In The Dark Of Dreams Part 23

"He's lost. The dog is one of those village breeds. I see them all the time when I'm on land." Jenny stroked that sleek warm head. "Makes me wonder if there are people on this island. If there are, they might have a transceiver. I could get us help. Warn someone about what's happening. If the coasts are in danger . . ."

People needed to be evacuated. But even with her connections no one was going to leave their homes, businesses, entire cities on the say-so of some woman who-what? Had been told by a merman that bad things were coming? Apocalyptic tsunamis and floods? Ridiculous. Overwhelming. Even she had trouble accepting it.

Which meant it was her family, all over again. Danger and death, and no way to stop it. Except scream and scream while no one listened.

I'll make them listen, she promised, touching her stomach as it ached in sympathy to her heart. This time, someone will listen.

But even if someone did, if some explanation could be concocted that the public would understand, one that didn't involve the supernatural, what then? Panic? Chaos? People were still going to die.

Perrin looked uneasy. Jenny said, "I won't tell anyone what you are."

"It's not that." He ducked his head, and stood. "Let's go look. We shouldn't waste any time."

The dog whined, wagging its tail at him. Jenny felt a little whine at the back of her throat, too. Surprised her, how suddenly reluctant she was to find other people-even though it was logical, necessary. She needed medical help. The Consortium was after her. End of the world was coming. Maybe.

But there was another little world here, between her and Perrin, that she didn't want to end. Fragile, desperate world. Just the two of them, and so many questions left unanswered. So much she needed to say even though she didn't know how.

"It's dark," she said. "We could wait."

"I can see." Perrin reached down. Jenny grabbed his hand. He pulled her up, but she didn't let go.

" 'Nature Boy,' " she said, staring into his pale eyes, heart aching, unsure what was going to come out next from her mouth. "That's the name of the song I sang to you, all those years ago. The one you've been humming."

The corner of his mouth tilted into a faint, sad smile. "I know. Nat King Cole."

She wanted to ask how he knew-because the boy she'd met hadn't even been able to speak English-but he bent, swinging her up into his arms. His strength was effortless, and so was his rare smile, which deepened just a fraction.

"Good song," he said, as the dog whined.

"The best," she replied, with difficulty. "What about your feet?"

He held her closer. "Just rest, Jenny."

"Take your own advice."

"None for the wicked." Perrin started walking. "An old human man I knew was fond of saying that. He was homeless, but he taught me how to get work. No rest for the wicked, he always told me. I never heard truer words."

"What happened to him?"

"He died." Perrin's smile faded, and he looked down, past her. "The dog is following us."

Jenny barely heard him. "How many times has your heart been broken, Perrin?"

She hadn't meant to say that out loud. She couldn't take it back, either. He faltered, arms tightening.

But he didn't answer her.

Chapter Twelve.

It was common knowledge amongst Perrin's people that to invite a lie was to invite trouble, but as subterfuge was rather difficult anyway, given the number of eyes in the sea, telling outright untruths had become a significant rarity.

Omissions, on the other hand, were something else entirely. Omissions were polite. If you hated the Krackeni in front of you with a red-hot pa.s.sion, and wished nothing more than to break his bones and scatter them for the bottom dwellers, you omitted that from the conversation. Just as you omitted any other potentially damaging emotions, thoughts, and inclinations. Humans were not much different. Except for the lying. And a.s.sholes who never omitted anything.

But that didn't keep Perrin from feeling rather awkward about the fact that he had known, before the dog appeared, that there were people on the island. And omitted that from the conversation.

He had heard their dreams. Echoes, drifting into his mind in whispers and threads, dissolving the moment he tried to see anything beyond those hints of shadows.

He hadn't told Jenny. For the simple reason that she had done exactly what he was afraid she would the moment the dog had discovered them.

Asked to go look. For help.

You are a selfish one. She needs a doctor.

That, however, would mean going on land. Real land. Not this island. And he didn't know where it would be safe. He wasn't even certain how much time was left.

And she seemed better.

"Son of a b.i.t.c.h. Look at that," Jenny said, hunched down in the leaves, holding the panting, squirming dog against her side. "b.a.s.t.a.r.ds. I wish I had a gun to blow all their heads off."

A lot better.

