Come Fill Me (The Prophecy) (6 page)

A blush deepened her olive complexion, complementing her reddish-brown hair, tangled from their bed play. Looking to be in her early thirties, she was decidedly sultry, her plump bottom lip, her sensual features the stuff of men’s fantasies.

Zeke’s cock stirred within her, wanting more.

She knew. Her lids fluttered, then slid open. Hazel eyes, still drugged from sex, stared back at him.

As they had in his visions.

Liz Munez,
his mind said, telling Zeke what his journey toward death had allowed him to forget. She was Carreon’s plaything, a tool to heal his injured men and now him.

All at once, everything fell into place, reminding him of why he was here and of her true intent. She’d poured her gift into him tonight and saved him so Carreon could learn of his people’s stronghold, using Zeke’s knowledge and visions to plan his next attack on them.

He clenched his jaw.

Immediate alarm flooded her features. Her expression pleaded.

This time, Zeke was unmoved. She’d brought him back so Carreon could torture him, and still she expected his forgiveness? His fucking understanding?

The most he could offer was not to hurt her deliberately, though that hardly meant he was through with her. He wasn’t. Not by some measure.

On that thought, Zeke leaned down. Liz’s face froze in terror, then went slack with surprise as he brushed his mouth over hers, his touch exceedingly tender.

He needed her docile, not alarmed.

Still cautious, she tried to resist his gentle attention but failed, parting her lips to his. The pleasure of tasting her, of having her in this small way, lasted mere seconds.

Ending their kiss, he pressed his mouth to her ear and whispered, “I know who you are, Liz, and you know that I’m Zeke Neekoma. Whatever you’ve been told about me, you better listen to this—Carreon’s going to kill you. I’ve seen your murder in my mind. If you want to live, you have to come with me.”

Chapter Three

Her skin stung with apprehension, then went clammy with overwhelming dread.

Carreon was going to kill her? If she wanted to live, she had to go with Zeke?

What in the hell was he talking about? Did he believe they were alone in this room? Even if he did, was he foolish enough to think they had a clear way out of the mansion or that she’d actually leave with him? To go where? To do what?

They were freaking enemies. She’d seen that truth on his face seconds before he’d kissed her with such touching sweetness she’d nearly whimpered. Was it an act? How could it be anything else? He was playing on her previous response to him, using it to his advantage, thinking it would make her trust his lies more easily than she would Carreon’s.

No way. Not this time. She knew how men like him and Carreon charmed a woman to get what they wanted. At least initially. Once they assured their hold on a victim, they became hard and murderous. It was in their blood, both from their ancient warring tribes and the aliens.

Planting her hands on Zeke’s biceps, Liz pushed as hard as she could, grunting with the effort.

Zeke didn’t make any noise. Nor did he move.

Fuck. With all the strength she owned, Liz shoved the heels of her hands against his muscular pecs. Zeke lifted his face, his expression indifferent at her futile effort. Oh yeah? She dug her nails into him.

If he suffered any pain, he didn’t show it, nor did she see the kind of rage that flared so frequently in Carreon. Zeke regarded her with seeming calm, his irises as black as charcoal.

She mouthed,
Get off me.

He did not.

She dug her nails deeper, intent on drawing blood or removing hunks of flesh if necessary.

Again, he leaned close, a strand of his hair tickling her cheek, his breath hot, sweet with restored health. Her body responded traitorously, her fingers relaxing, her sheath tightening around his cock.

He murmured, “You’re coming with me.”

She stilled at his choice of words. Not the same urgent suggestion that she had to come with him, but that she would…whether she wanted to or not. She gritted her teeth. Already he was showing his true nature. What an idiot she’d been for imagining him an innocent boy rather than a brutal man. How could she have felt shame and remorse for bringing him back? How could she have allowed herself to weaken again within his embrace?

“Like hell,” she whispered.

“You don’t have a choice.”

From behind, Carreon said, “Take him.”

Chair legs skidded over the polished wood, followed by the smack of shoes as his lieutenants approached.

The young man who’d once mounted Liz reached out to grab Zeke’s shoulder.

As though he didn’t exist, as though none of them did, Zeke kept his full attention on her, not even trying to hide his naked passion and resolve, so male and unashamed. Beneath it, there appeared to be a hint of mercy.

No. That wasn’t possible. She turned her face from his, then flinched at a heavy crash in the hall, the sounds of shattering stone and splintering wood.

Snatching back his hand, Carreon’s lieutenant bolted to the doorway.

A barrage of automatic gunfire erupted from the hall.

Liz sucked in a breath. Zeke pulled out of her and scrambled off, then grabbed Liz’s arm, hauling her from the bed. Her outraged cry was no more than a strangled croak. Clawing his hand, she fought to release herself.

Zeke yanked her to the doorway. Two of Carreon’s lieutenants lay in puddles of blood, their foreheads and shoulders torn away by bullets. On the other side of the hall, she saw the man who’d once used her so thoroughly. The back of his head was gone, his blood sprayed in a wide arc across the ceiling. Beads of the plasma dripped down, falling on a fern’s feathery leaves, filling the coolish air with its metallic stench.

A wave of nausea rolled over Liz. She should have turned away from the carnage but couldn’t. This man’s hand, like those of his companions, rested on his undrawn gun.

Where was Carreon?

Zeke pulled her from the room.

Pounding his forearm, Liz glanced down the hall. At the end of it, one of the Spanish credenzas lay on its side, its shattered wood having gouged a hole in the pavers. A burst of white light flashed from the left of it, accompanied by the sound of renewed gunfire.

Who was shooting? How had they breached the mansion’s security? Had they killed Carreon? What about her father? Was he—

Her thoughts stalled at Zeke tugging her in the opposite direction, forcing her to follow him.

