| |
––––––––
Daring to open his painful, swollen eyes, he squinted through the darkness engulfing him. The faintest hint of gray showed beneath the edge of the cell door in front of him.
He was freezing yet covered in sweat. The rope binding his hands behind him was stiff and crusted with his blood from hours of trying to work the knots loose enough to free them.
It was so dark, the blackness adding to the suffocating sensation of being trapped in this tiny room. He could feel the walls pressing in on him, an inescapable, invisible weight that threatened to break the chain containing his panic.
He’d made it through another night. Dawn was only an hour or so away.
But the rising sun that helped him mark the time meant he’d lost yet another precious chance at escape. And he knew that he didn’t have many left.
He tried to swallow, the motion hurting his raw throat and parched tongue. Pain throbbed across his face and ribs, while other parts of him remained numb.
He didn’t know how long he’d been here now. Days. Maybe a week. The sleep deprivation and beatings had warped his ability to keep track of anything. Everything was a blur.
The explosion that had knocked him off his feet and disoriented him, had cost him precious seconds before he’d been able to get to his feet and run for cover. In that short amount of time, through the clouds of dust and smoke, he’d lost sight of his teammates, and his rifle.
The firefight had continued to rage around him. He’d scrambled for cover, only to find himself cut off and alone.
He’d had no chance against the overwhelming enemy force that surrounded him. After that...
Pain. Cold. Darkness. In an endless cycle designed to break him. He wasn’t broken yet, but with every passing day, the hope of being rescued dimmed a little more.
And then he heard it. Voices entering the building on the floor above him.
Footsteps heading down the stairs toward his cell.
His skin crawled, his heart thundering in his chest as he braced for what he already knew was coming.
A key jangled in the lock, the sound echoing in the awful silence. The steel door creaked open, the sound ominous and scraping over his nerve endings.
Two men entered. One tall. Young. The other thin. Hard.
He flinched as a brilliant light shone directly into his eyes, squeezed them shut. A hand seized a fistful of his hair and wrenched his head back. He bit down hard, tasting blood as the cuts in his lips opened.
“No one’s coming for you,” the eerie voice snarled in his face. “They don’t even know where you are. If you don’t talk, there’s no reason for us to keep you alive. Now.” The man released him with a jerk.
Brandon bit down hard and refused to look at either of them, calling on his training. Every single thing he’d learned in SERE school. He would hold on as long as it took to make it out of here.
“Tell us about Graystone.”
They’d done this dance at least five times already. He had nothing to tell them, because he didn’t know anything.
“You American bastard, talk!”
The blow caught him across the cheek, whipping his head to the side as pain exploded through his face. Before he could prepare himself, a fist drove into his ribs.
He doubled over, a red-hot poker slicing through his side. Spots danced beneath his closed eyelids, a cry of rage and agony building in his throat.
“Tell us!”
He bucked against his bonds, refusing to stay still. He would rather die fighting than sit here and take it—
“Brandon.”
He jackknifed upward in the bed, chest heaving as he snapped his head back and forth, scanning the darkness.
“Brandon.”
That voice. He sucked in a breath, shuddered as he centered himself. Jaia.
The bed shifted slightly as she sat up next to him. “You were dreaming.”
He shivered and wiped at his slick face, his T-shirt sticking to his sweaty chest and back. The sense of claustrophobia continued, pressing in on him from all sides, compounded by the darkness. He’d never been claustrophobic in his life, but now the darkness triggered it all too often.
A gentle hand came to rest on his back. He jerked, nearly twisted away before he could control the impulse, his instincts screaming at him to get out of there. Hide somewhere private so she wouldn’t see him like this.
Her warm weight settled against his spine before he could move. He went rigid. And then her arms came around him, her palms coming around to rest on his chest. She set her face against the top of his shoulder and sat like that, unmoving.
Not speaking. Just holding him and offering silent support and comfort.
He took a deep, unsteady breath, another involuntary shudder rolling through him on the exhale.
“Do you want me to turn on the light?” she asked, her voice just above a whisper.
“No,” he rasped out, struggling to force the last vestiges of the ghostly memories away.
“My mother used to light a candle for us.”
“What?”
“When we were small.” One hand rubbed gently over the center of his chest. Trying to soothe him.
He stared across the room through the darkness and tried to focus on her words, the awful suffocating feeling receding slightly under her touch, helped by the faint line of light he could see coming from beneath the door.
He wasn’t a captive now. No one was going to come through that door and hurt either of them. Not if he could help it.
“When my brother or I had a nightmare, she would set a candle on the windowsill in our bedroom,” she continued in that incredible, lilting voice. “To keep the bad spirits away, she told us. And then she would lie down next to us and tell us a story. My favorite was about a lost princess seeking justice for her dead family.”
Brandon focused on the sound of her voice rather than the words. At first nothing she said registered, but slowly the words formed a picture in his mind.
The cadence and pitch of her voice were so soothing. Lulling him. Slowing his thudding heart beneath her palms. It forced his demons all the way back to the edges of his consciousness and replaced them with images of the lost princess on her quest for justice.
A story that closely matched Jaia’s quest to avenge her brother.
“The princess succeeded. Not because she was all that brave, but because she was true of heart and her cause was just. She faced all her fears and defeated her enemies. And in the end, she found not only justice, but peace.” Her left hand stroked over his chest, warm and gentle.
Peace. He closed his eyes, swallowed against the sudden burn of unwanted tears. He had forgotten what it felt like to be at peace.
Grabbing her hand, he bent his head and pressed a kiss to her palm, then released her and stood, walking out of the room for the bathroom. He turned on the shower, waited until it was steaming and then stripped, dumping his clothes on the floor.