Perrin sat beside Jenny on a rocky hill, overlooking a lush cove that curled into the island in the shape of a fist. The tsunami had struck here, but the curve of the hill below them had formed a natural seawall: high, wide, and protection enough that the rough camp that had been built not one hundred yards from the beach was still-mostly-standing. Some buildings had collapsed, torn up into strips of wood that looked like toothpicks from this distance. Several small boats, tossed on land like discarded toys, appeared the same.

None of it, though, was enough to have anyone running scared. Cookfires pierced the night, high in the forest above the ruined village. Perrin heard laughter. Dogs barked. Pop music blared.

A motor yacht was moored offsh.o.r.e, in the lee of the seawall. Not Jenny's vessel. This one was much smaller but still expensive. A pleasure cruiser.

Bullet holes marked its hull. Several windows were broken. A man's body lay on deck, but Perrin couldn't see much of him except that he wore white shorts and had fat legs. He didn't observe a guard on board, but three much smaller speedboats were anch.o.r.ed nearby, also empty. The vessels appeared remarkably similar to the ones that had surrounded Jenny's yacht.

The sea witch, Perrin thought, was devious.

A woman started screaming, sobbing-out of sight, lost inside the forest. He had been listening to her, off and on, for the past thirty minutes, and wanted very much to stick his fingers in his ears to block out the horrifying sounds she was making.

Instead, he let it sink in. Compartmentalized. All his disgust and anger placed in a box that he would open, later, if given the chance. Perrin couldn't tell just how many men were camped above the village, but he caught glimpses of them. This was not a small operation.

Jenny cursed, digging her fingers into the leaves. She wasn't looking at the camp, but the yacht. "See the name on the hull? Templesmith? That vessel disappeared less than a week ago. Pirates blamed. The owner is Indonesian, but he rented out his yacht to tourists. A French couple."

"You want to go down there," he said.

"Can you listen to that woman and walk away? Even if we can't reach her, we need to find some way to call for help."

Perrin wanted to survive. He wanted Jenny to survive more than he cared about his own life. But there was living, then there was living, and he still knew the difference, even after all these years.

"Stay here," he told her.

"Like h.e.l.l," she muttered, rising with him. The dog barked, and Perrin tapped it sharply on the nose.

"Quiet," he snapped, and the dog sank to its belly, tail dragging between its legs.

Perrin frowned, patted it more gently on the head, and said, "You could get hurt."

"And what do you know about fighting?"

He gave her a long look. Jenny settled back on her heels, holding his gaze. Watching him with that measuring thoughtfulness that made him feel so naked.

"Sorry," she said quietly. "I guess you probably know enough."

"I guess I do," he said tersely. "Stop looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

He rolled his shoulders, trying to loosen his muscles. "Like I'm not . . ." Human, he almost said. Which was ridiculous, because he wasn't human. He had never thought of himself as such. Always other. Always outsider.

He didn't want to be an outsider to her.

"Like my humanity is in question," he found himself saying, instead. Which wasn't much better. The air was too hot, hard to breathe. It was getting to him. So was she. Losing his mind, after eight years of learning how to hold it together.

Jenny was frowning. "I would never question your heart."

His heart. Perrin found his feet but didn't stand. Just crouched, tense. "You look at my scars all the time. I understand that. I would look, too. But each one of them was a lesson learned. How to move faster, see things sharper, hit harder." He stopped, biting his tongue, and slid away from her through the undergrowth. Needing distance.

The dog followed. Perrin tore his feet a little more, slipping down the hill, but he pushed the pain aside, listening to Jenny catch up, her breath hissing, voice m.u.f.fled as she swore at him. He had not expected her to follow, and he remembered suddenly how dark it would seem to her. How dangerous that darkness would be. She couldn't see as well as he could at night. Not that it was holding her back.

He slowed. Her fingers sc.r.a.ped against his hip, then managed to catch his arm.

"Stop," she said. "Stop."

Perrin leaned hard against a tree. His heart thundered until it was all he could hear, all he could feel-except for her touch, her fingers, tightening warm against his skin. She was so warm.

And when she drew even closer, and pressed her forehead against his arm-resting there, quiet, her breathing ragged-he died a little.

"I don't know how to talk to you," she whispered. "I'm always offending you. I know how I feel, in my gut, but the words come out wrong."

"No, they don't," he told her. "You just have the misfortune of talking to someone who is irredeemably dysfunctional."

