Come Fill Me (The Prophecy) (2 page)

Liz wasn’t certain if it was nonsense or not, nor could she dwell upon it given tonight’s circumstances. She wondered which of Carreon’s lieutenants Neekoma had shot this time, with Carreon expecting her to heal the man so he could rejoin a never-ending conflict. Her belly twisted at the thought of more violence, what her refusal to help might bring. The consequences would be swift and merciless, unless she found a way to stop Carreon first.

As though he’d read her thoughts again, his smile faded. Stepping away from the window, he approached.

Instinct urged Liz to back away. Resolve to defy him, even in such a small matter, kept her rooted in place.

Carreon’s dark brows drew together even as his body remained relaxed, his manner deceptively casual. “We need to leave now.” He spoke just shy of a whisper. “While the body still has a bit of life.”

The body. No name, no sorrow, only ruthless efficiency.

“Who?” she asked, wanting to know which of his lieutenants could be so important to have brought him here, something he’d never done before. “Victor?” she said. He’d killed the most for Carreon. “Roberto?” Torture was his specialty.

Carreon exchanged a glance with his men. Unexpected delight raced across their faces.

“Neekoma,” he said.

Stunned at his answer, Liz advanced a step. They were close enough to touch…to kiss. The thought repelled her. “Zeke Neekoma?”

Carreon wore a look of mock innocence. “Who else?”

Liz didn’t understand. “He’s going to die just as you’ve always wanted. So why are you here? Why would you need me if he’s nearly gone?”

“I think you know.” His expression turned icy. “He’s more valuable to me if he’s alive and well. I expect your help.”

He expected her to do to Neekoma what she’d done to his injured men. Caressing their naked flesh, exploring the geography of their bodies, touching each part, tasting them, smelling their unique scents, drowning in those fragrances, coaxing them to heal.

Unable to help herself, Liz stated the obvious. “He’s not one of us.” Within him flowed the blood of the Comanche and the Others. “I can heal our people, at least most of the time. What if I can’t do the same with him?”

“You will,” Carreon said. “We’re leaving now.” He offered her his hand.

Liz knew the pleasure his touch could bring, along with pain if she resisted in the least. If she failed.

The muscles in her chest tightened, not allowing a full breath. Once more, she wanted to run. Needed to hide.

To where?

Her mother hadn’t been able to get away, nor had her father. Thinking of them, sorrow and outrage threatened. She forced both emotions back.

Until her father was safe and Carreon was dead, she had no choice except to use her gift as he demanded. However, this time she wouldn’t give her soul, nor would he claim it. Refusing to touch him, she removed her doctor’s coat, dropped it on a chair and led the way from her office.

Outside the clinic, a little girl of four or five bolted across the parking lot, her chubby hand fisted around the grape sucker she’d earned for being a good patient.

“Moll-eee!” the child’s mother shouted. In the last stages of her pregnancy, she struggled to catch up, her sandaled feet slapping the toasty asphalt. “Don’t run! Watch where you’re going!”

Liz watched in horror as Molly dashed past the other cars and headed for a deserted part of the lot…and Carreon’s black Escalade. Long enough to seat eight, the vehicle looked as ominous as a hearse.

Abruptly, Carreon stopped. He gripped Liz’s wrist as Molly tugged on the SUV’s handle, wanting to open its door.

Carreon leaned toward Liz. With no emotion, he whispered, “Say one word to either of them, and they both die.”

Liz didn’t move. She barely breathed.

Despite her obedience, he tightened his hold.

“Come here,” the woman demanded of her child, tapping her foot in exasperation. “Get away from that vehicle.”

“No,” Molly spat. Jutting out her lower lip, she smacked her sucker against the door.

Bile rose to Liz’s throat. She hoped to god Neekoma wasn’t inside the SUV. If he was and Molly’s mother got close enough to peer past the tinted windows, seeing what no sane person should, Carreon would kidnap her and her daughter. No one would ever find their bodies within the vast New Mexico landscape.

