The Unforgiven (6 page)

The stormy vision faded slowly. Even when the terror drenched floodwaters receded, unreality lingered. It was almost as if the hut was the dream and the lost nightmare reality.

Her heart pounded, hard and dull, inside her ribs. For a moment she thought she’d faint even before she came fully awake. She drew a slow breath, held it, exhaled. Again.

Five minutes passed, perhaps ten. She thought she felt almost normal. Cautiously, she took out the memory of the nightmare and turned it over in her mind. Thank God, it no longer felt real. Just a dream. It had been just a dream.

She rolled over onto her side. Her limbs ached, as if she’d really battled a burning sea and impending childbirth. Luckily, her thrashings hadn’t disturbed her roommate. The silence was almost blatantly surreal. As if her head were wrapped in a lead blanket.

Then a soft noise intruded. A hiss. Propping herself on one elbow, she searched for the source of the sound. Slatted moonlight, shining through the hut’s shutters, illuminated the dwelling’s sparse furnishings. Table, chairs, desk.

Something moved on the floor near her backpack.

A flash of light accompanied the motion. Maddie went rigid. The next instant, to her great relief, the brief radiance vanished. But the movement continued. Sinuous. Stealthy. A thin, undulating shadow slithering across the floor.

A snake.

Sleep was impossible now. She couldn’t close her eyes while a reptile slithered beneath her bed. She sat up fully, considering
whether to wake Hadara. She decided against it. Hadara wasn’t on the best terms with slithering creatures.

Maddie kept her gaze on the snake’s last position as she slipped from under the covers. The plank floor was cool on her soles. It took only a moment to pad to the corner where a broom stood. A few tense minutes later, the snake ventured from its hiding place under a rack of books.

It took only seconds, moving quickly, to herd the unwanted visitor out the door. The
open
door, she noted with a frown. She darted a quick look around, but nothing seemed disturbed. Hadara must not have set the latch when they came in last night. Probably, she’d been too preoccupied with Maddie’s near fainting spell.

Reptile banished, adrenaline flowing, Maddie shot a glance at the bed. She doubted she’d sleep at all now. But she could hardly light a lantern. Nor could she sit in the dark, trying to keep her thoughts from turning even darker.

She dressed quickly, throwing on tomorrow’s khaki shorts and a loose tee she’d draped on a chair. A brisk walk would do her good.

The cool night air was sharp with the sort of clarity known only to the desert. The black sky arched overhead; glittering stars dripped like crystal from a celestial chandelier. At the upper edge of the
makhtesh
’s surrounding cliffs, starlight vanished behind sheer rock. The canyon floor, where Maddie stood, was dark as a tomb.

Surrounded by such a stark, primitive landscape, she couldn’t help but feel insignificant. It should have been frightening. Oddly, it wasn’t. There was a perverse comfort to realizing how very unimportant her life was in the grand scheme of things. After she was dead and gone, the world would continue along its path without her. She was glad of that at least.

Leaving the cluster of huts, she picked her way along the
shadowed path that skirted the western edge of the dig site. Belatedly, she realized she hadn’t thought to pick up her glasses. Though really, she could see clearly enough. Objects that should have been hazy were actually quite distinct.

The uneven trail meandered over a rocky rise a short distance from the excavations. She moved slowly, picking her way over rocks and crevices. Her thoughts turned grim. After months of reprieve, she’d experienced three visual disturbances, all within a few hours. Not good. She had to face it: the cancer was back.

Bitterness collected on her tongue. This time, there would be no surgery. No chemo. No reprieve. How long did she have? She knew there was no answer. She wouldn’t look for one, then. The end would come when it came.

There was something surreal about facing your mortality. She’d had months of practice. Now, when she needed it most, the skill deserted her. She left the trail and struck out across the rocky desert.

Ironic, really, that she couldn’t accept death, the experience that was the only constant of human existence. If only she could just . . . keep walking. Into darkness, into the black center of the
makhtesh
. If only she could stretch her arms upward and be absorbed into the night sky’s perfect sparkle. Her soul would fly free without first having to endure the painful destruction of its body.

“A little late for a stroll, I’d say.”

The rich male voice, reaching out from the darkness to shatter her bleak thoughts, arrested her forward motion. She spun about, searching for the speaker.

