complete."
CHAPTER NINE
Jewel stood at the edge of the river, her robe tucked into her waist, liquid lapping at her ankles, her hands wrapped around a long, sharp stick. She'd removed her shoes, and moss-covered rocks supported her feet. The dome above stretched hot fingers over the land, making her sweat through the thin material of her clothing. She stared down at the clear, dappled water, watching, waiting for a plump fish to swim past She'd never done this, had never lived off the land before. She only prayed she was successful.
Soon a long, fat swirl of iridescent color darted between her ankles. Her heart skipped a beat. Finally! Her hand tightened around the stick as the fish continued to swim around her, nipping at her ankles. When it tired of playing with her nonresponsive legs, its rainbow fins spanned and flapped, ready to bolt.
She threw the spear.
And missed.
The succulent thing darted away to safety. "Damn it," she growled, sounding very much like Gray.
Over the next half hour, four more delicious-looking fish swam past her, and she missed each one of them, her spear falling uselessly into the water.
"I can do this. I can."
Another fifteen minutes passed. Finally, a plump, incandescent beauty came within her sights. She stilled, even her breathing grinding to a halt. One, two, she mentally counted. He was about to swim... three! She tossed the spear.
Success! The tip of her spear cut into the target.
"I did it," she said, jumping up and down, splashing water in every direction. "I did it!" She grinned, holding the stick up for inspection, feeling proud and accomplished as she eyed the flopping treat. No more energy bars today, thank you very much.
She skipped back into camp and leaned her stick against a tree. Gray was still sleeping. His features were relaxed, giving him a boyish quality that warmed her. His pale hair fell over his forehead, and he had one arm over his head; the other rested over his bare chest.
Her hands itched to reach out and trace the hard planes of his abdomen, the ropes of muscles that led down, down - she gulped, forcing herself to gather twigs and grass. After building a sufficient mound, she used Gray's lighter to create a fire. Once the flames crackled with heat, she cleaned the fish as best she could and held out the stick, cooking the meat until it flaked into her hands. Unfortunately the outside charred.
A little while later, Gray yawned and stretched, grimacing as his wounds protested the sudden movement.
Then he stiffened, his eyes darting in every direction before settling on her. He pulled himself to a sitting position.
"I didn't mean to fall asleep. Sorry."
"You needed the rest. You look better already."
"I feel better. What's that?" he said with a chin tilt to the fish.
"I've never cooked before, but I have seen it done, so you'll have to tell me how I did." Using a large, firm leaf as a plate, she scooped some of the fish on top, and handed it to Gray.
He accepted with a raised brow. "What if I'm not hungry?"
"You'll eat it anyway, because you don't want to hurt my feelings after I went to the trouble of catching and cooking it."
"Good answer." He took a tentative bite, chewing slowly, his expression unreadable.
She was just about to ask him what he thought, when something in his backpack started speaking. A real, human voice. Jewel jumped, her gaze going impossibly wide.
Gray set his plate aside and dug inside the pack. "Christ," he muttered. He tangled his free hand through his hair. "Check in time."
"Ah, your communicator," she said, when he withdrew a small black box. She'd seen him use the box on several of his missions. People from his work were able to speak with him, and he to them. Her apprehension faded.
"Mother, this is Santa." He spoke directly into the box. "Go ahead."
"Where are you?" a deep male voice said.
"Pickup has been delayed," Gray responded.
"Should we send another courier?"
He rubbed a hand down his face. "No. I have scheduled a pickup within the next few days. Copy." "Copy. Over."
"Over." Gray shoved the box into his backpack and picked up his plate. He took a bite, acting as if he hadn't just had a conversation with his box. Or boss. Or whoever. His expression remained blanketed as he chewed.
She decided not to ask about his work; she could guess. The package: Dunamis. What she couldn't guess was how he felt about the food. She waited beside