A rough laugh escaped her, but it lasted for all of a second. He wanted to hear her laugh again. Her silence was deep, heavy. The dog whined. Pop music played on. The woman had stopped screaming.

Jenny didn't move. Her hand tightened around his arm. Perrin closed his eyes, still dying, and bent to kiss the top of her head. He needed to, more than he needed to breathe.

The need spread, and deepened, flowing through his veins with a heat that made him dizzy, lost. He leaned down again and brushed his lips against her brow. She did not pull away or act afraid, and he took that to heart, sliding his hand up her throat, rubbing the corner of her mouth with his thumb until she leaned harder against him, rising on her toes. Her eyes were closed. With antic.i.p.ation, maybe.

But it felt deeper than that. Antic.i.p.ation was cheap. This was survival. This was a moment on a beach, and dreams, and sacrifice. This was a lifetime of needing to be close to someone who had never been real except in his dreams, so heart-hungry for that dream he had never lasted with any other. Never mind he had been called a fool for that-and worse.

"I missed you so much," Perrin whispered, and, as her eyes flew open, he kissed her.

Just a brush of his lips against hers. So light, but he felt that touch down to the root of his soul. Heat poured into the hole at the base of his skull, and for one moment-just one-it was as though his kra'a had returned and he was complete again. Heart humming. Aching with all the terrible beauty of life, stretching his skin.

Jenny sighed, loosening her hold on his arm, but not her touch. She pressed her hands against his chest, featherlight on his ribs. Seared him, burned him, pushed him near an edge he hadn't known existed. He deepened his kiss, groaning as her mouth widened, and her tongue grazed his.

The dog barked. They broke apart. Jenny swayed, and Perrin crushed her to his chest. Both of them were breathing hard. He couldn't swallow. Too much heart in his throat.

"I'm losing my mind," she whispered, breath hot against his skin.

"I'm losing mine," he muttered, voice torn, ragged. Suffering, again, the pulse of heat at the base of his skull. Not pain, not emptiness . . . but life. Purpose. He wasn't sure what good he could do anymore, but if keeping her alive was all that was left to him, then so be it. She was all that mattered.

Jenny pushed away from him. Not far, but it was enough to steal away all that rich warmth. Perrin wanted to grab her back but forced himself to remain still and harden his heart. Just enough.

"Stay here," he said. "Let me go."

"No," she whispered, staring at him with haunted eyes. "I won't do that. Not again."

Not again. Perrin felt punched in the gut, and suddenly he couldn't stand the idea of letting her out of his sight. "Stay close, then. You want to free hostages, I a.s.sume. And find a radio?"

"Radio first. We'll help the woman if we're able, but we're not equipped to stage a full rescue. Not without possibly making things worse. I know people who can help."

Pragmatic. Perrin liked that. It occurred to him that it wasn't just childhood memory and the bond of dreams that made him want her, but the woman herself. Guts and intelligence, and fire. She hadn't lied to him yet, either-though he was an expert with omissions. Perrin studied her face, unmoving. "You're not saying everything."

Her mouth opened with a strangled cough, and her eyes focused inward, conflicted. He had the distinct, uncomfortable sense that she was trying to tell him something and couldn't. He held her face in his hands, wishing he could read her mind. Marveling at the miracle of being able to touch her at all.

The sea witch's face wavered in his memories. All he could recall, with clarity, were her golden eyes.

Look between the two of you for the answers you seek.

Perrin wasn't certain anymore that he knew the questions. Find the kra'a? Learn how to survive and make a life for them both? a.s.suming she even wanted him for life?

"Jenny," he said. "What's wrong?"

Defeat flickered in her eyes, and she closed her mouth, jaw tight. Stared openly at him, so much in her eyes he leaned in, closer. He heard her sobs in his mind, and before he could push those memories away, his gut clenched so tight and hard with pain and fury, he felt sick.

"Jenny," he said again, his voice hard and brittle.

"Don't get hurt," she said. "Please."

He stared. Jenny looked away, as though ashamed. "If I didn't think someone was down there who needed help more than we do, I would just turn around. No matter what I said earlier. But I can't do that now. So please. Please. Just . . ."

Her voice trailed off. The dog whined at her feet.

But he heard the words. Stay alive. Just stay alive.

"You, too," he said.