Atlantis - Heart Of The Dragon Part 8

"Then yes," she said, not taking the time to a.n.a.lyze her relief, "he would welcome a woman such as me. In fact, he's expecting me back. I'd better be going. You know how upset he gets when someone's late." Nervous laugh.

Brand didn't let her pa.s.s. He continued to study her with unnerving intensity. What was he searching for? And what did he see?

Suddenly he grinned, a grin that spread and lit his entire face. He was extremely handsome, but he wasn't Darius. "I believe she speaks the truth, men," he said. "Look at the love mark on her neck."

Quick as a snap, Grace brought her hand up to her neck. Her cheeks warmed. Had Darius given her a hickey? She was struck first by shock, then by an unexpected, unwanted and ridiculous surge of pleasure. She'd never had a hickey before.

What's wrong with me? Jolting into motion, Grace shoved her way past Brand, past the others. They let her go without protest. She sprinted down the hallway, fully expecting them to follow. She heard no footsteps, and a quick glance behind her showed she was alone. When she reached the fork inside the bathing area, she trudged around the opening on the left. A salty breeze bit her in the face. She prayed she'd made the right decision this time.

She hadn't.

At the end, she found herself in a large dining hall. Darius was there, sitting at an enormous table, his eyes focused on the far wall of windows as if he were in deep thought. A heavy air of sadness enveloped him. He looked so lost and alone. Grace felt herself freezing, felt her muscles locking in place.

He must have sensed her, or smelled her, or something, because his gaze abruptly leveled on her, widening with puzzlement, then narrowing with ire. "Grace."

"Stay where you are," she said.

He growled low in his throat and sprang up, a panther ready to strike. And like a panther, he leapt over the table, coming straight toward her. She glanced around wildly. A side-table rested next to her, decorated with a mult.i.tude of breakable items.

She swiped them to the ground, causing vases and bowls to shatter and sprinkle gla.s.s in every direction. Perhaps that would slow him, perhaps not. Either way, she pivoted on her heel and bolted.

Arms pumping frantically, shoes thumping into the ebony, she snaked the corner and rushed through the final hallway. She didn't have to glance back to know Darius was closing in on her. His footsteps resonated in her ears. His fury bored intense, determined flames into her back.

At the end of the corridor, she spied a downward spiraling staircase. She quickened her speed. How close was she to victory?

How close to failure?

"Get back here, Grace," he called.

Her only response was the shallowness of her breathing.

"I'll come after you. I'll not rest until I find you."

"I'm tired of your threats," she growled, throwing the words over her shoulder.

"No more threatening," he promised.

"Doesn't matter." Faster and faster, she pounded down the stairs.

"You don't understand."

At the bottom of the last step, she spied the opening to a cave. And there, just ahead, the mist swirled, calling to her, beckoning.

Home, her mind shouted. Almost home.

"Grace!"

With one backward glance in his direction, she hurdled herself into the fog.

Instantly her world spun out of control, and she lost the solid anchor beneath her feet. Dizziness a.s.saulted her; nausea churned arduously in her stomach. Round and round she plunged and spun, so jerkily, so erratically the dragon medallion tore from her neck. Screeching, she reached out and tried to scoop the chain into her hands.

"Nooo," she cried when it danced out of reach. But in the next instant, she forgot all about the necklace. Stars winked in every direction, so bright and blinding she squeezed her eyelids closed. Grace flailed her arms and legs; she was more scared this time than before. What if she landed in a place more terrifying than the last? What if she didn't land at all, but remained in this enigmatic pit of nonexistence?

Loud screams resounded, piercing her ears, but one stood out from the others: a deep male voice that continually bellowed her name.

CHAPTER SEVEN.

Once she regained her sense of stability, Grace crawled through the cave. Warm, humid air brushed her skin, thawing her inside and out. Following flashes of light, she soon emerged from the rocky exit. Familiar sounds of the Amazon welcomed her: the screech of howler monkeys, the incessant drone of insects, the hurried rush of a river. Utterly relieved, she jackknifed to her feet. Her knees almost gave out, but she forced herself to move forward, to put distance between this world and the other.