She resisted, pressing the soles of her feet into the smooth pavers. Zeke jerked her forward. Liz scratched his hand, arm and shoulder.

“Stop it,” he growled.

“Not until you let go of me.”

He halted so quickly Liz bumped into him. Before she could regain her balance and flee, Zeke bent at the waist and slung her over his shoulder.

Liz’s breath whooshed out on a shocked cry, her arms flailing helplessly, smacking his back.

Zeke hurried down the hall.

“Goddamn you,” she spat. “Put me down.”

He tightened his arm around her.

She pummeled his kidneys.

“Motherfuck,” he roared, then brought his palm down on her ass, again and again, as hard as he could.

The sting registered seconds after the harsh smacking sounds, the pain proving more than Liz could bear. She stopped hitting him in favor of protecting her ass. “You prick,” she shouted.

“You started it.” He turned the corner into another hall, his breath pumping out, his strides lumbering from her weight.

She yelled, “Let. Me. Go.”

“Goddammit, keep quiet.”

“Or what? You’ll beat me up?”

“Don’t tempt me.”

“My father!” she cried.

Zeke hauled in a noisy breath, choking it out with his words. “He’s safe.”

What? How? “You have him?” Her words and body bounced as Zeke moved down the mansion’s seldom-used back stairs. “How could you have him? Until a few minutes ago, you could barely breathe, much less have had enough strength to rescue anyone. Who fired? Who’s firing now?”

In a far corner of the structure, there were muted blasts, silence, then more shots from automatic weapons.

At the bottom of the stairs, Zeke bent down and released Liz. She stumbled back, her shoulder hitting the wall. Damn. Her face scrunched at the pain. She lifted her hand to massage it, then froze at what she saw. Inches from her feet were two more of Carreon’s men, their bloodied bodies on top of each other, arms and legs tangled.

Shivering uncontrollably, Liz pushed away from the wall and rounded the corpses only to bump into Zeke.

Her mouth opened on a new protest. He cut it off, snaking his arm around her shoulders.

She had no choice except to follow, lurching against him as he brought her outside to the drive that led to the garage.

A van waited, the kind small business owners use to deliver flowers or antiques. There were no side windows in the business end of the vehicle, its color as black as Zeke’s eyes. With its headlights off, the transport would be nearly invisible on the heavily shadowed landscape, just another indistinct form beneath the frail threads of moonlight.

Zeke pulled Liz to its back doors. She wanted to fight him but wasn’t certain if she should.

He’d said her father was safe.

Was it possible he was inside the vehicle? She looked at the small windows at the top of its doors.

A new wave of gunfire sounded from within, so faint it must have come from the other side of the mansion. Not trusting the battle to remain there, Liz glanced over, expecting the worst.

Two men dashed outside, each gripping an assault rifle. Spare weapons and two-way radios bounced from belts slung across their chests. They were dressed in black, their sharp, Native American features resembling Zeke’s.

Still holding on to her, he asked, “Losses?”

“None that we know of,” the stockier of his men said, then glanced at Zeke’s chest illuminated by a slash of light from inside. His brows lifted at the healed bullet wounds and fresh scratches from Liz’s nails. After sneaking a peek at her, he continued, “Aaron, Ike and Samuel are still in there. We disabled the security system and cameras first as planned.” Concern flashed across his face. “Some of Carreon’s men escaped through passages in the walls. We tried to follow but couldn’t.”

“Our guys are continuing to search,” the other man promised, his face a mask, not revealing his thoughts. “They won’t leave until the job’s finished.”

Swearing beneath his breath, Zeke opened the van’s back door. “We can’t wait for them. We need to go now.”

As his men strode to the front of the vehicle, Liz peered into its darkened interior, looking for her father. A large shadow to the left caught her attention, until she realized it was a cache of weapons. Her heart fell, even as hope hung on.

“He’s safe,”
Zeke had said.

She wanted to believe him but couldn’t imagine how he could be telling her the truth.

Why would his men help her father? Why would any of them rescue her when Carreon had said Zeke wanted her dead so that his life and his people’s would be easier without her healing their enemies?

“Get in,” he ordered.

She didn’t—wouldn’t, not until she saw her father again. Turning to Zeke, she leveled with him. “I know you’re planning to kill me. I also know that I won’t be able to stop it no matter what I say or do. So I’m asking you to execute me here. Let me be with my father again. Please.”

“Execute you?” Indignation and shock colored his question.

Whether his reaction was genuine or an act, Liz had no idea. Nor did she care. She was so tired of fighting, so weary from worry. “Just let me see him one last time,” she begged. “Then do what you want to me. It doesn’t matter any longer.”

He arched one dark brow. “You’d offer your life for a moment with your father? You care so much for him?”

Was he serious? She made a face. “As much as you care for the woman I took you from, the one you were trying to reach before I healed you.”

He stared at her, misery sweeping his features. Quick tears sparkled in his eyes, making him seem oddly young. The boy Liz had imagined him to be, after which she’d chided herself for such a foolish fantasy.

“As much as you obviously loved your wife,” she said, “I also love—”

“I was back with Gabrielle, my daughter,” he interrupted, then cleared his throat before continuing. “She was eight years old when Carreon’s men murdered her, her mother and a dozen other women from our clan, many of them elderly. My men and I had just taken them to another child’s birthday party when they attacked.”

Liz’s stomach rolled. On instinct, as one person to another, she rested her hand on his forearm.

Zeke’s muscles bunched while the rest of him went rigid, his expression telling her he didn’t want pity or concern from someone like her.

Embarrassed, Liz brought back her hand and curled her fingers into a loose fist. “I’m so sorry,” she said, meaning it.