Deep Within Me (The Prophesy #2)

Chapter Six

Liz was back in the Jeep.

How she got there she didn’t know, couldn’t recall. In a part of her mind unaffected by fatigue, she wondered if she was dreaming.

Zeke drove. Her father sat in the back of the vehicle, his leg twisted in a way no limb should ever be. Gasping in surprise, Liz leaned over the seat to heal him.

“No!” Zeke shouted.

At the thunderous sound, Liz snatched back her hands. A volley of gunfire hit the Jeep, the strident rip of metal hurting her ears.

She slapped her hands over them. In that same instant, a wave of exhaustion hit so hard she had to fight to stay conscious.

“Tired?” her father asked. He spoke quietly, the sound seeming to come from a great distance. The same as when she’d died and gone to the other side and he’d brought her—

“Liz, are you tired?” he repeated.

Yes. Why? Her mind struggled to find an answer. It drifted close then fluttered away, leaving her with the sense that her fatigue had something to do with him.

“Don’t heal your father,” Zeke warned. “Don’t heal anyone.”

Why?

Instinctively, Liz reached for Zeke and touched a downy material instead, as soft as cashmere. With a start, she awoke and squinted at the limestone walls, glowing faintly like a nightlight, weakening the shadows. She rolled over and nearly fell off the mattress rather than running into Zeke’s big body.

Where is he?

She left the bed and stumbled into the bath, her legs wobbly from lingering fatigue and disuse.

The room was empty.

Liz tried to bring back her disturbing dream, suddenly realizing she’d had one. Something to do with Zeke and…a leg? Biting her lower lip, she thought hard, but the images refused to return.

She circled the bath, searching for a hidden door that led to a hallway Zeke might have gone down…or perhaps another room he was in. Similar to the one where he’d put her last night when the battle broke out. He’d had no reason to believe she’d find a way to escape.

She had and returned to Carreon’s stronghold, determined to take him down so he couldn’t harm Zeke or her father ever again. She’d hoped Carreon’s absence would make his lieutenants scatter in panic, no different from frightened vermin. Instead, Carreon had murdered her. Exactly as Zeke’s visions had warned.

As far as Liz could determine, there weren’t any hidden entrances in here that led to a concealed area. She glanced at the bedroom’s double doors. Had one of Zeke’s people come here while she’d slept and awakened him to more trouble? Not Carreon’s men having returned. If they had, she would have heard gunfire. Zeke would have taken her to a safe place, another secret room that he would have made certain she couldn’t escape. No, this trouble would have to do with his clan. Had they decided he had to leave after all, along with her and her father?

Hurriedly, Liz went to her clothes then curled her upper lip at the thought of putting them on again. Blood and dirt stiffened parts of the fabric. After a brief search, she found Zeke’s tees in a nightstand drawer. The one she pulled on hung halfway down her thighs and smelled of fabric softener rather than him. His jeans were far too large for her to wear. She settled for a pair of stretchy boxers rather than briefs, that she knotted at her waist so they’d stay up. The edge of the navy fabric skimmed her knees.

At the limestone wall, she mimicked Zeke’s earlier movements, which turned the surface into a mirror.

Ugh. Liz made a face at how shitty and ridiculous she looked, but at least she was covered.

Now all she had to do was leave the room. She paused at the double doors and hoped to God that they’d open. On the day Zeke and Jacob had argued about sharing her, Zeke had locked Liz inside Jacob’s bedroom, telling his brother not to come anywhere near her. Jacob had countered that it was his fucking space. He had a right to go inside. That argument hadn’t swayed Zeke.

She tried the knob, astounded that it turned, but didn’t take more than one step into the hall.

Jacob was leaning against the wood paneling, his arms crossed over a pile of clothes that he held to his chest.

He actually blushed at her presence. Liz’s face warmed as she recalled the intimacies they’d shared. The taste of his mouth, balls, and cock. His strength as he pounded his rigid shaft into her. His satisfied huffs when he climaxed then held her close, not allowing her to escape…to return to Zeke.