As she ran, the backdrop of sounds tapered to quiet. Sunlight faded, leaving a horrendous darkness. Then, rain burst from the sky, pelting and soaking her. Under the weight of the water and darkness, she was forced to seek shelter beneath a nearby bush. Hurry up, hurry up, hurry up.

Finally the rain ended and she popped up, once again das.h.i.+ng through the forest. Gnarled tree limbs reached out, clawing at her face, slapping at her arms and legs, splas.h.i.+ng remaining raindrops into her eyes. She wiped them away and kept moving, never breaking stride.

Shards of sunlight gradually returned, winking in and out between clouds and foliage, illuminating a treacherous path of trees, dirt and rocks. Twigs snapped beneath her boots. Every few steps she tossed a fearful glance over her shoulder. Looking, always looking, fearing the worst.

I'll come after you, Darius had said. I'll not rest until I find you.

She shot another look over her shoulder... and slammed into a male chest. Grace flew backward, landing on her back with a thump. The man she hit was barely taller than she was and flew backward, as well, remaining supine, gasping for breath. She came up swinging. She'd escaped a horde of warriors, and she wasn't going to be captured or a.s.saulted now.

"Whoa, there," another man said, stepping over his fallen comrade and holding up his dirt-smudged, empty palms. Droplets of water sprinkled from his baseball cap. "Calm down. We won't hurt you."

English. He was speaking English. Like the man lying on the jungle floor, this one was of average height with brown hair, brown eyes and tanned skin. He was thin, not corded with muscles and he wore a beige canvas s.h.i.+rt. The Argonaut logo was st.i.tched over the left breast, an ancient s.h.i.+p with two spears erected on either side. The name Jason perched above the s.h.i.+p.

Jason of the Argonauts, she thought with a humorless, inward laugh.

Alex worked for Argonauts. She rolled the name Jason through her mind, wondering if Alex had ever spoken of him, but she found no reference. It didn't matter. He worked with her brother and that was good enough.

The cavalry is here.

"Thank G.o.d," she breathed.

"Get up, Mitch," Jason said to the fallen man. "The woman isn't hurt, and it doesn't speak well of you if you are." To her he offered a canteen of water. "Take a drink. Slowly."

She grabbed the canteen eagerly and gulped down all that her stomach could hold. The coolness. The sweetness. Nothing had ever tasted so good. Except for Darius, her mind whispered. Tasting him was an experience with no equal.

"Slow down," Jason said, reaching for the flask. "You'll make yourself sick."

She wanted to snarl and snap at him, but allowed him to reclaim his property. Water dribbled down her chin, and she wiped it away with the back of her hand. "Thank you," she panted. "Now let's get the h.e.l.l out of here."

"Wait a minute," he said, closing the distance between them. He grasped her wrist and placed two fingers over her pulse. "First we need to know who you are and what you're doing here."

"Later. Let's get out of here." She hadn't seen Darius exit the mist, hadn't heard him, but she wasn't taking any chances. He could kill both of these men with a mere snap of his fingers.

Jason must have caught her desperation, because she watched with widening eyes as he withdrew a 9mm Glock. Alex always carried a weapon when he went on expeditions, so the sight of it shouldn't have bothered her, but it did.

"Is there someone after you?" He didn't spare her a glance. He was too busy scanning the wooded area behind her.

"I don't know," she answered, gaze darting through the trees. What she wouldn't do for her own weapon right now. "I don't know.""How can you not know?" he demanded. Then he softened his tone, and added, "If you were being followed, how far back would your pursuer be?"

"Fifty feet, maybe." Her voice barely rose above whisper. "Is there anyone out there?"

"Not that I can see. Robert," he shouted, gaze boring into the trees.

"Yeah," came a distant, rough voice. She couldn't see the one who had uttered the response and figured he was hidden in the thick stumps and leaves.

"Robert is one of our guards," Jason explained to her. To Robert he called, "See anyone out there?"

"No, sir."

"You sure?"

"One hundred percent."

