Immortally Embraced

chapter eight




“We just need to hitch a ride,” Marc said when we’d made it as far as the motor pool.

“You have paperwork?” I asked, surprised he’d want to admit to being here.

“That’s the catch, isn’t it?” he asked.

Lovely.

We walked several yards behind Oghul, who was in animated negotiations with a supply clerk. The suns were rising over the rows of dusty jeeps, troop trucks, and bronze cannons on elaborate artillery carts.

At least we were far enough from the Great Divide for machinery to work. The entire area was roped off and ringed with fuel tanks and oil drums.

I glanced into the rear of a parked jeep and jumped back as a two-headed bulldog leapt up, snarling.

Marc grit his teeth. “I need you to focus,” he said, leading me away.

“I didn’t start that one.” It was the dog.

“We have a mission. We don’t want you doing anything to compromise it.”

“Excuse me, Rambo.” Since when had he gone military? I glanced behind us to make sure we wouldn’t be overheard, then clutched his arm and leaned in close. “Your side has some kind of hideous new weapon going.” He stiffened, but I plowed ahead. “There’s an entire prophecy about it.”

A sheen of sweat coated his brow. “Now isn’t the time,” he said, his words stiff. “We have one goal—to get you out of here and to my unit. Now behave.”

“Says the man who brought a berserker into this.”

“I need him to play good cop, bad cop,” Marc said, glancing at his highly animated buddy in front of us.

I arched a brow. “You’ve done things like this before?”

“Once or twice.” Marc tried to hide his amusement as the Mongolian snapped the clerk’s clipboard in half.

Ah, well, as long as we had a plan.

The clerk rushed to speak with a second worker near the back of the motor pool. Oghul followed and promptly began arguing with them both.

I was about to tell them all where to go when we stepped out from around an artillery cart and next to an entire pen of half-man, half-horse centaurs. The poor guys were literally fenced in like animals. Fires burned in cast-iron drums.

“Ey babydoll! Ey sweetie! Where you going?” called a Mediterranean-looking one with a bushy mustache.

His fellow centaurs hooted and stomped their hooves.

“You got a boyfriend?” yelled another one. “I got your Italian stallion right here, baby!”

I immediately regretted it when I turned around to see them holding up their hands, trying to demonstrate their horsey proportions. “Ew.” I stepped up my pace as we followed Oghul and the clerks to a line of jeeps along the far side. No wonder they kept those idiots locked up.

“Ignore them.” Marc inserted himself between me and the whooping centaurs. “They keep them out here because they pull the artillery carts,” he said to me, “and because they’re a pain in the ass.”

A sweaty redheaded one leaned over the fence. “Is he riding you hard, baby, because I’ll let you go bareback.”

This time, I didn’t even stop to see the hand gestures. “This is the army,” I said, more than a little shocked. We had discipline. We had rules. Not that I was big on either one of those things, but we didn’t need soldiers acting like a bunch of oversexed idiots.

“This is the old army,” Marc said, casting one last threatening look at the yahoos behind us. “There’s a certain a*shole mentality.”

No kidding.

Oghul hadn’t even noticed. He’d made it to the line of Hummers and jeeps and was stomping and waving his hands at the clerks.

I glanced back at the horses and immediately regretted it when they started whooping and hollering again. I couldn’t wait to get away from this place—and the Great Divide.

“Showtime,” Marc muttered. He strolled up to Oghul, eased him aside, and began talking to the old army drones in muted, reasonable tones about how we should ignore protocol, bend a few rules, and just get the crazy berserker a ride, damn the paperwork.

I didn’t see how it could possibly work. No one was that smooth.

Two minutes later we had a hard-top jeep with a harpoon sticking out the back, not that I knew how to shoot it.

The private pulled it up for us and left the driver’s-side door open. “It’s filled with gas,” he said.

Marc opened the passenger door for me. “And it’s krilon-coated?”

The clerk nodded. “She won’t get sick.”

I was about to ask him what he was talking about until I sat down on the worn leather seat. The tension whooshed out of me and my head cleared. I didn’t even realize how much the energy of the Great Divide weighed down on me until the pressure lifted. “This is fantastic.”

“And rare,” Marc said, sliding into the driver’s seat and closing the door.

The Mongolian stood frowning as Marc shifted the jeep into gear and we started off toward the back gate.

