Night Forbidden (16 page)

Ana was smiling, too, but not at his joke. It was a cool, remote smile that reminded him of the Mona Lisa. “I don’t mean that. I mean I need to know how to get into this place and out of it.” She gestured to the room at large. “You have your secrets and I have mine . . . and it’s only fair if I know yours too. That way no one’s tempted to reveal them.”

“Leverage,” Quent said, his face expressionless.

Zoë was shaking her head in dismay. “I can’t fucking help it, I really do like her.”

“It’s only fair. I trusted you, I told you things I had no business telling you—now you have to trust me. And,” she added, looking back at Quent. “Keep that damned crystal away from me. We have no idea what power it holds. It might already be too late.”

H
er crystal was
burning
.

Remy had been on her evening walk with Dantès, taking advantage of some time alone to think about when and how she was going to leave Yellow Mountain. The world was bathed in lengthening shadows, and a half moon had already risen in the west.

At first she hadn’t noticed anything more than a twinge down by her belly. Then the twinge became a throb, and within the last ten minutes the throbbing had become deeper, stronger, and more acute.

“What’s going on?” she said aloud, lifting up her shirt to take a look. Her crystal had never done anything like this except glow occasionally in twenty years.

What the hell?

Remy stared down at her navel, where the pale orange crystal was held in place by its gold and silver filigree setting. The slender, ornate wiring was pierced through her navel in four places to hold the thumbnail-sized gem in place—and the intricate design of the setting was meant to obscure the details of the translucent orange stone.

But now, through the curling, crisscrossing wires, she saw the stone
glowing
.

And it was burning her, searing into her skin.

Dantès crashed through the bushes, reappearing after an enthusiastic investigation of some noise or scent. He paused and looked up at her when she didn’t greet him, still staring down at the gem and its growing heat. A sudden sizzle caught her by surprise and she hissed at the pain.

Her heart thudding, Remy tried to unfasten the prongs that curled in like tiny, delicate claws—but her fingers were clumsy with the complicated locks, and from her angle and distance she couldn’t see them very well. It had been years since she’d had occasion to remove the stone, and even then she’d had a difficult time and needed help.

The fiery pain was growing stronger, and she was desperate to stop it. But the heat seared the tips of her fingers now, radiating along the wires and zinging into her skin. She couldn’t contain a grunt of pain as she tried to pry the wires free.

Remy bumped into a tree, scraping her arm, and eased to the ground. Maybe if she was sitting she could see better, find a way to fumble the thing loose. But the sky was growing darker, and in spite of the crystal’s glow, it wasn’t clear enough or bright enough to illuminate much.

The pain was becoming unbearable, and now she was frantic, ready to tear it from her skin, very nearly crying because of the burning sensation. She could hardly bear to touch it with her fingers, and started to scrabble for a stick. If she had to pry it off, she would do it. Anything to stop the pain.

All at once someone was there, crouching next to where she’d collapsed, gasping and holding her belly, fairly writhing on the ground, tears burning down her cheeks.

Dantès’s damp nose was butting into her face as someone gently but firmly pulled her hands away from her abdomen.

“What the— Christ Almighty.” It was Wyatt. “I think it’s
smoking.
”

“Get it off,” she managed to gasp, uncaring in her agony that he was the one Dantès brought back for help. “Cut it, tear it . . . just
get it off.
” Her voice rose in desperation.

“If you’d hold still,” he muttered, firmly moving her fingers away again when they automatically returned to try and relieve the pain. “Christ.” This last profanity came as he was fumbling with the wires himself, bending close to her stomach as she lay on the ground trying not to curl back up in the fetal position, trying to keep from moaning like an infant. “It’s like Fort Knox here,” he said tightly.

“Then
tear
it,” she said in a low, desperate scream, her eyes closed. She could hardly breathe: her entire being was centered right at her belly, where the rising pain deepened and spread. She felt her flesh tightening and puckering, drying from the abuse. And smelled it as it burned.

