Night Resurrected (48 page)

beneath

her,

holding her hips as she leaned over him,

taking his mouth with hers. Their kiss

was almost vicious, nearly too rough,

but hard and arousing, and all the while

he kept moving, up and down, up and

down, feeling her close around him, her

shudders and vibrations as his need built

and built . . .

Wyatt tensed, holding his breath

—
yes
—and grasped the peak as tears

rolled from his eyes . . .
Yes
. White,

fiery,

incredible

pleasure

blasted

through him and he felt his body release.

Pain, pleasure, need, grief . . . pouring

from him in a long, rolling, undulating

fury.

White. Clean. New.

I
t was a long while before Wyatt

became aware of anything but the

draining, soul-threatening gratification

that still sizzled through him. Like the

last bit of electricity left in a downed

wire. The sides of his face were still

wet, and he roughly wiped the tears

away, mildly chagrined at the display of

emotion.

Someone—Remy, because he sure as

hell hadn’t moved—had turned off the

light, and the only illumination was a

glow from a triangular gap in the

curtains he’d drawn. He guessed it was

dawn, or near it. Hard to tell.

He felt the weight of her head on his

shoulder, the warmth of her body

pressed against his, a piece of her hair

tickling him on the cheek. He smelled

their mingled scents clinging faintly to

the sheets and pillow. Her even

breathing suggested she was either

sleeping, very relaxed, or an excellent

actress.

In the event it was the latter, he

remained silent, unwilling to disturb her.

He wanted only to bask in the feeling of

. . .
new
.

Odd. An odd feeling, but not an

unwelcome one. Repletion, satisfaction,

pleasure. And . . .
new.

That word came to mind once more

and he frowned over it a little, turning it

around in his lust-loosened mind as he

smiled in abject happiness.

His body felt languorous and sated.

Weak, in a good way.
God, that was

amazing.
Beyond amazing. Spiritual.

I need a fucking cigarette
—even

though he didn’t smoke. He started to

smile, to close his eyes and sink back

into the basking when he remembered.

His eyes sprang open and his indulgence

evaporated, turning cold.

Last night . . . he’d had sex—no, hell,

he’d gone all the way and made love. To

another woman. Who was not his wife.

No comparisons, no guilt, no grief,

no anger. No superimposed image of his

wife on her face. Just . . . fuck. His heart

was thudding hard now and Wyatt felt

his calm and joy slip away.
Not good.

The iciness grew, chilling him from

the inside and he closed his eyes,

struggling with himself. This wasn’t the

first time he’d been with someone since

coming out of the caves. No—and he

wasn’t proud of the fact that he’d spread

himself around a little. Trying to

exorcise the anger and guilt, trying to

forget. Trying to find something to keep

from going insane. Those nights—or

days, or hours . . . they’d been dark and

difficult and bitter.

They still were.

But, oh, God . . . not this. He

remembered suddenly what he’d said to

Remy—his blunt, honest,
It’s too damn

easy with you.

But why is it so hard too?

Yeah, that about covered it. His gritty

eyes prickled with wetness and he

pursed his lips to hold back whatever

emotion was causing it.

But he knew what it was. Fear. Cold,

frigid fear.

Remy stirred, pulling away, and all at

once she was looking at him with those

shocking blue eyes, clear and steady.

Good actress, he decided ruefully. She’d

been awake all along.

“How are you?” she asked.

He could drown in them. The rich

blue-almost-violet hue was flecked with

black and ringed with more inky color,

and the whites of her eyes were pure and

bright, even after a busy night. “I’m

good,” he said. “What about you?”

Her expression turned wary and she

flattened her lips. “Good. And . . . a

little scared.” She looked away suddenly

and he felt a tremor through her that had

nothing to do with pleasure.

Hell. What was wrong with him?

She’d probably lain awake all night,

thinking about what was going to happen

today . . . while he snored his way past

dawn and worried about his flimsy guilt,

mentally bellyaching about why he’d

shed tears. Dickhead.

“Remy, come here,” he said,

gathering her to his chest. She felt so

good there, dammit . . . and guilt pinged

in his belly. “I’m not going to let you do

it. We’ll tell them you ran away, that you

escaped. I’ll get you out of here—there

are secret tunnels and—”

“Wyatt, stop,” she said. “You’re

making it worse. You know it’s not

possible. I have some ideas—”

“There is another option,” he said

flatly, looking at her with determination.

“You know there is.”

Her eyes shuttered and she bit her

lip. It wasn’t a coy pose, but she did it

often enough that he noticed and found it

extremely sexy. Except at this moment.

Now, he saw a confused but brave-faced

woman, and something inside him

moved

sharply,

deeply.

He

was

breathless.

“We could destroy the crystal,” he

said, pressing on.

She looked at him with unreadable

eyes. “We could.”

Wyatt was aware of a hollow, odd

feeling in his chest. He didn’t know what

it meant, but it was unpleasant and

frightening. “If we destroyed the crystal,

they wouldn’t be after you any longer,”

he said.

“Because they’d all die.”