“I. Said. Come. Here.” Reaching her daughter, the woman gripped Molly’s arm and yanked her away from the SUV. The child howled as her mother pulled her to the other end of the lot toward a dark blue Saturn.

Liz’s shoulders slumped.
Get her out of here, please. Don’t look back.

Molly’s protests continued, joined by the steady swish of automobiles flowing down the surface roads. In the distance, laughter rang out, its high pitch decidedly female. A car’s horn wailed. Birds squawked.

The girl’s mother struggled to get the child into her car seat. Successful at last, she plopped into the driver’s side. The Saturn’s engine sputtered to life.

On a relieved sigh, Liz lifted her face into the caressing breeze scented with flowers, mown grass and the clean, dry heat of the desert. Her relief didn’t last.

Impatient, Carreon directed her toward the SUV, the slap of his shoes, the click of her heels recording their quick pace. The young man who’d been reading her patient files went to the driver’s side, while his companions hurried into the area behind him. She and Carreon climbed into the backseats. Doors slammed with a series of solid metal thunks.

Biting her lower lip, Liz regarded the SUV’s dimly lit interior, prepared to see the worst…blood spattered on its doors and seats, Zeke Neekoma’s battered body sprawled on the carpet, his face scrunched with pain or slack with impending death.

The seats were empty and pristine, smelling of new leather, posing little threat to Molly’s mother if she’d come too close and glanced inside.

Carreon had never intended to harm them. He’d played Liz again, wanting to instill fear, no doubt having enjoyed how she’d cringed.

Prick. Leaning as far from him as she could, she turned her face to the window. Its glass reflected her rage and the worry she didn’t want him to see.

The SUV left the lot, heading toward Las Cruces and its suburbs. A succession of bland strip malls, quaint historic storefronts and patches of weed-ridden lots streamed by, scarcely noticed by Liz. Disquiet ate at her, as it did each time she used her power, a gift she hadn’t asked for, didn’t want, not since her first healing—Carreon. His men had tricked her into saving him.

The memory of that night assaulted her, refusing to go away.

She recalled the sound of his lieutenants hammering on her front door, pulling her from the latest episode of
Dancing with the Stars.
Irritated at the interruption, thinking the two men looked as though they were selling religion, she’d greeted them coolly. “What do you want?”

“Your father’s been in an accident,” the tallest one had said. His polite answer was as non-threatening as his dark suit jacket and white shirt. “We need you to come with us.”

At the memory of those words, Liz swallowed. She’d just lost her mother. To have her father taken from her was more than she could bear. She hadn’t questioned either young man. Hadn’t asked for identification, how they knew where to find her, or that Dr. Alphonso Munez was her father. Willingly, she went with them.

As they passed the first hospital, she’d turned in her seat but hadn’t panicked. When their vehicle didn’t slow at the second hospital’s entrance, she asked, “Isn’t my father here? Where did the EMTs take him?”

“He’s at a private facility,” the man in the passenger seat said, his manner gentle and kind. “It was the closest to where he was injured.”

It didn’t make sense, but Liz hadn’t challenged it. The man’s compassionate tone quieted her doubt. Minutes later, her unease returned as they drove past the last of the city into the surrounding desert, empty and black.

At the utter isolation, panic flared. Liz’s heart pounded so wildly her voice shook. “What facility’s out here?”

“A private one,” he repeated. “We’ll be there shortly.”

The darkness made the ride seem too long, her companions surreal. Nauseated with fear, she’d finally seen lights in the distance and then a sprawling estate.

Inside the opulent master bedroom, Liz got her first glimpse of Carreon. His well-toned body lay motionless on the bed’s russet comforter, its fabric bearing no bloodstains from the many bullet wounds marring his torso.

Clearly, he hadn’t been shot in this room, and his impending death wouldn’t be pleasant. A look of terror spoiled his handsome features. The odor of blood dirtied the air. Beneath it was the scent of a citrusy furniture polish and a man’s expensive cologne.

Confusion heightened her alarm. She asked, “Who is that? Where’s my father?”

“He’s safe,” the man with the caring voice said, blocking her so she couldn’t search for her father or leave. “We were just at his house, asking for his help, but he refused. That’s why we needed you here.”