At last, Jacob met her gaze.

His color deepened. From embarrassment or desire, Liz didn’t know. Could be it was a bit of both. He glanced away quickly as though he feared her reading his emotions. His attention snagged on her makeshift outfit. He pressed his lips together as one did when fighting laughter.

She sighed. “It was all I could find. Those for me?”

He seemed to recall that he was holding a pair of jeans, a pale-yellow tee, underwear, and suede moccasins. Clearly, they were from one of the younger women, just as Liz’s last outfit had been.

“Yeah.” He handed the items over.

Their hands brushed as Liz took the clothing. Longing flooded Jacob’s face. He glanced at her once more then looked past.

So different from when they’d first met. Then he’d been pure alpha, trying to outdo Zeke, determined to make her want him the most. Oddly enough, Liz found Jacob more endearing now than she had when he’d been putting on his macho act.

And an act it had been. She sensed this was the real Jacob. Filled with uncertainty. Touchingly sweet. “Thanks.”

He nodded. “When you’re dressed, I’ll take you to the dining room.”

Liz already knew the way, having been there several times before. “Where’s Zeke?”

Jacob hesitated a moment then shrugged.

Okay. So he knew where his brother was but wasn’t telling. Rather than confront him on it, Liz backed into the room. “I’ll be out in a sec.”

He didn’t try to follow her inside as he might have yesterday. Like a good boy—or a man who’d lost a battle he hadn’t had a chance of winning—he waited in the hall.

As she pulled on the garments, Liz thought she’d heard him sighing a couple of times. She wanted to talk to him, have a real conversation about his feelings, what was going through his mind, but didn’t dare. He might not be the arrogant alpha he’d tried to portray, but he was still a man. His insecurity would only intensify if she acknowledged it.

Once she’d dressed, they headed for the communal dining area, walking side by side toward the mouthwatering scents of freshly baked bread, bacon, cinnamon, and coffee that had wafted up here. Not liking their uncomfortable silence, Liz asked, “How’s your leg?”

Jacob regarded it. “Good as new.”

“And your jaw?”

His hand flew to the nasty bruising as though he was surprised she’d noticed it. Upon touching the discoloration, he winced.

“Bad, huh?” she asked.

“It’s fine. Hardly hurts anymore.”

Sure. “Want me to heal—”

“No.”

He’d cut her off so quickly, Liz stopped. After a few steps, Jacob also came to a halt and glanced over. Again, their eyes met. In his, she saw concern and a longing so deep it stole her breath.

When Liz had told Zeke she didn’t want him and Jacob fighting over her, Zeke had dismissed her concern, stating that Jacob was just being the younger brother, wanting what his older sibling had. His feelings had everything to do with envy and lust, not love.

At the time, Zeke’s explanation had seemed reasonable. Not now. Liz saw something in Jacob’s expression she’d also seen in Zeke’s whenever he looked at her.

My God.

Before Liz could voice her thoughts, Jacob continued down the hall. He kept his distance even after she’d caught up, clearly honoring his brother’s claim.

Because Zeke had saved his life during last night’s battle? Because Kele’s foolish desire for him had caused it? Whatever the reason, it seemed to have touched something deep within Jacob. Changing him, making him grow up to become a man much like his brother. Kind. Honorable.

Those qualities in Jacob called to Liz as they had with Zeke. She longed to take his hand and offer some comfort, perhaps friendship, but didn’t, sensing he’d pull away.

At the landing, he stopped and gestured for her to go first. “They won’t be serving breakfast much longer,” he mumbled. “We better hurry.”

“Are you protecting me from your clan?”

Surprise flooded his handsome face. “No. They’d never do anything to hurt you. They’re not like your people.”

That should have stung but didn’t. So many misconceptions and bad feelings had flowed between their clans for so long, everyone’s distrust had hardened into stubborn hate. “Not all of my people are bad.” I’m not. Neither is my father.

