Slowly she rose.
Earthquake?
No, but high above them she heard the mountain give a deep-throated rumble.
"Phil, did you hear that?"
"Yeah. So? It does that all the time." He planted his knees in the dust of sacrifice. "What happened to the body? Did the air make it disintegrate? I wonder whatas hidden in the clothes?"
Sacrilege. Sacrilege!
"Phil, donat!" Another rumble shook the air, and a huge crack sounded as the mountainas bones broke. "Phil, come on. Itas dangerous here."
"In a minute."
The urge to stop him warred with the need to escape. She was poised on her toes, ready to run. "The mountainas coming down!"
"Look at the gold they buried with this kid!" He dug through the remains.
She tugged on his shoulder. "Weave got to run!"
He turned on her, his lips drawn back, his teeth glistening with spit. "Run, then. This is mine!"
Shocked by the demon of greed that peered from his red-rimmed eyes, she jumped back. Glanced up. Saw the dust of the ma.s.sive rockfall shuddering toward her. Heard the sound of tons of stone descending the mountain. Realized that Mount Anaya had at last decided to crush them and their presumption.
She ran. Ran as hard and as fast as she could away from this place. From the heart of evil.
The ground shuddered. The noise rose, a cacophony of shattering stone and a roar that sounded like . . . like a motor.
A big, black motorcycle cut in front of her. Stopped. The stranger, the man whoad watched her from above, sat on the seat, his eyes ablaze with urgency. He s.n.a.t.c.hed her around the waist, pulled her on behind him.
She grasped him.
He hit the accelerator.
They tore across the site, the bike hitting holes and rocks. The front tire danced to a crazy beat. He couldnat control the machine. He was going to kill them.
But he stood on the pedals. He skidded, leaned, avoided.
She wanted to scream in fear. And maybe she did. Then a glance behind them made her lean forward, urging him faster.
For the rockfall chased them, fueled by gravity and the mountainas spite. Boulders as big as buildings slammed behind them like a stone giantas footsteps, each one coming closer . . . closer. Anaya groaned with exertion. Dust rose, obscuring the sky, the site . . . Phil.
Phil had disappeared, crushed somewhere within the ma.s.sive pile of rock.
Mount Anaya had once again protected the heart of evil.
Turning her head away, she pressed her face into the leather jacket.
He smelled of cold water, fresh air, and wildness.
She started.
She knew that scent. Shead dreamed about it every night.
This was her lovera"not a dream, as she hoped; not madness, as she feared; but a man of daring and courage.
Of course. Who else would defy death to rescue her?
Desperately, she clung to him as Mount Anaya threw its final efforts into their destruction, bouncing boulders like huge rubber b.a.l.l.s. The stones collided with one another, smashing into ma.s.sive shards, sharp and evil. Slivers of rock battered her. Millions of tons of granite obliterated the old paths, the embattled plants, all evidence of the past.
The motorcycle reached the far side of the valley.
The dust cloud enveloped them.
The ground rose.
Each collision of boulder against earth rattled the bike and broke the ground.
Mount Anaya had won. Death had them in its grasp when the motorcycle broke over the top of the promontory and flew through the aira"into nothingness.
Chapter Five.
Karen screamed in earnest.
Her lover roared in defiance.
The bike landed hard in a pile of rubble. The back wheel skidded. He corrected. Accelerated. And they drove away from the mountain, leaving it behind to mutter and rumble in murderous frustration.
The rough path took them away from Mount Anaya. They descended in fits and starts, dodging through crooked pa.s.ses and splashing through tiny streams. Although the alt.i.tude was still high and the air thin, the terrain changed. First tiny flowers and tufts of gra.s.s softened the stony austerity. Then the occasional tree grew, digging its roots into the thin soil. The hope so conspicuously missing from Mount Anaya existed and intensified with every mile they drove. Finally Karenas lover turned the bike straight up a hill, slammed down on the accelerator, and drove like a demon to the top, around a curve . . . and stopped in a narrow, hidden meadow bounded by mountains.
He turned off the motor.
The sudden silence was shocking.
Karenas ears still rang from the din that accompanied the landslide, from the roar of the bike, and now she could hear a stream babbling, a bird singing . . . sounds so normal and sweet, she wanted to weep with joy.
The mountain hadnat killed them. It had done its best, but she was alive. They were alive.
She slid off the seat. Her b.u.t.t still vibrated from their wild ride. Her knees wobbled alarmingly.
Shead almost died.
She sank to the ground. The scent of crushed gra.s.s filled her head, and for a brief moment she leaned over and kissed the ground. Smiling, she glanced up at him. "Thank you," she said. "Thank you."
He didnat look at her. He sat absolutely still, almost as if they had never met.
And in truth, they hadnat. The nights of desperate, needy s.e.x could hardly count as an introduction.
Yet not even the sight of his stiff figure could stop the slow rise of her exuberance. One thought possessed her.
She was alive.
She got to her feet, took three steps away, and spun in a circle like a demented Julie Andrews. If she could carry a tunea"which she couldnata"she would have burst into a rousing chorus of "The Sound of Music."