His fingers moved against her bare belly with quick agility. They were cool, and managed to slide down between the set stone and her skin, giving a bit of relief. She wasn’t certain how he managed it, but there was a sharp twist and some little yanks, and then she felt the wires sliding free and her tight skin release . . . and finally the scorching heat was gone.

When Remy opened her eyes, holding her belly, Wyatt was still crouched next to her on the ground. He was cupping the crystal in his hand, looking from its incessant orange glow to her and back again.

“We’re going to need to get that burn taken care of,” he said matter-of-factly. “But at least the skin isn’t broken.”

She looked down but couldn’t see much more than the dark area around her navel, which could be due just as much to the shadows as to any sort of burn. It still throbbed, though, which wasn’t a good sign. But there was no blood, which seemed to indicate that he hadn’t needed to rip the thing out of her skin.

All at once it sunk in that he was holding the crystal.
Her
crystal. The one that Grandpa had told to her guard with her life.

And it was still glowing. What had happened to it?

It was almost as if it had been . . . switched on.

Trying not to look as if it mattered, she held out her hand. “Thanks.”

She wished she could see Wyatt’s expression better in the wavering light. Since he was looking down and they were surrounded by bushes and trees, all she had was the impression of dark brows and eyes in shadow, and the square line of his chin and jaw.

“What is it?” he asked, and dropped the crystal into her hand. It fell in a golden-orange arc.

Remy almost gasped at the heat that stung her. She’d assumed the burning had eased, and maybe it had . . . but not by much. Fortunately, the skin on her palm was thicker than that tender, ivory dermis on her belly.

But she had her stone back, and her relief at retrieving it so easily superseded the discomforting warmth. She shoved it in the pocket of her shorts and felt it radiate through the layers of fabric.

Dantès seemed to recognize her relief as well, and he butted his nose into her face, licking her emphatically, then turning to do the same to Wyatt.

The man actually laughed when the dog’s enthusiasm nearly knocked him over where he crouched.

“Good boy,” he murmured, rubbing Dantès’s neck vigorously with both large hands. The dog’s tongue was nearly on the ground, he was panting and smiling so happily, between the two people he loved the most. Remy could actually feel the heat of his breath when he turned to slop a dry kiss on her nose.

“She might not like it, but you did the right thing coming to get me.” Wyatt was still talking to Dantès.

Remy stiffened. “Thank you for helping me,” she said again. “I’m sorry if I seemed ungracious.”

“Ungracious?” Wyatt snorted a laugh. “What a princess word. Not to mention a gross understatement. You don’t have to kiss my feet, but at least think about what would have happened if Dantès hadn’t come and found me.”

A princess
word?

“I thought I was going to have to tear it away,” Remy admitted. “Thank you for getting it undone without having to resort to that.”

Wyatt picked up something and whipped it into the night, sending Dantès racing off after it.

“What is that thing?” he asked again.

“A piece of jewelry,” she replied. She would have gotten to her feet, but his hand moved like a sleek shadow and caught her wrist.

“Christ, Remy, do you think I’m an idiot?” His grip didn’t waver, and in the dim light his eyes bored into hers.

So this was it. She’d either have to tell some of the truth or . . . or make up a good lie. A
really
good lie.

“Don’t even think about lying,” he said. “You owe me at least some sort of explanation.”

“I don’t owe you anything,” she said coolly, latching onto that tangent. “Yes, you came and helped me, but I figured that was out of the goodness of your heart. You might be a dickhead,” she continued, referring to the nickname she’d given him before she learned his real name, “but you’re just not the kind of guy to stand around and watch a person in pain. Just like when you dragged me out from under Seattle’s truck.”

Silence stretched for a moment.

“You’re really good at this,” he said. “But unfortunately for you, I’m better. Now. Are you going to tell me why you are in possession of a crystal that glows, or am I going to have to assume that you’re a threat that has to be contained?”

“Contained? That would make you no better than Seattle, turning me into a prisoner.”

His fingers tightened into a painful vise. “Nice try,” he said, and then they loosened a fraction. “But two seconds ago you just got done saying I wasn’t that kind of guy.”