He pushed his fingers through his hair, pulling it off his shoulder. “No one’s going to bother you here. We voted, remember?”

Liz recalled the ones that had wanted her and her father gone. Isabel in particular.

“Is my father in the dining room?” she asked. “Is he all right?”

Jacob huffed out a sigh. “God, you ask a lot of questions.”

“That’s what Zeke said. You two really are alike, you know that?”

Clearly uneasy, he muttered, “No, we’re not. You love him.”

He regarded her more fully than he had before, defeat in his expression. Without waiting for her response, which he didn’t seem to want to hear, he went down the stairs toward the dining area.

Zeke tried to ignore the personal touches in Bartholomew’s room, knowing they’d resurrect his anguish at losing such a good friend. Despite his struggle, he moved closer to the photographs, somehow pulled by them.

In one, a much younger Bartholomew wore a maroon cap and gown. He clutched his high school diploma in his left hand, his smile broad and relieved. He’d made it through all the academic shit he hated and the state required. In those days, the clan lived outside the stronghold just like normal folk. Carreon’s father had been in charge, and even though he was no pussycat, he’d honored a truce between their people.

In the next photo, taken several years later, Bartholomew had his foot propped on the sparkling grill of a 1957 Chevy that he’d painted in its original colors. Aqua and white. He was heavier than he’d been in the graduation picture, his grin one of pure pleasure. If Carreon hadn’t taken over and renewed the fighting between their people—if Bartholomew hadn’t given his life to save the rest of the clan—he would have made a real success of his auto restoration business.

He might have married and had kids. A future everyone else in this country expected as their God-given right.

Agonizing sorrow gripped Zeke at all the interrupted dreams, the senseless and continuing murders. He understood his clan’s fury, them not wanting Liz and her father here. They’d lost a good man and for what? So their leader could have the woman he desired?

Heartsick, Zeke ran his hand down his face and turned from the photos to the bed.

Dr. Munez lay on the narrow mattress, no longer asleep. He seemed more curious than alarmed that Zeke was in the room. No surprise. Carreon had imprisoned Munez for so long, surely very little shocked the old man.

“Sorry to disturb you,” Zeke said. He pulled a chair next to the bed.

Munez pushed to a sitting position and swung his naked legs over the side of the mattress. He’d washed off last night’s gore and grime and wore one of Bartholomew’s T-shirts that was several sizes too large for him. The rounded neck sagged beneath Munez’s thin throat.

Zeke sank into his chair. “How’s your ankle?”

“Fine.” He lifted his leg to show it wasn’t bruised or swollen any longer. Liz’s healing touch had taken care of it…after he’d reanimated her.

A wave of nausea hit so hard, Zeke had to swallow repeatedly to force it down. Taking a full breath wasn’t something he figured he could do right now. Although he had meant to broach the subject carefully, the words spilled from him. “Liz isn’t fully back, is she?”

Munez’s hands stalled on his head, not all of his hair smoothed back. A tuft on the left side stuck out defiantly. He didn’t bother combing his fingers through it.

When the man didn’t comment, Zeke added, “You noticed it too, in the Jeep. That’s why you touched her shoulder. You brought her back again.”

His hands dropped to his lap. They shook so badly, he clasped them together. “No.” His tone said he refused to believe such a thing. “I gave her a boost, that’s all.”

“Same difference,” Zeke argued. He leaned forward, ready to face what had been eating him for too many hours…the only explanation of what was happening to Liz. “You brought her back, and she was fine until she healed your ankle. When she poured her gift—her life force into you—that drained it from her, didn’t it?”

“I don’t know.”

Zeke shook his head, not believing this. “How can you say that? You’ve known from the beginning that those with the gift could go beyond healing. They could also reanimate. You kept that secret from Liz until last night. How many others have you brought back from the dead? What happened to them? Tell me. I’m worried about Liz.”

Munez drew in his narrow shoulders and spoke with reluctance, obviously disturbed by the subject. “Liz is only the second person I’ve brought back.”

