Javier (Alpha Heroes #12)

Chapter Three

Missy

Real time slammed into me, leaving me gasping for air. Beneath my bewildered stare, the man detoured to inspect the dead. Working systematically, ignoring the questions Sister Janet tossed at him, he collected the dead men’s weapons, and after muscling open the iron grid at the center of the courtyard, tossed them down the well.

“You two.” He pointed from the nuns to the well. “Drop the bodies in there. Now.”

His tone was intractable. His command absolute, and yet, paralyzed by shock, I watched as Sisters Elsa and Janet hesitated.

“Do ye mean to hurt our cailín , big fella?” Sister Janet asked in her Irish lilt.

“I’m here to help.” The man stalked in my direction. “Do what I say.”

“Good Lord, this one’s bossy,” Sister Elsa drawled in her southern twang. “But he did save our lives. What does he look like?”

“Well, himself’s got a fine air about him.” Sister Janet eyed the newcomer with narrowed eyes and raised eyebrows. “The big fella might be the wolf hiding under the lambskin, but I say we fix to do as he says, at least fer now.”

“Well, if you think so.” Sister Elsa extended her cane and felt out for the closest body.

“Aye, those are the thug’s feet,” Sister Janet directed. “Pick them up now.”

Before my very eyes, the nuns began to drag the first corpse to the well. I tried very hard to suck in some air. It was like aspirating syrup, so thick and heavy I couldn’t get it into my lungs. Defying my rattling knees, I braced on the wall and pushed up from the ground. The compound spun around me. I could barely keep myself upright.

Courage, Missy. Find your backbone.

I wasn’t as brave as my sisters. I wasn’t as gutsy as Thena, as smart as Cece, or as persuasive as Affie. I’d never been the strong one of the family. In fact, I’d always been the shy, bashful, skittish baby, the one everyone took care of.

“Mousy Missy,” the mean girls at boarding school liked to tease me. “Prissy Missy,” was another name they tortured me with before my sisters shut them up. Now I fisted my hands, and defying the tremors shaking my body, straightened my back. I couldn’t afford to be mousy today.

The formidable warrior mounted the concrete stairs and came to stand before me. “Are you okay?” he asked.

It was the last question I expected from him and it left me speechless.

No, I wasn’t okay. Far from it. I’d almost been killed. I had a bloody knee, a sore tush, and a throbbing headache. My balance was off and my heart pumped a million miles an hour, but I managed a shuddering breath.

“I’m fine,” I squeaked, just as my vision flickered and my knees buckled.

His strong arms caught me before I hit the ground. “Got you.”

The sounds cut out and so did the lights. The darkness held me in its thrall. When I next knew, the gentle touch of a calloused hand cupped the side of my face.

“Hey, Angel?” An oddly familiar male voice rustled in my ear, rich, soothing, and feathery to my senses. “I need you to wake up.”

I forced my eyes to open, blinked off the dark spots dancing at the edges of my vision, and squinted into the face that hovered above me. I took in the raw masculine beauty of his features and grappled with the shock of seeing him again.

Again ?

“There you are.” His face broke into a lopsided grin that had mischief written all over it. “Don’t look so spooked. You were only out for a few minutes.”

All I could do was stare at him.

His cocky smirk beamed down on me like a beacon on a stormy night at sea. It hit me with the power of a defibrillator, dispelling the haze and powering my senses. Lush lashes framed his eyes. The rich shade of brown gleaming in his irises reminded me of lightly brewed Earl Grey sweetened with amber honey. Somehow, his gaze calmed and soothed me.

An inkling of recognition prickled in the back of my mind, but I couldn’t quite pin it down. A sense of déjà vu shivered through me. Where had I been exposed to his roguish grin before? Why was the heat in his gaze so familiar? And how come his face’s expressions felt so intimate to me?

“Your friends came over when you fainted, but I sent them back to work,” he announced in his husky voice. “Meanwhile, I took care of your knee.”

I looked down and spotted a small pile of wipes next to me. In several spots, the sting of disinfecting solution evaporated over my skin. A small Band-Aid was wrapped around the top of my middle finger and a bigger one was plastered over my knee.

“I know you’re prone to fainting, but you’re gonna be fine,” he said.

Holy saints. How on earth did he know about my fainting spells?

“I need to ask.” He arched his expressive eyebrows. “Did you hit your head when that fucker attacked you?”