“What are you talking about?” She stepped back. “Why should I help you if he—”

“Listen to me,” he urged. “We told your father that Neekoma did this to our leader…your leader.” He gestured to the bed. “That bastard ambushed Carreon when he arrived to discuss a truce. One Neekoma said he wanted. It was all a trick.” Fury colored his words. Inhaling deeply, he calmed himself and spoke in that same gentle tone. “Your father told us he didn’t care. He’s sick of all the fighting. Since he lost his wife…” The young man’s words faded away. His eyes welled with tears.

He hadn’t needed to say anything else. Liz was well aware of her father’s anguish over losing her mother. Always a strong man, he’d changed with her death, becoming reclusive and quiet, leaving Liz to take over his pediatric practice.

“If Carreon dies,” the young man continued, “all of our people will be at risk. Neekoma’s going to strike fast and hard. He’ll murder our women and children so our line dies out, just as his kind have always wanted. He’ll kill those like you and your father so we have no one to heal us. You have to help us. Please.”

His lies had convinced Liz that Neekoma was worse than an animal…Carreon was the truly good man who’d wanted to end the battle and was about to lose his life instead.

That night, she crossed the line from an observer in her people’s war to an active participant, restoring Carreon’s health, rejoicing at his growing vitality, his body strengthened by her gift.

Healed, Carreon had cupped her face in his palms, murmuring his thanks, his thumbs stroking her cheeks, leaving bursts of pleasure in their wake. Bold and commanding, he regarded her, his potent gaze calling to the female within, driving away whatever reservations she had.

When he pinned her to the mattress with his body and strength, Liz hadn’t resisted. As he suckled her throat, his tongue lapping her skin, she yielded even more, moaning shamelessly. It was all the encouragement he needed. His hands roamed her nudity with a right she’d given him, seeking then separating her vaginal lips, puffy with lust. Without pause, she welcomed his cock inside, becoming his lover, his eager slave.

Months later, she learned what kind of man he really was and the truth of what he’d done. By then, it was too late to save her father or herself.

She shuddered at the horrible memories, then started at Carreon’s touch. Without pause, Liz pulled her arm away.

Undaunted, he captured her hand, resting it on his left thigh, his grip warning her not to deny him. Beneath her fingers, his thigh muscles jumped.

He murmured, “You’re recalling our first time.”

She wanted him dead but feigned indifference and glanced past. In one of the ubiquitous strip malls, a carnival was going full blast, the neon lights of its Ferris wheel and other rides flashing in festive yellows, greens, reds. Children shrieked in wonder. Calliope music played.

Past the happy scene, the dying sun tinted the Organ Mountains an outrageous blend of gold and scarlet, deepening the shadows between its craggy peaks. The colors resembled a smoldering fire or an artist’s version of hell.

“We had so much,” Carreon said.

Caught between laughing derisively and clawing out his eyes, Liz fought to control herself. “How’s my father?”

He squeezed her hand with fake concern. “Safe.” He smiled. “For the moment.”

Twisting her wrist, Liz freed her hand, keeping it from him. “Do anything to him, and I swear you’ll regret it.”

Carreon’s smile hung on, but danger blazed in his eyes. “Are you threatening me?”

Fucking A. “Harm him in the least, and you’ll never be safe from me, Carreon. I’ll make you pay.”

Yellow beams from streetlamps cut across his face, silvering his eyes. They remained on her, reminding Liz of how a cat looks when regarding its next meal.

Just as quickly, his menace passed as though it had never happened. Amusement flooded his features. “That’s what I always liked about you, Liz. Your foolish spirit.”

“Don’t be so certain how foolish it is.” She spoke with the same airiness he had, matching the deadliness beneath it. “Remember, I’m the one with the healing gift, not you.”

Something akin to rage—or perhaps it was fear—flickered across the sculpted planes of his face. It didn’t register in his response. In that same calm, maddening tone, he said, “You’ll do what I say, or your father will die. Remember that, Liz, and how I’ve dealt with my enemies in the past.”