Zeke stared, unable to comprehend such a thing. “How is that possible? You’re talking about not reanimating Carreon’s lieutenants, correct? Surely, with the rest of your people, the ones who aren’t a part of his inner circle, you—”

“I didn’t want to use my gift on them either. If they had known what I discovered by accident, I was afraid Carreon and his men would find out. The fighting would have escalated beyond anything we could have imagined, becoming impossible to stop. Why would he restrain the carnage at all if he knew I could bring his men back from the dead?”

“Whoa.” Zeke waved his hand. “Back up. You discovered the extent of your gift by accident? How? When?”

Sadness swept over Munez’s features, aging him further. “I was eleven when my sister became ill with what was later diagnosed as high-risk neuroblastoma. Brutally aggressive. At first, my parents asked me to heal her, take away her fever and constant pain, get rid of the swelling in parts of her body. I did repeatedly. But the tumors kept returning.”

He shook his head in memory. “My parents didn’t understand why my gift hadn’t worked. They became so desperate they tried conventional medicine next, something they’d never done before. The doctors did all that they could. Nothing helped. Benita came home to die. She was only five years old when she passed. I refused to believe it and fought my father when he tried to pull me away from her body. Before he could stop me, I laid my hands on her and healed as I never had before, pouring my life force inside.”

Munez paused, his focus turning inward as though he were reliving the moment. On a shudder, he continued. “My little sister gasped and opened her eyes. It was the most wonderful thing I’d ever seen. My parents began to sob. They knew then that not only could I heal, I could reanimate.”

Zeke rested his hand on the older man’s and forced himself to ask what he feared knowing. “What happened to your sister?”

Please, she had to have survived. She has to be alive now. Healthy. Cured.

All of Munez’s breath escaped on an edgy sigh. His body seemed to deflate with it.

“What?” Zeke insisted.

“The cancer she’d had went into remission and didn’t come back.”

Zeke’s smile felt jittery, weird. “That’s great. How old is she now? Where is—”

“You don’t understand,” Munez interrupted. “You didn’t let me finish.”

All of the muscles in Zeke’s face went slack. He struggled to swallow. He wanted to flee to avoid hearing the rest. His legs wouldn’t cooperate, refusing to allow him to stand.

The doctor continued, “We thought everything was going to be fine, and for a few days it was. Then new forms of cancer—not metastasis from the neuroblastoma—invaded her skin, eyes, and mouth. I’d always been interested in medicine, and I sensed that when I’d healed the first problem, I had simply created others. Because of her age, her cells were already dividing rapidly. My power accelerated that process in ways none of us had considered. That’s why I never again healed a child and warned Liz not to do so either. Eventually, Benita’s suffering was so great, my parents allowed her to slip away forev—”

“No. That can’t happen to Liz.” Zeke squeezed the man’s wrist. “I won’t let it happen, dammit. You have to do something.”

He regarded Zeke’s hand on him. “It’s different with my daughter. It has to be.” Desperation tinged his words. “Liz wasn’t ill when I brought her back. She’s an adult, her cells aren’t dividing at the same rate as a child’s. You’ve been with her for the last several hours. You would have come for me if anything had happened to her.”

“Like in the Jeep? She wasn’t close to okay there. You saw how she slumped over, as though she’d passed out. It wasn’t until you touched her shoulder that she came to, revived, whatever you want to call it. I want to know why.”

Zeke released the man’s wrist and jerked his chair closer to the bed. Its legs scraped the stone floor. He kept his voice low in case anyone passed in the hall. “I’ve gone over this dozens of times in my head. The only thing I can come up with is what I said before. By healing you, she depleted her own strength.”

“If that’s true, it would have happened right away, not minutes later.”

“Like Benita’s other tumors?” Zeke countered. “You said she was fine for days. Maybe there’s a delayed reaction after someone’s reanimated. I don’t know. Do you have a better explanation for what happened to Liz in the Jeep?”

He bowed his head. “No.”