I watched the berserker fade into the distance. “Why isn’t he coming with us?”

Marc had both hands on the wheel as we bounced over the rocky ground. “He has a few more things to work out for me.”

No kidding? “Like what?”

Marc pulled out the back gate and into the bleak desert landscape beyond. “I’d rather not dump you into the middle of it.”

“Too late,” I said as I spotted the outer guard posts.

I’d say one thing for my ex. He had interesting friends.

This time, the sentries merely waved as we passed. It seemed it was much easier to get out than to get in. Go figure.

“It’s a straight shot from here,” he said.

There were no fire-spurting tubes out here, no lava fingers, just miles and miles of parched soil.

“So you weren’t surprised when I mentioned a weapon back there,” I said. “What’s that about?”

Marc glanced at me. “You think we don’t get PNN?”

Fair enough. “I’m wondering if the dig we saw has something to do with it.”

He looked slightly pissed at that. “How do you know it’s not your side that’s developing the weapon?”

Hell. I didn’t. And I was ashamed to realize I hadn’t even thought of it.

Sure, Marc’s side had a dead doctor, but our side had just sent Galen off on some super-secret mission. And they’d been willing to sacrifice us before.

Okay. We had to think about this. “The prophecy talks about a massive weapon.”

His grip on the wheel tightened. “Listen to me. We can’t do anything about whatever weapon the gods are developing. We have a big enough job to do right now.”

I could see his point, but, “We can’t just let this go.”

Marc kept his eyes trained on the desert in front of us. “I’m just saying we can’t get sidetracked by some smoke-and-mirrors prophecy.”

Wait. “You don’t believe in the prophecies?”

He snorted. “They’re vague and they won’t tell us who—or what—killed Dr. Keller.”

I grabbed the door as we bounced over a particularly jarring rock. “They’re going to bring about peace.”

He glanced at me. “Words can’t do that, Petra.”

Um-hum. Man of action. “Words are more powerful than you know.”

“Are you serious?” he asked. “I believe your exact term for things like this is psychic crap.”

All the men in New Orleans and I’d had to pick the one with the steel-trap memory. “Just because I used to call it that doesn’t mean I knew what the hell I was talking about.” Besides, “what if I told you the prophecies are about me?”

Ha. At last I’d surprised him.

“It started with a healer who could see the dead,” I said, ready to lay it all out.

He wanted to deny it. I watched him try to absorb it. “That’s impossible,” he said, steering us past a distant hell vent.

I gripped the dash in front of us as we bounced over a rough patch of ground.

“Is it?” I should have stopped using the word impossible the second I landed in limbo.

He refused to look at me. “It doesn’t mean that it’s you.”

All that gorgeousness and he was stubborn as a goat.

“Then explain this: I received a bronze dagger, just like the prophecies predicted,” I said, ticking off the first of the old prophecies on my fingers. “Then, prophecy number two: I used that fricking dagger to arrest the forces of the damned.” That got his attention. Yes, well, I couldn’t wait to tell him that story. “And then for number three: I found peace while this guy I fell for found death.” Or at least he’d lost his immortality.

Marc’s nostrils flared “You dated someone?”

Leave it to a guy to pick up on that detail.

I dropped my hands to my sides, ignoring a tendril of guilt. This was ridiculous. I had nothing to be sorry about.

In fact, he should be glad.

He knew we had no future together. We’d both moved on. He’d lied about his death, devastated me in order to force me to get over him.

And so I had.

Marc sat ramrod-stiff with the rising suns behind him. Hell. We might as well get it all out onto the table.

“Yes. I slept with someone else,” I said.

A muscle in his jaw flinched.

Well, too bad. I didn’t start this. “He broke my heart and now he’s gone. Are you happy?”

“No,” he said simply.

Marc had gone still.

Why did he even care? It’s not like he’d been there for me. He’d cast me aside.

But I knew I’d hurt him and it stung.

I wanted to say something to make it right, but I didn’t know how. Or if it was even a smart idea. Distance was a positive thing. We needed to remember where we stood. I folded my arms over my chest and stared out my window at the endless desert.

“Look,” Marc said, breaking the silence. “I shouldn’t be surprised you were with someone else. I’m not,” he corrected himself. “I wasn’t there for you.”