After Jason put on the gun's safety, he anch.o.r.ed the weapon in the waist of his jeans. "No one's after you," he told Grace. "You can relax."

"But-"

"Even if there were someone out there, we've got scouts all around us and they'd never make it anywhere near you."

So Darius hadn't followed her. Why hadn't Darius followed her? The question echoed through her mind, plaguing her, confusing her. "You're sure there's not a large, half-dressed man out there?" she asked. "With a sword?"

"A sword?" Dark intensity filled Jason's eyes, and he studied her. His body seemed to loom around her, bigger than she'd thought. "A man with a sword was chasing you?"

"I meant a spear," she lied, not sure why she did so.

Jason relaxed. "No one's out there but my men," he said confidently. "The tribes out here won't bother us."

This didn't make sense. Darius had been so intent on catching her. Why hadn't he followed her? She was torn between fear and-surely not-disappointment.

Her thoughts scattered as a wave of dizziness swept through her. She swayed and scrubbed a hand across her forehead.

"How long have you been out here?" Jason asked. He wrapped a parka around her shoulders. "You might have been bitten by a mosquito. You're shaky and flushed, and I'm willing to bet you've got a fever."

Malaria? He thought she had malaria? She laughed humorlessly, fighting the knot twisting her stomach. She was tired and weak, but she knew she didn't have malaria. Before flying into Brazil, she'd taken medication to prevent the disease.

"I'm not sick," she said.

"Then why-You're scared of us," he said. He grinned. "You don't have anything to fear from us. Like you, we're Americans.

Hardly dangerous."

Another wave of dizziness overtook her. She clutched the parka closer to her chest, drawing on its warmth as she recovered her equilibrium. "You work for Argonauts, right?" she asked weakly."That's right," he said, losing his smile. "How did you know?"

"My brother works there, too. Alex Carlyle. Is he here with you?"

"Alex?" came another male voice. "Alex Carlyle?"

Grace turned her attention to... what was his name? Mitch, she recalled. "Yes."

"You're Alex's sister?" Mitch asked.

"That's right. Where is he?"

Mitch was older than Jason, with salt and pepper hair and slightly weathered features. Lines of tension branched from his eyes.

"Why are you here?" he asked.

"Answer me first. Where's my brother?"

The two men exchanged a glance, and Mitch s.h.i.+fted uncomfortably on his feet. When she returned her attention to Jason, he arched one of his brows. He appeared calm and casual, but there was a speculative gleam in his eyes.

"Do you have any identification?" he asked.

She blinked at him and spread her arms wide. "Do I look like I have identification?"

His gaze roamed over her, lingering on her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and thighs, barely visible under the camouflage slicker. "No," he said. "You don't."

Unease stole through her. She was a lone woman, days away from civilization, in the company of men she didn't know. They're Argonauts, she reminded herself. They work with Alex. You're fine. Hands shaky, she pushed wet hair back from her face.

"Where's my brother?"

Mitch sighed and wiped a trickle of rain from his brow. "To be honest, we don't know. That's why we're here. We want to find him."

"Have you seen him?" Jason asked.

Disappointed, worried, Grace rubbed her eyes. Clouds were beginning to fill her vision. "No. I haven't," she said. "I haven't heard from him in a while."

"Is that why you're here? Looking for him?"

She nodded, then pressed her fingertips to her temple. The simple action had caused a sharp, unabating ache. What was wrong with her? Even as she wondered, the pain in her temples knifed to her abdomen. She moaned. The next thing she knew, she was hunched over vomiting, every fiber of her being clenched in rebellion.

Jason and Mitch leapt away from her as if she were nuclear waste. When she at last finished, she wiped her mouth with her palm and closed her eyes. Mitch skirted around and handed her another canteen of water. He remained a safe distance away.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

Stomach still churning, she sipped. "No. Yes," she answered. "I don't know." Where the h.e.l.l was her brother? "Were you part of Alex's team?"

"No, but we do work with him. Unfortunately, like you, we haven't heard from him in a while. He simply stopped checking in." Jason paused. "What's your name?"

"Grace. Did you just arrive in Brazil?"