Their eyes met.

“Yes. All of them.”

“They destroyed the earth, Remy.

They killed millions.”

She nodded, her expressive eyes now

dull. “I know.” She tugged out of his

grip, rolling away. “Do you think I

haven’t thought about it? How easy it

would be? How
free
I’d be?”

“They took my life,” he said, his

voice broken. “Mine and everyone

else’s. I
hate
them.”

Remy’s back, bare and fair and sleek,

was facing him, but she nodded.

A sharp knock startled them both, and

Wyatt surged from the bed as she dashed

for the bathroom with a flash of pale

flank and bouncing breast. He looked

through the peephole and saw David and

Cat, then heard the whine of Dantès as

he scratched at the door.

Wyatt darted a look at the bed, the

mussed sheets, the used condom, and the

clothing strewn around the room. Not

precisely the information he wanted to

announce to his son and granddaughter,

for Christ’s sake. They knocked again,

more insistently, and he called, “Just a

sec.”

Scooping up Remy’s clothes, he

shoved them in a drawer then attacked

the bed as she poked her head, shoulder,

and one breast out of the bathroom.

“Give me my pack,” she said. “Who is

it?”

“David and Cat. They brought

Dantès.”

Her face lit up, and he tossed over

the satchel of her clothing, then yanked

on his shorts—accomplishing all of this

preparation in less than a minute.

But when he opened the door, he

swore there was a knowing glint in

David’s eyes—a reality that set his teeth

on edge and made his insides feel even

more unsettled. He took the opportunity

to crouch down for a reunion with

Dantès, glad to not have to look at his

son’s
expression.

At least it wasn’t Fence darkening his

door this time. The jerkoff would

probably be checking the box of Trojans

to see how many were gone—and

nagging him about the lack of usage.
Just

one, brother? What the fuck’re you

thinking, with a crazy-hot piece like

that in your arms?

Wyatt closed his eyes briefly,

thanking God Fence wasn’t here, and

wishing—

“Remy in the shower?” said David,

glancing toward the closed door.

“Yes.” Wyatt released Dantès and

rose, noticing with discomfort that Cat

was studiously
not
looking at him. She

seemed very interested in gazing out the

window and examining the row of books

on

the

sill.

Great.

Now

his

granddaughter thought he was a pig.

Christ
. He rubbed the spot between

his eyebrows and tried to think about

what to say.

“Sorry for being so early,” David

was saying. “Vaughn wants us to meet at

eight, and I thought Remy might want to

see Dantès first.”

“I don’t give a shit what Vaughn

wants,” Wyatt replied coolly. “Remy is

not going to spend the day at his beck

and call.” But at the same time, the

knowledge that they had a mere fourteen

hours until the deadline made his veins

turn to ice.

“I’m not what?” The bathroom door

opened and Remy came out in a waft of

steam. Her face was flushed, her lips

full and red, and wet hair clung to her

neck and throat. She was wearing a short

blue dress that made her eyes look more

brilliant—if that was even possible. It

also showed off more cleavage than

Wyatt thought necessary. His knees felt

weak.

Any response would have been

drowned out by Dantès, who, finally

seeing his mistress, barked, whined, and

bounded across the room to her. Wyatt

swore he saw something damp glinting

in her eyes as she knelt to hug the

writhing mass of happy dog. She buried

her face in his copper and brown fur,

and even from his position Wyatt could

see her clinging to the dog with every bit

of strength she had.

I’ve got to fix this. She can’t go.

Remy stood up a few minutes later

and greeted David with more warmth

than Wyatt would have been able to

expect her to muster, given the

circumstances. Cat turned from the

window and seemed glad to see her as

well, but she still hardly said a word to

Wyatt.

“How about putting on a shirt,” Remy

said, picking up the one he’d tossed on

the dresser last night. She gave a

meaningful look toward Cat, and then

understanding dawned.

Oh, yeah. Awkward to have one’s

granddaughter checking you out.
As he

pulled on the shirt, he realized it was

probably even more awkward for the

granddaughter . . .

“Vaughn has asked for everyone to

meet at eight,” David said.

“You don’t have to—”

“It’s fine,” Remy said. “He might

have news.” But the light that had been

in her eyes when she hugged Dantès, and

the glint of humor when she gave him his

shirt, was gone. Although she tried to

hide it, he could see the fear and pain in

her face. He recognized it from his own

reflection, and he wanted nothing more

than to get rid of it.

I have to destroy that damned

crystal.

O
n the way to Vaughn’s office Remy

caught Cat for a moment alone and said,

“I need you to help me.”

“How?”

“You need to find a way to distract

Wyatt—get him out of the way. I’ve got

something I have to do.”

Cat looked at her searchingly, and

seemed about to say something but

stopped. “I’ll try. You don’t want to tell

me why, or what?”

Remy shook her head. “Just get him

away. He’s stubborn. So make it good.

Okay? And . . . you can take Dantès back

to the computer lab.”

“You’re not taking him with . . .”

Cat’s voice trailed off, as if she didn’t