“You lied about being dead.” And it had nearly killed me.

I was still raw with what we had lost. I always would be.

“I’m sorry,” he said. I turned and saw the contrition on his face, the regret that went far beyond words.

“I don’t want to talk about it anymore.” There was nothing else to say, no words that would make me feel better, or fix what had gone wrong between us.

We just had to live with it, and without each other.

I settled back against my seat and tried to convince myself it was better this way. It wasn’t. But there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it.

Marc glanced at me from time to time. The hopelessness of the situation hung like a dark cloud over our heads. He kept to himself and I pretended to be deep in thought, eyes fixed on the journey ahead.

In less than an hour, MASH-19X appeared on the horizon.

I shaded my eyes against the growing glare of the morning sun. Nineteen-X was bigger than the 3063rd. Definitely just as dusty. We drove along a dirt road, a flat piece of nothing, distinguished only by the relative lack of rock and debris. Low-slung tents and hutch buildings formed a miniature city.

This was it. I steeled myself.

Sneaking through the lines was bad enough. My stomach tightened. Here, I would have to blend in while talking to a murdered soul.

I blew out a breath. Shake it off.

Marc caught me out of the corner of his eye. “I’ve got you covered. Try to relax.”

Easier said than done. I realized I was shaking out my hands and stopped, forcing myself to fold them neatly, tightly in my lap. I had to look at ease, like I belonged there.

Then I had to do my job and run like hell.

We pulled in right near the main hospital building. It was a red tent with a gold Ankh emblazoned on the side, probably on the roof as well. I shoved my back hard against the seat behind me. I was easygoing. I was calm.

Marc rolled his window down and waved to a group of nurses as we bumped down the main drag toward the motor pool.

I couldn’t believe he was being so bold. “What are you doing just driving through camp?” I hissed.

He took a particularly sharp curve past the main bulletin board. “What did you want to do? Park in those trees over there and sneak in?”

“You have trees?” I asked, trying to see.

“They’re dead,” he said, giving me a sideways glance. “I don’t want to draw any attention.” He steered us past the officers’ club. “I’m going to introduce you as a visiting doctor, and by the time your paperwork doesn’t come through, you’ll be gone.”

That was actually a good plan. I tried to unclench my shoulders.

Marc glanced back over at me. “Seriously. You look like you have a mouth full of my mom’s broccoli casserole.”

I’d never been one for green vegetables. “She never would have figured out I didn’t like it if Romper hadn’t thrown up.”

“Sure. Blame it on the dog.”

Who named a dog Romper anyway? And how was I supposed to know the dog had a weak stomach?

I eased my hand from the door and tried to take a better look at the MASH-19X.

They had the same torch posts we did, the same type of helipad on a hill past the hospital. I noticed long black poles situated along what appeared to be the edges of camp. “What are those?”

“They’re the new ‘redline’ devices. They make the camp invisible to enemy radar.”

Oh. “We don’t have them.”

He kept his eyes on the motor pool ahead. “I know.”

At that moment, it really hit me. “You’re truly putting your side at risk by having me here.”

He shot me a look. “You’re not a spy.”

No, but I’d be telling Kosta about this new radar blocker.

Wait. How would I tell Kosta without letting him know I’d left?

Marc steered the jeep into the motor pool. “Chances are, your side already knows our capabilities. We know yours.”

Lovely. “Why do you have to keep reminding me we’re on opposite sides of this thing?”

“Same reason you do.” He pulled into the nearest empty slot and shoved the jeep into gear. “I don’t want to forget.”

* * *

We turned the jeep in at the motor pool and began trekking back the same way we’d come. I couldn’t believe I was just strolling through an enemy MASH unit. Their recovery room was next to the hospital, same as ours. Next came the medical supply tents and the admin offices. I even smelled the familiar combination of antiseptic and dirt.

And the red dirt of limbo never changed.

In fact, save for their tricked-out radar, I didn’t see anything here that we didn’t have back home.

Except … I leaned close to Marc. “I can’t believe there’s an entire research facility underground.”

“Later,” he said close to my ear as he waved to a group of doctors.

I craned my neck to see them after they passed. “Do you have to be so friendly?”

Marc shoved his hands into his pockets as we came up on the residential tents. “Count yourself lucky they’re on the way to morning rounds, or you’d be playing visiting doctor. Your name is Kate Gordon, by the way.”

