Darkness Bound

35

“But backups are always good, too,” said Jahad, smiling like Thirteen. On him it looked even more unnerving, the grin of a crocodile as its jaws snapped closed over your head.

The Secretary-General abruptly stood, signaling the end of the meeting. “My housekeeper will show you out. If you need to contact me again, I suggest you do so on a secure line, and not at the UN where a record of all calls are kept. My private cellular is off-grid. Use that.”

Thirteen and Jahad stood as well, acknowledging the instructions with matching expressions of disdain.

No one shook hands. The Secretary-General turned and hurried from the room.

Like a rat nibbling the toes of a drunkard lying unconscious in a dark alley, something was worrying the edges of Jack’s sleep.

It was a slipping, sliding, ambiguous sort of unease, a presence that took a shadowy form beneath and behind the surface of things, ghostly and teasing and altogether unwelcome.

What was it?

Or who?

It was just out of reach, this maddening specter, but still it had weight. It had heft, and . . . warmth. Yes, warmth, and a sinister sort of gravity, so that she felt pinned beneath an invisible entity, unable to free herself from its grip.

No—she had to get free. She had to get away. She had to save herself from this unwanted pressure, slowly threading its way down through her pores into the meat of her cells.

In her dream, Jack began to run.

It was the horrible, sticky-syrup run of nightmares, where even the strongest push of muscle gained only the most meager effect. She pumped her legs, desperate for escape, desperate to gain traction, but felt glued to the ground. The warmth turned suffocating. The weight bore down harder and harder, until finally Jack knew she would be crushed beneath it like a bug beneath a shoe.

No . . . no . . . not again!

A scream tore from her throat. She jerked upright, blinking into humid darkness.

Then there were hands on her shoulders, a gentle shake, a low voice, urgent beside her ear. “Jacqueline! Wake up! Wake up—it’s me! It’s Hawk!”

Trembling, breathless, frozen in fear, Jack stared up into Hawk’s face—handsome and shadowed, his brow crumpled into a frown—and let out a sob of despair.

She buried her face into her hands.

“Hey. Take it easy. Just breathe, all right?” Hawk’s big hand settled on the small of her back, tentative and calming.

Safe. She was safe. It had only been Hawk’s warmth she felt in the dream, Hawk’s presence. Hawk’s weight.

Not . . . his. The one who could never be banished, no matter how hard she tried.

Exquisitely aware of Hawk’s hand on her back, Jack exhaled a long, shuddering breath. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” His voice was gravelly with sleep. “I think you were just having a bad dream.”

A recurring nightmare, more like.

“Yeah.”

Avoiding Hawk’s penetrating gaze, she looked around, seeing nothing but endless, restless green. It was still dark in the forest, but far above in the treetops, a faint sheen of lavender glimmered, the promise of morning.

It would be daybreak soon. Even now, the first notes of birdsong were echoing through the trees, trills and warbles of a million varieties that flavored the air like so many exotic spices.

They’d climbed high into the spreading boughs, and Hawk had made an ingenious bed at the junction of the trunk and two wide branches. After gathering smaller limbs—that he ripped away from their moorings with such ease it looked as though he were pulling weeds instead of the thick, leafy offshoots they were—he’d lashed them together to form a hammock of sorts, secured with strong, rope-like vines, overlaid with a thick weave of palm fronds and the moss that draped from the tallest branches, feather light and downy soft. It was a snug, effective resting place, and to top it all off, it was safe.

Safe being a relative term. She wouldn’t have to deal with any forest floor predators, but there was an even more dangerous one sleeping right beside her.

Much different from the first night we spent together, that’s for sure.

Hawk quietly asked, “So, who’s Garrett?”

It became almost impossible to breathe.

She found his gaze in the dark, looked into those glittering, preternatural green eyes, and shivered in horror. “What did you say?”

He absently brushed away a strand of hair that had fallen into her eyes. “You were screaming that name. That and . . . other things.”

Jack squeezed shut her eyes, blocking the sight of his face. “Please don’t tell me what other things. Please don’t. And don’t ever say that name to me again.”

There was silence for a moment, then she heard his deep inhalation. His hand on the small of her back flexed slightly, his fingers spreading father apart, as if trying to impart more comfort.

Hawk said, “Você está seguro comigo.”

Without opening her eyes, Jack whispered, “What does that mean?”

He removed his hand from her back. When she finally looked at him, he was staring back at her with something like compassion in his intense gaze. But Jack knew that had to be wrong, because he’d made it perfectly clear he felt nothing for her but disgust.

“It means . . . okay.”

They both knew it meant far more than that, but they both pretended it didn’t. Since she was an expert at pretending, this suited her just fine.

With swift grace, Hawk stood. For the first time, Jack noticed he wasn’t wearing a shirt, and the knowledge that he’d been sleeping right beside her half naked for the entire night made heat rush to her face. She glanced away, heartbeat fluttering, mouth dry.

“I’ll get some food, and then we’ll get going again. I’ll only be a few minutes.”