Zeke’s belly continued to churn. What kind of fucking gift did Liz and her father have if it didn’t always work? If no one could predict its outcome?

It’s as useless as yours.

Too many times Zeke’s visions were inscrutable, providing clues he hadn’t a hope in hell of deciphering. How often had he wanted to simply give up? This time, he couldn’t. Not when it meant Liz’s life—having her at his side.

He recalled last night, how he’d taken her repeatedly to ease his fears, as though his love alone could—

His thoughts paused as something flashed in his mind then skittered away. What, damn it? What?

And then he had it. One of the reasons he’d been so impassioned last night, his longing for Liz so insatiable. On an unconscious level, he’d sensed the solution even then. “She poured her healing gift into me, saving my life,” he said then hesitated before continuing.

“Yes?” Munez prodded.

“Is it possible that my touching her would transfer some of her life force back—her unique life force—with that filling her again rather than having yours or any other healer’s pouring into her?” That having his cock deep inside would return some of what she’d given to him?

“I don’t know.”

Zeke kept himself from snapping, Then what the fuck do you know? Lashing out at the man would accomplish nothing. Liz’s father didn’t want her harmed any more than Zeke did. “Until we figure this out, she is not to heal anyone, understand?”

“Of course.” He touched Zeke’s forearm. “Do you want me to tell her?”

“We’ll both do it.” How, he wasn’t certain. He didn’t want to freak her out, but he couldn’t allow her to repeatedly deplete her strength with her father having to bring her back again and again.

That was, if he could.

The room spun with Zeke’s newest worry.

“What is it?” Munez asked.

Zeke hauled in a breath that did nothing to calm him. “How many times can you reanimate someone? Does it work more than once? Are there any repercussions to doing it repeatedly?”

Would the individual develop cancer or some weird disease no one had ever heard of and couldn’t cure? Would there be brain damage?

“I don’t know,” Munez murmured.

God, God, God. When Liz had stirred last night, taking her first breath that proved she lived again, Zeke thought they were home free. Not even close.

He pushed out of his chair and backed up to the door. “I’ll get Liz. After we speak to her, I’ll have one of my men bring you a fresh set of clothes and take you to the dining room to get something to eat.”

Not giving the older man a chance to comment or question him, Zeke left the room and hurried to his own. Empty. One of his tees and a pair of navy boxers lay on the bed. Liz must have decided not to put them on when Jacob arrived with clothes from one of the younger women.

Zeke headed for the dining room, suspecting they were still there. He stopped just outside the doorway when he saw them.

Liz’s back was to him, her food barely touched. Jacob sat facing her. He stared at her hands for what seemed like minutes, although Zeke figured only a few seconds had passed. Then, as if Jacob couldn’t stand it any longer, he regarded her face.

Zeke’s heart caught. Love, the kind he’d never seen from Jacob for any woman, flooded his brother’s features. He looked at Liz with such yearning, there was no mistaking what he felt.

What Zeke had warned him against.

“Don’t test me on this,” he’d said before the battle with Carreon’s men. “I’ll fight you for her, and I’ll win. She loves me.”

Now, Jacob felt the same about her, his passion fueled not by sibling rivalry—wanting everything Zeke had—but by deep affection.

When had it taken hold? When Jacob learned Liz had gone back to Carreon’s stronghold, putting herself in danger to protect them? Or had it been when Jacob found out she’d died. That they might have lost her forever if not for her father’s gift.

What did it matter? None of his musings would erase Jacob’s feelings. Ones his brother wasn’t acting on. Jacob kept his hands to himself. He didn’t flirt. He merely looked, until Liz lifted her face to his.

Jacob’s cheeks darkened, making him seem too young and vulnerable. He concentrated on his coffee cup, his hands wrapped around it.

Zeke recalled when his brother’s hands had cradled Liz’s breasts. He thought of his conversation with her father, asking the man if the healing she’d given to others could be poured back into her.

Dr. Munez didn’t know.

Zeke intended to find out.