“I won’t forget.”

“It’s on your uniform in case you do.”

I smoothed out the pocket and sure enough, GORDON was sewn onto a patch.

“You thought of everything, didn’t you?”

“I sure hope so.” He drew a hand around my waist. His grip felt warm and sure as he led me down a side path. Just as quickly, he let his hand drop, as if I’d burned him.

We made our way past the enlisted tents, dodging ropes and poles. They were packed in a lot tighter than I was used to.

“It will be safer to accomplish our job if we wait until nightfall,” Marc said, guarding his words. “In the meantime, you can stay at my place.”

I tried not to trip over my feet as dread warred with anticipation. No way, no how had his place been part of the bargain.

Besides, it could be dangerous. “What are we going to tell your roommates? I’m assuming visiting doctors don’t shack up on the first day.”

I could see his fists tighten in his pockets. “I live alone.”

No wonder the tents were so tightly spaced.

He snorted. “Here in the old army, the men live in huts, with the women serving.”

I looked up at him, shocked. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. You have women doctors, don’t you?”

He nodded. “They live in two big barracks and they serve the men in their spare time.”

“I can’t believe they put up with that.” Then again, it didn’t seem like they had a choice.

“The old gods like to cling to what they can,” he said humorlessly.

“Wait. So you have a woman serving you?” I was still trying to get my head around it. “Getting your coffee, rubbing your feet?” As if Marc didn’t already have an ego. I couldn’t believe he was about to toss me into the middle of that.

At least he looked as disgusted as I was by the thought. “I don’t make anyone serve me. I never wanted that. But plenty of the guys do it, especially the immortals. They’re not big on change.”

All the same, “I can’t sleep in your tent.” It was bad enough I’d jumped him on the rock.

I wasn’t going to use Marc to get over Galen.

He didn’t look too happy about that. “You have to. I can’t send you to the women’s barracks, or someone else might call you for ‘service,’ so to speak. The only safe place is in my hut.”

Somehow, I didn’t think so.

After the enlisted area, we reached the officers’ tents. They were spaced just as close together, but seemed to have a little more room inside. The effect was one of us practically stepping over tent poles.

“Here,” Marc said, leading me to a wooden door that looked like all the rest.

I took an involuntary step backward. I wasn’t sure where I was going exactly, but this was too much too soon. I needed to get out. Being here, with him, was tough and confusing enough without spending time in the place he now called home.

“I don’t like this any more than you do,” he said, opening the door for me.

“Of course you don’t,” I said, feeling a flash of annoyance. That’s why he’d kissed me out on that rock and made me lose my mind.

I stepped inside.

Soothing green draping hung along the walls, held in place with ornately wound rope. He had a bed, a real bed, which must have cost a fortune to get through the portal. A homemade quilt was tucked onto it—one I recognized from his grandmother’s house. It had been one of her favorites, displayed proudly in her guest room before she passed away.

A small desk stood near the door, littered with pictures of Marc and his family. Marc and me. There were Christmases and birthdays and picnics and parties.

“I can’t believe you still have all of this,” I said, my pulse hammering in my throat.

“My mom put together a mean care package,” he said as the door snicked closed behind us.

The floor was covered in carpets I recognized from the house, a green and gold woven one in particular that I used to lay on in front of the fireplace back home.

It was like he was trying to torture me with everything that had been stolen from us.

I stood with my hands on my hips and tried to take it all in.

Keep it light.

I only needed to survive until nightfall. “No offense, but it almost feels like your mother decorated this place.”

He smiled despite himself and I could tell I’d hit a nerve. “I told her I didn’t want anything new. I wanted things from home.”

I itched to remind him that he still had a place to go back to. He had a home, if he wanted it, and people who loved him. But it wasn’t my business. It wasn’t my fight.

Against my better judgment, I picked up the picture of us at Sally’s Donut Shop. We were obviously pulling an all-nighter. I didn’t even remember that picture being taken.

Had I ever been that young? That happy?

Marc drew close and I felt myself soften.

God, this was so f*cked up.

But no matter how hard I tried to forget, I missed my old life and everyone in it, including Marc. And if I was truly honest with myself, I missed my old life because of Marc.

