about time to meet him at the movie. Lisa's cough is keeping her home again. Seems like she always gets worse on weekends, which leaves me at loose ends. Again. Jason always brings a girl for me, but it's not the same. He just wants to show off his powers anyway. But it's freaky what the girls do for him. He's always happy to share, but it's too weird, and I'm with Lisa now even though she's home sick. Which is always.

Maybe I should read some of those druid books. Maybe I could figure out how to
heal with a touch!
like Jason does. That'd be cool
.

Xiao Fei understood what he was doing. In a war zone with dead bodies and lots of adrenaline—what else would a man do but go for sex? It was a primal need, the reestablishment of the species. And besides, he likely hadn't given up on his strange druidic sex rite being the key to closing the gates. So when Patrick abruptly backed her against a pile of twenty-five-pound rice sacks, she wasn't in the least bit surprised.

Until she returned his kiss.

Put simply, she was not the horny type. Her life had been about survival, about education and trying to get ahead, about living as something other than a refugee. Therefore her first reaction to anything was to be inconspicuous. Her second was to think, then plan. Making connections that led to sex was somewhere around ten thousandth on the list. She'd only gone out with him because the world was going to end. She hadn't wanted to spend her last night alone eating Chee-tos.

And yet, here she was kissing him back. In full view of her boss and her boss's relatives, the people who had generously allowed her to hide out here in return for her favorite weapon. It made no sense. But he felt so damn good.

She clung to him. Like a monkey on a branch, she wrapped herself around him. She breathed in his masculine scent, gripped his taut muscles, and fused her mouth to his. His body was so large. She loved the way his biceps bunched against her arms. His mouth tasted so hot, and wow, did she want him. She wanted him with her, around her, inside her—his tongue, his sex, his entire soul.

He was saying something. He spoke low and sexy in her ear, and tongued her jaw. She didn't understand the words, and didn't care. The low vibration set her belly to quivering. Besides, he gave her other sensations to focus on. His hands were on her breasts—so large, so gentle.

"Harder," she said in a half moan.

He complied. He spread his fingers until he covered the whole of each breast. Then he lifted and squeezed. She arched into his hands. She pressed her groin up against him and gloried in his strangled gasp. Then he narrowed his fingers and pinched her nipples. But he didn't pinch both at the same time. First one, then the other. Wow. Who knew rhythm could short-circuit a woman's brain?

He found her mouth again. His lips moved over hers, and she opened to him—her mouth and her thighs. He was pressing her backward onto the rice sacks, so it was easy to do. It was easier still to grip his hips with her legs and draw him down onto her.

He was tall and heavy. She ought to have felt suffocated by his size, but she didn't. She felt safe and hot and hungry.

He was muttering again. She could feel his lips moving, and the sensation was as frustrating as it was erotic. She wanted more of him. He was fumbling with the buttons of her blouse, but she wanted more kisses. Her hands were on his back, slipping under the soft fabric of his tee. His skin was hot and silky smooth, but she abandoned that. Instead, she slid her hands toward his head, quickly grazing the contours of his back, the chain at his neck, and finally burrowing her hands into his hair. She turned his face to hers and thrust her tongue into his mouth.

He growled low in his throat. It was the sound of masculine possession, dark and primitive. She answered with a sound of her own, a high warble that was as much purr as demand. And then she thrust her tongue out again as he pushed rough and hard against her. God, she was on fire.

He drew back so they could breathe. He pulled back so that he could look in her eyes and she into his while he thrust, thrust, thrust against her. He wasn't inside her, though; they were fully clothed. He'd at least gotten her blouse unbuttoned. Her bra was still a tight, restrictive band about her body, but she felt him nonetheless, and the steady grinding was making her body arch and her eyes drift shut.

"Look at me!" he ordered.

She did. Her eyes popped open, and she stared into his mesmerizing green irises. How she could see in the darkness, she didn't know, but she did. She felt his body, and she knew—she
knew
—that he was more than just a man. There were whole forests in his eyes, dark jungles, and black fertile Earth. She felt the roar of the animals rumbling through his chest, and the surging, pulsing ocean in his steady strength between her thighs.

She saw blue sky as well: open sunlit expanses and wide star-studded nights. That was the place where she soared. Her spirit plunged deep within him. She spread wings that had never stretched so wide, and she began to fly upon currents that he encompassed or created or simply represented. She didn't know. She didn't care. She was flying, and her heart had never felt so free.