"You?" he murmured, nipping her neck.
"Uh-huh. . . ."
"Thought so."His voice was a low, subsonic rumble."Me, too. Damn, girl, I missed you."
She released her hold on him and flopped onto her back. He covered her in a searing slide and took her mouth prisoner until he'd devastated it.
"But, I still don't think we should . . . at least not yet." He was panting hard, thrusting against her love-slicked thigh, grip tightening, fangs dropping. "You've gotta be strong, all right . . . 'cause, shit . . ."
"All right," she whispered, wrapping her legs around his waist, "but it's gonna be along almost year."
Henodded, sweat rolling from his forehead, down the bridge of his nose and coursing down his temples. "I know," he murmured against her hairline, "the only way I'll be able to hang on is if you talk me through it."
MUY CALIENTE
CHAPTER SIX
Damali opened her eyes with a yawn and stretched, then looked over at the vacant space in the bed beside her. Immediately she became aware that the sun was at its apex. It was too bright in the room! She'd neveroverslept her shift like this and never needed an alarm clock to rouse her. Damn!
She sat up quickly and rubbed her palms down her face and glanced at the clock on the nightstand. It had been turned around so that the digital display faced the wall.
"Oh, man . . . baby. . ."
Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she stood and hurried to the bathroom. A note was folded in half to form a tent over the toothbrushes so that she wouldn't miss it. She smiled as she looked at the big hand-drawn heart on the front of it. The words inside were typical of Carlos-brief:Relax. I got this .
"Yeah, you do," she said with a pleased sigh. "I love you, too."
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. . . .
Father Patrick stared up at the cardinal from his wheelchair as his Covenant-provided nurse-bodyguard bowed discreetly and left the room.
A heavy oak door closed behind him and the elderly priest listened hard for the turn of a lock, but detected no additional sounds beyond retreating footsteps echoing down the long corridor. Philadelphia had become the murder capital of the nation . . . primarily young people were committing the murders and were dying. His heart ached as he stared out of the large, leaded, beveled glass windows with failing eyesight. Why, God, did he have to be old and sick now when there was so much left to do?
Silence echoed loudly as the two clerics considered each other with no love lost or trust between them. There had always been strained tolerance between the secret activities of the Covenant and the mainstream diocese operations. One viewed the other as being akin to unregulated special ops with an unspeakable budget and very little accountability, while the other regarded the mainstream as the unflattering face of political debauchery.
Father Patrick stared at the man who'd called him out of his convalescence in New York. Pride had made him answer the call without an escort of his remaining Covenant brethren, rather than admit to being infirmed. Rage made him refuse to be a captive in a safe house afraid of the Devil. At this point, he didn't care if these personal attributes that had made him take leave were considered sins. He was a warrior to the end, and if he died en route to a meeting, so be it. But he would not be a hostage to a nursing facility! Perhaps that was arrogance or vanity, he couldn't be sure. But he was very clear on one thing, he was not about to allow the Unnamed One to make him bow down to his wishes.Ever.
Seeming unsure how to begin, the cardinal folded his hands behind his back. Father Patrick didn't make it easy on him. He kept his expression stern, brows knit, remembering the last cardinal that had betrayed him, his Covenant brethren, and the entire Neteru Guardian team. Suddenly becoming paranoid and feeling trapped, he glanced around.
The meeting room within the cathedral basilica of Saints Peter and Paul was deep and wide, cobbled out of huge gray stones that seemed more suited to an eleventh-century castle than any modern era edifice. Cool, damp air soaked into the elderly priest's bones, making him gather his blanket around him more snugly. He hated needing a wheelchair. Heavy brass lamps flanked the gleaming mahogany table from the vaulted ceiling above. Prisms of colored light poured into the chamber through exquisitely detailed stained-glass windows to coat the high-back, crimson velvet upholstered chairs. He watched his superior's troubled brows knit into one long, furry white caterpillar before he spoke.
"You have been well while on the mend, I take it?" the cardinal finally said, failing miserably at his attempt to make small talk. "That is a blessing."
Father Patrick sat up taller in his wheelchair, feeling old annoyances beginning to rise within him. "Given who I did battle with, I would have to agree."
The cardinal blanched and nervously clasped his hands before him. "Indeed. Indeed. You are one of our finest exorcists and we are glad that you did not succumb to the demon attack."
Fury made Father Patrick's hands tremble. He wanted nothing more at this moment than to be able to stand on his own and to propel himself out of his confinement.
"I am a warrior. A Knight Templar, one of the last of my kind and we would never bow to Satan. We are used to attacks from all quarters. It is we who held true to the cross when even our own papacy denied us and believed the lies of the debtor, King Phillip. We renounced nothing as we burned at the stake and died vindicated in our own souls, if not on paper. So, yes, I waswell and amblessed . Thank you." A wheezing fit stopped his angry diatribe, but his burning gaze finished his point without words.
Hurrying to the center of the table, the cardinal took up the crystal pitcher and quickly poured a small tumbler of chilled ice water for Father Patrick. Bringing it to him, he held his hand firmly around the glass so the priest could sip from it, but did so in a way that allowed the infirmed man his dignity. Once he'd drunk his fill, the cardinal took the glass away and set it on the table. Still agitated, Father Patrick watched the cardinal's robes sway as he walked, regarding the man with open disdain.
"Please hear me this time, old friend," the cardinal said in a quiet, shame-filled voice. "I know much has transpired and there were times when you felt we'd abandoned you-"
"You did abandon me!" Father Patrick wheezed. "You abandoned those children. You attacked the Neterus with benign neglect and so much more! What you attempted to do to Damali is unforgivable. Were it not for the vast resources of the hidden Templar treasuries, that entire Guardian squad would have been at the mercy of the Darkness!"
"Yes, yes, we know. It was an unfortunate set of very political circumstances before . . . and we are now trying to make restitution."