She felt as if shead found Shangri-la. Here in the meadow, the sunlight was clear and pure. She ran toward the tiny stream. It cascaded off a ledge into a pool lined with smooth pebbles, then spilled down the creek bed. The water sparkled as it crossed the stones, and she knelt beside it. When she splashed water over her face, it was so cold it made her teeth clench. She was making a fool of herself, but she didnat care.
They were alive.
She laughed as she realized the dust sifting down from the sky really came from her haira" the dirt from the rockfall had coated her with grit. She stripped off her coat, shook it, and tossed it aside. With both hands she scrubbed at her head, and winced at a stab of pain. Carefully she explored; something, one of the rock chips, had sliced a small cut into her scalp behind her ear. The place felt sticky, and when she pulled her hand away her fingers were carmine with drying blood.
Yet such a small price to pay for being alive.
She closed her eyes, bowed her head, and thanked G.o.d, then stood, prepared to deal with what would happen next.
When she turned, he was there.
She shouldnat have been surprised. He always moved with deliberate stealth.
But this time she jumped in horror.
He was six-foot, broad at the shoulder and narrow at the hip. The same dust that coated her had settled on him, on his dark, sleek, long hair, on his wild black beard and mustache. Beneath the dirt that streaked his face his skin was toasted by the sun. Although his bone structure was vaguely exotic, maybe Eastern European, this man was Caucasian.
And his eyes . . . his eyes were black. Not midnight blue, not sable brown, not charcoal gray. Black. So black it looked as if the pupil had swallowed the iris. Black, opaque, and shiny, like obsidian, the black gla.s.s formed in the fires of a volcano.
She tried to stumble backward.
He caught the front of her T-shirt in his fists and yanked her close.
Drugs? Yes. Only drugs could cause his eyes to look like . . . that.
Drugs . . . or shead really died in the rockfall, and this was h.e.l.l, and he was the devil.
Yet everything here seemed so real. He seemed real. They were close, almost touching. He leaned toward her, his breath touching her face. And as she stared into those eyes, she fell into a soul so dark and tormented nothing could ease his pain. Except maybe . . . her.
"What did you think you were doing?" The voice of her midnight lover, yes, but low, furious, intent. "Standing down there while the mountain got ready to kill? Donat you know Anayaas reputation? Didnat Mingma tell you the mountain would destroy you for trying to conquer it? No person has ever climbed it, built on it, or studied it and returned whole and unchanged. Donat you know the scent of evil when it fills your lungs?"
I smell it now. But she was too terrifieda"too smarta"to say that. "You should have left me."
"Yes, I should have. But I couldnat watch you die." He breathed hard, his chest rising and falling like that of a man in agony. "Not you. Never you."
He might look like the devil, but he sounded as if he cared. And he kissed her with all the desperation of a caged animal, loosing his pa.s.sion like an avalanche on her.
Yes. This was her lover. She recognized his taste.
But theyad never kissed like this. He dragged her into his embrace, held her fiercely. What had previously pa.s.sed between them might have been a pa.s.sionate game compared to his current need. He consumed her, swallowing her breath, her will. He burned her with his fever, and behind her closed eyes she saw eruptions of crimson and gold, flares of exploding heartbreak. Off balance, she clutched at him, the babbling stream behind her, his madness beckoning her on . . . and she kissed him back.
Because they were alive. Shead never been so alive. This man, who had shown her delight above all else, had saved her from death, brought her here to this perfect place, and now he wanted her. Wanted her.
Welcome to h.e.l.l.
Chapter Six.
Karen forgot about her loveras strange, dark, shiny eyes and remembered only his skill. Lifting herself onto her toes, she slid a leg around his hip.
He grasped her bottom, whirled around, and, without moving a step, placed her in the gra.s.s. His hands went to her fly, lowering the zipper, pulling her pants and panties down to her knees. He growled in frustration when her boots brought him to an abrupt halt. He removed one easily, but on the second the laces were knotted, and in the depths of his black eyes she saw a flash of red. Red like fire. Red like the flames of h.e.l.l.
With a jolt, reality returned.
She tried to sit up.
"No!" In one efficient movement, he stripped her pants off her bare foot.
The ground, lush with gra.s.s, was shockingly cool.
He spread her legsa"and stopped. And stared. Stared as if head never seen a woman before.
Certainly she had never so boldly revealed herself. She tried to use her hands as protection, but he caught her. "No," he said again. He transferred both her wrists to one hand and used the other to open her to the light and the air. His fingers trailed down the center of her, a swift, light caress that brought every female nerve to high alert.
"Iave never seen anything so beautiful," he whispered. He swirled the tip of one finger inside her. "Pale and pink, swelling as I touch you . . ."
Involuntarily she tightened, holding him there.
He closed his eyes, his face a study in the agony of desire.
Then he came alive with urgency. He unzipped and stripped his jeans down to his knees.
Briefly she saw his erection, st.u.r.dy, wide, demanding.
He opened her, lay on her, thrust inside.
"No!" She tried to sit up.
Why, she didnat knowa"she needed him as badly as he needed hera"but this . . . this was too much, too sudden, not glorious lovemaking, but a frenzied affirmation of life.
She wanted to stop.