His low chuckle sent a tingle racing up her spine, to sparkle like champagne at her nape. His words had been light and lilting, spoken in an accent that placed the hint of a question after each word.

“Or, perhaps,” he added, “it’s a bit early, eh,
caraid
?”

She saw him then, standing about ten feet to her right. He leaned back against a boulder, long legs extended in her direction, elbows propped behind him on the stone’s flat surface as if the rock were a table. She recognized him. She’d known it was him even before her eyes had found him. The new camp laborer. The one who’d caught her shamelessly ogling his half-naked body.

He looked just as good close up, limned with starlight. Dark hair hung loose to his shoulders, thick and black and slightly curling. His torso was broad and still bare. Soft faded jean shorts, unbelted, rode low on his hips. His right arm, tattooed with Celtic markings, looked much darker than his left. The other tattoo, a jeweled dagger, decorated his right breast.

“
Caraid?
” she said. “What’s that?”

A flash of white teeth. “Little love. Darling, dearest, sweetheart . . .”

She took a step nearer, bemused. “I’m not your sweetheart.”

“It’d be bloody tidy if you were.”

She couldn’t quite identify his accent. “Are you English?”

“Hardly.” He straightened, arms dropping to his sides. “You know how to wound a man, don’t you now?”

They stood only a few feet apart. Maddie was aware, suddenly, viscerally, of how very large he was. She was a tall woman, just a couple inches under six feet. He had to be six four, at least. She had to tilt her head back to look into his eyes.

“Are you Scottish?”

“No.” He stretched the syllable like taffy, giving it far more vowels than it possessed.

She tilted her head. “Australian?”

“I’m a Welshman.”

She’d never met anyone from Wales. “You’re a long way from home, Mr. Welshman.”

He grinned. “Not as far as you are,
caraid
.”

A small stretch of silence ensued, during which neither Maddie nor her companion moved. The perfect cue for discreet withdrawal.

Except that Maddie didn’t want to withdraw. She couldn’t bear to face that darkened hut.

“Why aren’t you in bed?” she asked.

His brows rose, and his eyes roamed down her body. She flushed but didn’t look away.

“I prefer the night.” He opened his arms in an expansive gesture. “The quiet. The solitude. The freedom.”

“Is that why you came to the Negev?”

“No,” he said but didn’t elaborate further. Instead, he held out one hand. “Come closer,
caraid
.”

She wasn’t sure why she obeyed. Why she wanted to get closer. The man disturbed her. Her reaction to him disturbed her even more. Her skin buzzed with sexual awareness. His extended hand caused a pulling sensation in her belly, as if he held the end of a silken thread and was slowly winding it around his fingers. He hadn’t touched her. And yet she felt him. Intimately.

She took another step forward. Then another. He remained motionless. She halted within reach of his hand but didn’t take it. After a moment, he let his arm drop to his side.

His scent teased her. Plain soap, mingled with dusty earth and clean masculine sweat. Insanely, she wanted to touch him. Taste him. Wanted him to touch and taste her.

This is crazy.

It was only with difficulty that she restrained herself from reaching for him. “I don’t know your name,” she said. “I’m Maddie. Maddie Durant.”

“Cade Leucetius.”

“Leucetius? That’s an odd last name. Is it Welsh?”

“It’s Celtic. Well, Latinized. Leucetius, god of lightning.”
He seemed to hesitate. “It’s not the name I was born with. I chose it when I . . . when I came of age.”

She didn’t know quite what to say to that. She settled for, “So what’s a Welshman doing in the Negev?”

“Today? Moving stones.”

“You interested in archeology?”

“Not particularly. Personally, I’d prefer the past to remain buried.”

Like Jonas Walker? “That’s not always possible.”

“No,” he agreed. “It’s not.”

He leaned back against the rock, resuming his earlier relaxed posture. A gesture of dismissal? Feeling awkward, Maddie started to turn away.

“Stay,” he said. “Please.”

That had to be a bad idea. This god of a man could hardly be interested in a scarecrow like her. But she really didn’t want to face that dark hut.

“All right.”

After a moment’s hesitation she boosted herself up onto his flat-topped boulder. Just so he wouldn’t think she was coming on to him, she made sure there was at least an arm’s length between them. Turning her head, she saw his white teeth flash. Feeling awkward, she offered a tentative smile in return.

