the brothers and sister he hadn’t visited in over two years. He called them regularly, of course, but that wasn’t the same as hugging them, laughing with them. Being with them. He wanted to play with Katie’s children, wanted to make sure her husband Jorlan was treating her like the prize she was.
Working for OBI—which translated into constant planet-hopping through inter-world wormholes—didn’t allow for frequent trips home. Hell, working for OBI didn’t allow for trips anywhere except alien planets. And now underwater cities. It sure as hell didn’t allow for dating and getting laid. Unless he wanted to have a one-night stand with a three-eyed, blue-skinned, slimy alien female. He didn’t.
1 He’d never liked one-night stands, preferring instead multiple nights with multiple orgasms.
2 Three eyes? Slimy skin? Uh, gross.
3 Did he mention that he liked to take his time with a woman, lingering over every nuance of her body, savoring her scent, her taste? That he liked to hear her shout about his unbelievable sexual talents in English?
He grinned at the thought of “unbelievable sexual talents.”
Another branch bitch-slapped his cheek, and he lost his grin. Your fault, man. You shouldn’t have let your mind wander into the gutter. How true. Now was not the time to be thinking of sex and women. Or having sex with women. He blamed the heat for his wayward mind. That, and the fact that he hadn’t gotten laid in a long, long time. Too long.
Way too long.
Why else would he have lost focus on what was important—his survival—in favor of picturing a naked woman. A naked woman with long, velvet-soft legs that wrapped around his waist and—
Yet another twig popped him, in the eye this time. How many would he have to endure? “Concentrate, boy.” It’s not like he suffered from ADD. You’re here for a reason, James. Think of nothing but that.
One moment of distraction could cause a mission to fail. He knew that, and was surprised at how easily his mind kept veering. Perhaps being hunted by a cannibalistic demon wasn’t exciting enough for him. If that was the case, he needed a total body probe and psych exam ASAP.
“The mission. Think only about the mission.” As they had a thousand times before, his boss’s departing words drifted through his mind. We found a book, Gray. The book, actually, titled Ra Dracas. It tells of dragons and vampires and other such nonsense, but the true message is hidden between the text, written in code.
“The text about dragons and vampires is nonsense,” he mocked. Hindsight sucked major ass.
Once we broke that code, his boss had added, we learned about the Jewel of Dunamis, a jewel so powerful it can be used to predict the future. A jewel so powerful it can show who’s lying and who’s speaking the truth. Whoever holds it will have the ability to destroy any enemy. Conquer any army.
Small wonder his government wanted so desperately to own it.
Gray was to find and steal this precious jewel, then bring it home. If his mission was compromised in any way, he was to destroy it so that no one else got their greedy hands on it.
It was that simple.
Simple? Yeah, about as simple as routine brain surgery. Gray paused briefly and sipped from his dwindling canteen of vitamin-enhanced water. The cool liquid slid down his parched throat, offering a much-needed burst of energy before he jolted back into motion.
For an eternity he pushed himself onward, never slowing, ever conscious of what awaited him if he didn’t find a spot to enable Operation KTB. His gaze darted to his wristwatch, the digital red light barely visible under the dirt and grime covering him. Twenty minutes until showtime, so he had to find a workable patch of land now. He scowled and—
Watch out for the quicksand.
His eyes jerked swiftly across his surroundings as he searched for the speaker, a woman. He didn’t duck for cover, didn’t stop walking, preferring instead to be mobile. Plus he didn’t want to scare her with any surprising movement. That’s how trigger-happy fingers were created.
He did tighten his grip on the machete. The odds were fifty-fifty the woman had a weapon, and even higher that she’d actually use it. Still. A man couldn’t be too careful.
Are you listening to me? I said, watch out for the quicksand!
The husky, heavily accented female voice slammed into his mind once again, so richly sensual and commanding he acquired an instant, unwanted, and surprising hard-on—before he promptly began sinking into a large pool of quicksand.
“What the hell?” Instinctively he attempted to raise his legs, which only caused him to sink farther and faster. He stilled and glared at the ground, watching it slowly rise, covering his feet…his ankles.
Now you’ve done it. Exasperation clung to the edges of her words. She might even have added, Dumb ass, but he wasn’t sure. I tried to warn you.
“Where are you?” he asked, using his gentlest, most reassuring tone as he eyed the lush green bushes circling him. The leaves here were thicker than any he’d ever encountered, barely moving in the gentle wind.
There was no hint of person or clothing peeking from the shrubbery, still no rustle or snap to indicate movement. She’d tried to save him from the quicksand, so she hopefully meant him no harm. God knew he needed all the help he could get right now.
“You can come out,” he said. “I won’t hurt you. You have my word.”
Think for a moment, Gray. You don’t hear me with your ears, but with your mind.
“How do you know my name?” he asked sharply. Then he blinked, shook his head, blinked again. The voice remained, echoing from each corridor of his brain. She was right. Her words were actually inside his mind.
How was that possible?
How the hell was that possible?
“I’m schizo.” The statement burst from his mouth, too shocking and surreal to keep inside. “I’ve finally jumped over the ledge of sanity with thousand-pound weights tied to my ankles.” He’d seen some weird shit in his lifetime, and it had finally caught up with him.
He should have known it would come in the form of a split personality. A sexy as hell female personality, at that. Her whisky-rich voice…he’d never heard anything quite so erotic.
Down, down he sank as the sand covered his calves with its gooey wetness. The scent of stagnant water and decaying—he wrinkled his nose. He did not want to guess what was decaying.
Insane or not, he hadn’t survived two days and nights of torture to die by stinky sand. No matter what he had to do, he’d save his life—or rather, lives—from this mess.
God, this sucked.
Unwilling to lose a single supply, he tossed his GPS and machete to dry ground. Careful not to jostle too much or too quickly, he removed his backpack and tossed it beside the blade, wishing to God his propel wire hadn’t been lost during a battle with the Welcoming Committee.
He
