Conspiracy Game (GhostWalkers #4)(9)
Author: Christine Feehan

“Don’t scream.” The voice was pitched low, but held such a threat she stiffened. Her captor’s body felt like an oak tree with no give in it, and the way he held her gave her no real chance at escape without sustaining a major injury.

She counted her heartbeats to slow her breathing. “I wasn’t planning on it.”

He spoke English with an American accent. “You’re a GhostWalker. What the hell are you doing here?”

The voice was more of a whisper in her mind than in her ear. She knew she was a strong telepath, but this was something more. And she didn’t feel his emotions. The realization stunned her. In her entire life, even with her own family, she’d been burdened with the overwhelming feelings of others. For a moment, she was so shocked her brain refused to process the information. She stayed very still, trying to reason it out, ignoring the persistent whisper in her ear.

The tip of the knife touched her skin and Briony jumped. “You do that again and I’m not going to be so nice,” she hissed. Could she take him? He was stronger than any man she’d ever trained with. She felt the power running through him, felt the difference in him-the same difference she’d always known was in her. Again she forced herself to relax. No one was like her-not even her family. How did she know he was?

“Who are you?” she asked, knowing he wasn’t going to answer. Military for certain. Maybe a mercenary.

“What the hell is a GhostWalker doing here? You don’t answer me in five seconds, I’m going to start slicing off body parts.”

“I don’t know what a GhostWalker is. I’m performing at the music festival. I do aerial stunts with my brothers, the Flying Five. I’m one of the five.”

There was a small silence. “Why the hell would a circus performer be at a music festival?”

“You tell me,” Briony said. “I haven’t figured it out yet, but they paid my brothers and me big bucks to come here.” He hadn’t relaxed his guard even for a moment.

Her captor swore, the words viciously ugly. “I saw you go up that tree and change your skin color to blend into your surroundings. Don’t lie again. No one can do that but a GhostWalker. No one.”

Briony wanted to know everything he knew about the GhostWalkers. If they could do the things she could do, was she related in some way? She felt him stiffen, arms tightening. His lips pressed against her ear. “Don’t make a sound.”

She inhaled and at once knew the soldiers were doubling back. Fear shot through her. She knew what happened to women caught out on their own.

“Can you hold your breath? Are you trained?”

She knew what he meant and she nodded.

“How long?” He demanded tersely.

“Twenty minutes if I’m careful.” She didn’t lie, and wanted to see if he was shocked. As a child she’d been forced to stay under longer and longer periods of time. She’d thought everyone did it, until once, at the dinner table, when she was bragging to her brothers and they were making fun of her for lying, she saw her mother’s mouth tighten with disapproval and she’d never mentioned it again-to anyone.

“You’re going under with me.”

It wasn’t a question, and he was already exerting pressure on her, taking her into the water, not making a sound as they slowly submerged, as if he took it for granted that anyone could stay under that long without breathing equipment. The knife never wavered and neither did the arm locked around her neck. He gave her plenty of time to take a breath, and she did so, drawing air into her lungs as they crouched down in a small section of the stream covered with reeds.

Briony dug her fingers into his arm, holding on, trying to conquer fear. She felt sometimes that she’d spent most of her life trying to hide that she was frightened. She had always been afraid, and after a while, it was simply a way of life. She was afraid of everything, and sometimes it disgusted her that she could never quite overcome those shadows dwelling so deep inside of her. She forced herself to be still, not wanting her captor to be aware of how very frightened of him she really was.

Part of her was excited, wondering, in spite of the danger, whether he could do the things she could do. And if he could-what did that mean?

Jack could feel the small tremor continually running through the body of the young woman he held so tight against him. She was small, hardly more than a girl, but she felt like a woman-had smelled like a woman, all soft curves and fresh scent. She was terrified, but hiding it well and that made no sense if she were a GhostWalker. She would be highly skilled in martial arts, in hand-to-hand combat, in weapons of every kind. She should have complete confidence in her abilities. She was without a doubt physically enhanced and, he suspected, psychically as well. She breathed under water the way they’d all been taught, one small release of air at a time.

Jack found himself all too aware of the woman in his arms. He had been from the moment he touched her. Every single detail seemed imprinted in his mind. On his body. The shape and texture of her. The brush of her silky hair against his face when he’d first locked his arm around her throat. The pads of her fingers pressing deep into his arm as they crouched together beneath the water. Nothing like that had ever happened to him before. It never mattered whether his opposition was a man or a woman; it was a job. He did whatever it took to complete the job. She was no object; she was a woman. He couldn’t get the feel or scent of her out of his mind, even now, under water, as if somehow her body had melted into his skin and imprinted on his bones.

The soldiers spent time beneath the tree, talking in whispers. Jack knew they were hunting him. A minute. Two. Three turned into five. Five into ten. The soldiers remained, crouching by the stream, drawing a map in the damp earth. Fifteen minutes went by. Jack slowed his breath even more.

The woman’s fingers dug deeper into his arm. The tension went up noticeably, and he felt her rising terror of drowning, but remarkably, she held still. The minutes continued and he expected panic, was prepared for it, but she held her ground, forcing the slow release of air to allow her to stay beneath the water. She’d been trained, all right, but she was losing air and needed to surface. Her terror was in his mind-swamping him-tasting bitter in his mouth.

Jack tried to ignore her fears, but the empathy between them was too strong and gave him no choice. He caught her head in his hand and turned her face to his, leaning forward until his lips feathered over hers. It was a mistake. He felt that feather light touch all the way through his body, a wild slam of his heart, a tightening of his groin, something deeper shifting and moving inside of him. He breathed into her mouth, so that he was literally the air she breathed, so that she took him deep into her body where he belonged.