His eyes were light, she thought. Blue, maybe? It was too dark to tell for sure. Starlight dusted his profile. His cheekbones slanted sharply. His bold nose and strong jaw matched in angularity. It was a supremely masculine face, unexpectedly softened by lush eyelashes and the supple fullness of his lips. A dark, restless energy clung to him. Something . . . angry. She sensed it keenly, on a raw, personal level. The emotion was so strong, it was a wonder she didn’t jump off the rock and run. Instead, insanely, she imagined herself soothing his rage. Inviting him into the refuge of her body.

She was insane. That was all there was to it. Imagining things that weren’t there. The man wasn’t angry. His expression—what she could see of it—was amused. His tone had been light and teasing. And he was, simply put, gorgeous.

Belatedly, she realized she was staring, like a teenager gawking at a rock star. What was she doing, letting her mind spin fantasies about this man? One look at Cade Leucetius was more than enough to tell her that even if she were beautiful and shapely, he was far too much man for a dying woman to handle.

She drew up her legs and wrapped her arms around them. She rested her chin on her knees and trained her eyes on the open desert. She sensed him out of the corner of her eye watching her.

“The DAMNers are right,” he said at last. “The past that Ben-Meir works to unearth would be better off undisturbed. If the man truly understood what he’s looking for, he’d pack up and leave tonight.”

She turned her head and frowned. “That’s absurd.”

“Is it,
caraid
?”

“Yes.”

“The Watchers were angels,” he said. “Angels who stole the power of Heaven and used it in pursuit of their own selfish pleasures on earth. It’s not inconceivable that remnants of their cursed magic remains under dirt they once trod.”

She scoffed. “I can’t believe you really believe in angels. The Watchers, if they did exist, were human men. Powerful men, most likely, but men just the same.”

“You came halfway around the world looking for mere men? Dead men, at that?” His eyes mocked her. “Somehow,
cariad
, that doesn’t seem worth your trouble.”

A chill chased down her spine. No, she hadn’t come to the Negev looking for long-dead men. But explaining exactly why
she’d come here was difficult. Perhaps the best way to describe it was that she’d been . . . pulled.

She dropped her legs over the edge of the stone and slid to her feet. “It’s none of your business why I came here.”

He continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “Have you ever wondered why, if Heaven is so wonderful, the Watchers left it in the first place? Why would they want to live on earth? Why would they trade eternal angelic bodies for mortal flesh and blood?”

“It’s just a story,” Maddie said.

“A very ancient one. According to the scribe Enoch, two hundred angels abandoned Heaven to take human bodies and live on earth. They were forbidden only one earthly delight: sex with the daughters of men.” He laughed softly. “Doomed from the start, wouldn’t you say?”

“Forbidden fruit is a common theme in ancient mythology. Adam and Eve faced a similar test.”

“So we agree,” Cade said. “The whole endeavor was a prescription for failure. Samyaza, the first among twenty-one leaders of the two hundred Watchers, was the first to fall. I don’t imagine it took much to convince his one hundred ninety-nine brothers to join in the fun.” He grinned. “Not with so many nubile young Canaanite women about.”

“Probably not,” Maddie admitted, amused.

“And yet, Samyaza’s sins pale beside that of his brother and rival, Azazel. He was the last—and some would say the most powerful—of the Watchers’ twenty-one leaders.”

“You know, for someone who believes the past should remain buried, you’re surprisingly well-versed in ancient legend,” Maddie commented. Her eyes narrowed as a sudden thought occurred. “You’re not one of those DAMNers, are you? Sent to sabotage Dr. Ben-Meir’s work?”

His answering laugh was abrupt. “Hardly. I’ve merely been
browsing a copy of Enoch I found in the mess tent.” His eyes glinted with sudden humor. “I can read, you know. Almost as well as I can haul rocks.”

Maddie blushed. “I didn’t think you couldn’t.”

“Azazel taught the art of war to men, and the art of seduction to women. Quite the sinner, eh? The bloke twisted Heaven’s magic, transformed good to evil. In defiance of Heaven, he committed any number of perversions, corrupted any number of humans. Until the archangel Raphael defeated him.”