He got under the hot spray and stood there, head bowed and eyes closed, letting the water rush over him, down his back. Letting it wash away the last of the nightmare and the panic. The blood and bruises that had left invisible marks on him even though they were all healed.
He thought of Jaia. Could still hear the sound of her voice in his head. Pulling him from the darkness. Bringing him peace.
He didn’t know how long he stood there, but eventually the water began to grow cold. Only then did he turn it off and climb out to dry off and pull just his jeans back on. Shirtless, he paused at the sink to wipe a spot on the mirror dry and look at himself.
He looked normal enough. And he didn’t have that familiar, haunted feeling he usually did after one of his nightmares. He was crediting Jaia with that.
When he opened the bathroom door, he caught the scent of something delicious in the air. Something spicy and vaguely familiar, yet not.
Across the hall, the bedroom door was open, the rumpled bed empty. But there was a light on in the kitchen.
He walked toward it, as if drawn to a beacon, and paused in the doorway. Jaia stood at the stove with her back to him, her long, black hair trailing down her back as she stirred something in a pot. She glanced over her shoulder at him, her dark gaze running over his bare chest before coming back to his face and gave him a soft smile that made his heart trip.
“What are you making?” he asked. It was two in the morning. She had to be exhausted and should still be in bed, fast asleep. He felt bad for waking her.
“Masala chai. I thought we could both use some. And it’s decaf, so it won’t keep us from going back to sleep after.” She nodded at the table. “Sit down, it’s almost ready.”
He did, watching her, aware of the embarrassment rising inside him. She looked to him for security. Seeing him freaked out wouldn’t make her feel very safe. “Sorry about that.”
She tossed him a frown. “Don’t be ridiculous. There’s nothing to apologize for.”
Turning back to the stove, she removed the pot from the burner and deftly strained the tea through a small sieve into two mugs. She carried them over and set one down in front of him, steam rising from the milky-brown surface. “Careful, it’s hot.”
It was kind of her to let it go and not push, and also very in character. He took the reprieve and curled his hands around the mug, savoring the heat. And the way her gaze once again traveled over his bare chest, as if she couldn’t help herself. “Smells amazing.”
“Tastes better,” she said with a confident little smile that made him want to pull her into his lap and kiss her until they both lost the ability to think.
He’d bet she was more delicious than anything he’d ever tasted.
He lifted the mug to his lips, paused to blow on the surface before taking a small sip. Warm, rich spices rolled over his tongue, along with a hint of sweetness. When he swallowed, a lingering kick of heat spread down his throat. He hummed in appreciation. “This is good.”
“I know.” Her eyes smiled at him over the rim of her mug.
He lowered his, stared into its creamy brown surface. She hadn’t pushed, but he owed her at least some explanation for what had happened. It was so damn easy to talk to her, about things he never told anyone.
“I still dream about what happened. In Yemen,” he clarified, although she’d probably figured that out already.
She made a sympathetic sound but didn’t press him for details as she sipped at her tea, and another measure of relief lessened the restrictive pressure around his chest.
“They held me for days before I was able to escape.” After killing a guard and almost getting caught on his way out of the mountaintop village. “A SEAL team was there looking for me. Travis and Groz were both embedded with them.”
Her clear, dark eyes were full of sympathy. “I can’t imagine how you must have felt. And your family. They must have been so worried.”
“Yeah. I was pretty beat up when they pulled me out. My mom started crying when she saw me a couple days later.”
A frown tugged at her perfectly arched eyebrows. “Were you badly hurt? The articles I read didn’t say anything.”
He took out his phone and pulled up a picture taken of him at the base in Qatar. “This is three hours after I was rescued.” He slid the phone toward her.
She gasped and pressed her fingers to her lips, horror and outrage stamped on her face. “My God.”
“It’s deceiving. My eyes look the worst, but it was actually my ribs that hurt the worst. They only just finished healing before you called me that night.”
Her gaze lifted to his. Held. And he clearly saw the fire burning in those inky depths. The anger and determination. “Did they capture the men who did this?”
“Yes. One was killed in the op to capture them.” He took another sip of his tea. The mix of spices was delicious, the amount of sweetness just right to balance everything.
“Good. I hope the survivors get the same treatment they gave you, and then some.”
He wasn’t sure why, but that vengeful tone, the outrage on his behalf from this beautiful, delicate-looking creature, made him grin. “An eye for an eye.”
“Or two, in your case,” she said, nodding indignantly at his picture. She slid the phone back toward him, made a disgusted sound and raised her mug to her lips. “We’re going to get justice for you too. I promise.”
He believed her. Believed that she would fight just as hard, risk just as much to avenge him as she would her brother. Despite them barely knowing each other.
A different kind of pressure built in his chest, sudden enough to snatch his breath, the pain of it sharp yet bittersweet.
He couldn’t keep himself from touching her a moment longer.
Reaching across the table, he caught her hand as she lowered the mug. Her eyes darted up to meet his.
He took the mug from her, set it down, slid his hand up to grasp her wrist and tug her toward him. She slid out of her seat and came toward him, their gazes locked.
His heart thudded as he pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her hips, lifting her to straddle his lap, mesmerized by the unconscious power she wielded over him. Her ability to subdue his demons and reach straight into his heart with nothing but her voice, her hands.
Neither of them knew what tomorrow would bring, and the thought of losing her made the possessive part of him want to howl in agony. He had to kiss her. Immerse himself in her. Let them get lost in each other, at least for a little while.
Winding an arm around her waist, he pulled her flush to him and slid his fingers into the cool silk of her hair to bring her lips to his.