I set the photo back down on the desk, harder than I’d intended. He’d made a decision for all of us—me, his mom, his family. He’d “sacrificed” without even thinking about what it cost the rest of us. “What are you going to tell them if the war ever does end?”

He let out a sad, strangled sigh. “You know that’s not going to happen.”

“It could.” It might.

He remained silent, and for a moment it seemed he almost wanted to hope. I almost thought I imagined it for as quickly as he slammed into clinical mode. The barest tickle of irony touched his lips. “In the words of a very smart woman I know, bullshit.” He gave a tight smile.

Yes, we were enemies in an eternal war. It didn’t mean we should just stand here and grin about it. But I had to think the fact that we were standing here, as unimaginable as it was, meant something.

“I know I was never a big believer,” I said. All science, no art.

How ironic that I was now in Galen’s old role as the one who wanted to have faith in something larger than myself. But I’d seen firsthand how it worked. I’d been changed.

Mark drew closer. “I don’t believe in fate. I only believe in what I can see, what I can touch.” His fingers seemed to move of their own volition as he reached to brush the hair at the nape of my neck. A long moment pulsed between us. “I want you, Petra.”

My breath hitched. I tried to ignore the way his fingers traced the sensitive skin at the back of my neck. Awareness tingled straight down to my toes.

I pulled away.

“You need to get some rest,” he said, working to find that stoic mask that we’d both worked so hard to perfect. “Take my bed,” he said, retreating.

No. I wasn’t going to steal his bed. “I’ll take the chair.”

He stood, arms crossed. “Fine. I’ll sleep on the rug.”

“You don’t always have to be the one to make the sacrifice, you know.”

He pulled the chair away from his desk and dragged it in front of the only door. “We’ve been going all night. You skirted the Great Divide. Don’t tell me you’re not exhausted.”

Yes. I was completely fried, but that didn’t mean I wanted to lie down on his bed, on his grandmother’s quilt.

“It’s okay, Petra,” he said, taking a seat in front of the door.

“No,” I said, forcing myself to sit, “it’s about as f*cked up as it gets.” He stood and unfolded a knitted afghan at the foot of the bed. “Sleep,” he said, easing it over me.

I watched him retreat. “What about you?”

He returned to his post at the door and dropped into the chair. “I’ll be all right.”

I lay stiff and uncomfortable. “You’re not going to watch me sleep.”

“As long as you don’t watch me read,” he said, picking up a book from the desk. I couldn’t see what it was. Probably one of those thrillers he liked so much.

It wasn’t my problem. He wasn’t my problem, “Good night, Marc.”

I settled into his bed, pulling the soft afghan up to my chin. It smelled like him, and of home. My body sank into the comfort as my mind scrambled to find a way to process it all.

Sleep was smart. It would help me be alert and ready tonight. This was about the mission, not about me snuggled up in his bed, surrounded by his things.

I’d lived without him and without any of this and I’d been perfectly fine.

The light-blocking shades were down. He extinguished the lamp on his desk and the room darkened.

I was helping him for one night, nothing more. We’d get into the lab, see what Dr. Keller had to say, and then get out. No complications. No strings. No more Marc.

He’d clipped a book light onto his paperback. He sat with his book open, but he wasn’t turning the pages.

“I missed you,” he said softly.

My blood felt heavy as it pulsed through me. I watched him through half-lidded eyes. “I know.”

I didn’t even remember falling asleep, until a sharp pounding at the door jolted me awake.

“Belanger,” a male voice called. The pounding grew more insistent. “Belanger!”

Marc stood, his chair scattering as he held the door closed.

I sat up, half dizzy with a head full of cotton.

“I know you’re in there.” The door vibrated. “Open up,” the man ordered.

There was nowhere to go. Panic shot up my throat as I scrambled off the bed, fighting the afghan.

Marc held the door closed with the entire weight of his body. “I can’t do that, sir.”

“Belanger!”

“Colonel,” Marc gritted out, “trust me. You don’t want to do this.”

The man outside cursed.

I searched frantically in the dark for a place to hide, but I knew I was trapped. Maybe I could pry my way out the back.

My fingernails tore as I tried to wrest the canvas bottom away from the ground. Maybe I could crawl out.

But it was tied down tight.

“Belanger,” the voice bellowed, “now!”