“I guess I was wrong.”

“Or maybe you could look at it from my perspective. After all, in the past few months you’ve shot at me. At close range, might I add. Thrown a snake in my face. And now you’re evading my more than reasonable questions after I got you out of a very painful and difficult situation. Those seem to be the actions of someone with something to hide.”

“First of all, I warned you not to move. Secondly, I didn’t shoot
at
you. I shot at the wall above your head—exactly where I aimed. And thirdly, the snake was a harmless distraction so I could get away—”

“Thirdly is not a word. And I don’t think the snake would have agreed with your assessment. And you threw it at me on the
stairs
. Not cool.”

“I was there, remember?”

“How could I forget.”

To her surprise, he released her wrist. “What’s going on, Remy? Haven’t you figured out by now that we don’t mean you any harm? That we might be able to help you?”

“I don’t have any reason to think that—”

“We know you’re Remington Truth’s granddaughter. And you’re still here, safe, with us. We haven’t turned you over to the Strangers or the zombies. Doesn’t that tell you anything?”

“It tells me that you haven’t figured out what to do with me yet,” she managed. Her teeth were clenched, her heart pounding so hard she could hardly catch her breath . . . but she fought to seem calm.

“If it were up to me, I could think of a few things to do with you.” His voice sounded . . . different.

Remy’s heart stopped and her body flushed with sudden heat. And her mind shot to places it had no business going—hot, red, lush places. With Wyatt in them.

And then all of a sudden Dantès was back, crashing violently through the bushes, and she was stumbling away from her would-be captor as the dog barreled up to them.

That settled it. She had to get herself and her crystal out of here, away from Yellow Mountain, away from these people. And especially away from Wyatt.

As she rushed back to the house, leaving her traitorous dog with his new friend, Remy heard the familiar moaning wail of zombies in the distance.

Ruuu-uuthhh . . . ruuuuuuthhhh
.

They were calling for her. Truth.

Remington Truth.

A
na could have told Fence and Quent about her communication with Darian, but even though they agreed to show her how to access the computer room, she still wasn’t quite ready to divulge all of her secrets. She’d already told them she hadn’t been in communication with Atlantis since leaving twelve years ago—but of course that wasn’t exactly true.

She’d been with Darian.

Besides . . . she’d have to wait and see if her former lover responded to the signal she’d left in the mailbox. She was certain he intended to—for why else would he have made the overture in the first place—but he might not know anything that could help them anyway.

There might not be anything
to
know.

They could all be wrong about a threat to Envy.

Although Ana didn’t really think so.

She insisted on leaving the subterranean chamber so she could visit her father, but her real motive was to get aboveground again, away from the piece of Jarrid crystal. Where she could breathe.

Although her own crystals no longer seemed to react to the fist-sized one’s proximity, she didn’t want to take any more chances than she needed to.

Nor was she about to tell Fence and his friends, quite yet, that she could probably help them learn to use the stone. She wouldn’t take the chance of revealing her whereabouts to those in Atlantis who wanted her back.

She visited with her dad long enough to hear him complain that he didn’t need to be kept in the infirmary, and what was the big deal, and where were his petri dishes . . . but then Flo came in and all at once he stopped complaining.

And he stopped listening to Ana, instead transferring his attention to the older woman.

Well, then
.

Ana couldn’t help a bemused smile, and she slipped out of the room . . . and nearly ran into Fence.

Her burst of pleasure at finding him suddenly, unexpectedly, was quickly submerged.
Opportunity knocked, huh?

And, dang it, girl, you let him answer the door. Crap.

“Hey,” Fence said, giving her that long, slow grin that turned her insides to mush. “Fancy meeting you here.”

She kept her face blank, trying to remember to be annoyed with the man who, number one, made her give up her biggest secret and put herself in danger, and number two, practically turned her into a prisoner, and number three, called her an “opportunity.”

And then there was the big jerkwad who’d gotten all snotty on the beach.