“Um…” My lips had trouble forming words and my brain refused to help. “I think so.”

“Let’s see.”

His big fingers sifted through my hair and gently explored the back of my skull. “No blood,” he reported.

His careful touch felt good, but what were the chances this man was my friend?

Next to nil, and yet, he’d patched me up. Now, all I could do was focus on his oddly familiar face and hang on to his clear gaze. It was as if my ability to survive the day depended on the connection between us.

I couldn’t understand the emotions that enveloped us in a protective bubble where only he and I existed. Braced against his hard body, caught in his arms, I felt… safe?

Yes, I must’ve hit my head really hard when that now-dead piece of crap pushed me. That had to be the problem. A concussion may explain why I was reacting to the newcomer so oddly, but he was also right. Despite my best efforts not to, I’d fainted.

You nitwit. You passed out again.

How pathetic was that?

My face ignited. I looked away in shame. As a kid, I’d fainted so often that my sisters had taken me to the doctors. They diagnosed me with stress-related Vasovagal Syncope, otherwise known as fainting spells. In my case, they were triggered by violence and emotional distress, usually brought about by my father’s fury, a result of all of his shouting and yelling.

Since I’d taken refuge with the sisters, I hadn’t suffered many fainting spells. I really hoped this episode didn’t mark the beginning of more. I could barely hide my embarrassment. A random thought hit me out of left field. Could I be dreaming again? Was this guy even real?

I lifted a tentative hand and brushed my fingers over the stern ridges of his jaw. He stiffened beneath my touch. My fingertips rustled over the bristled textured of his beard’s shadow. My body hummed, as if recognizing the rugged feel of his skin. Goosebumps prickled all over me. Why did I feel as if my hands were well-acquainted with the planes of his face?

Oh, my freaking God. I had seen this man before! Every night for the last few weeks, as I lay asleep on my cot. I’d seen him… in my dreams. Even weirder, I’d seen us doing naughty things… to each other.

“Are you with me?” He took my hand and gently massaged my icy fingers.

“I… um…” I croaked, a dry gulp. “Yes.”

“Well, then, hello Angel.” His voice echoed again in the back of my mind, intimate and foreboding, seductive and alluring. “I can’t believe I found you.”

A rabble of butterflies took flight in my lower stomach. He’d called me Angel in my dreams as well. He’d greeted me with the same exact words last night, and ever since I began dreaming about him. I’d woken up every time, sweaty and needy, blaming my wild dreams on the clash between my self-imposed celibacy and my sinful disposition.

Now he was here, holding me, as if he’d manifested from my mind’s darkest desires, recreating the beginnings of an X-rated scene that would’ve required penance well beyond ten Hail Marys. Or a thousand.

“You need a drink.” He propped me higher on his chest, sat me up, and after yanking his hydration pack’s hose, pressed the mouthpiece to my lips. “Since I’ve got none of the good stuff on me, water will have to do.”

I didn’t have to suck on the mouthpiece. With a flick of his fingers, the water trickled out at just the right pace for sipping. It flowed through me, flooding my desiccated throat. Slowly, my toes and fingers regained feeling. The heat and humidity of the jungle returned to swarm me. His scent surrounded me—sunbaked jungle, ozone right before the storm, and crisp rain approaching.

I loved a good storm. Watching them was one of the few pleasures I permitted myself these days. A sudden spark of irritation struck me out of nowhere. He had no right to jump from my dreams to real life without my permission. And why on earth did this stranger have to smell like my favorite weather event?

“Small sips,” he murmured, and I obeyed as if I had no will of my own. “That’s it. A little more will do you good.”

His hands glided over my body in a soothing caress. Far from causing me pain, the slide of his fingers thrilled my most neglected parts. Hands as big and harsh as his should not be able to deliver such tender care, and yet here I was, relishing the water and his touch.

He pushed a strand of hair away from my face and studied my eyes. “Good news. No pupil dilation. Take these.” Keeping one arm around me, he pulled a small pack of over-the-counter pain meds from one of his pockets, ripped it open with his teeth, and slid the pills between my lips. “You should be good to go in a few.”

Following his instructions, I swallowed the tablets along with another sip of water, but the accidental meeting of his fingertips and my lips unleashed vivid memories. I remembered the feel of his mouth over mine, his tongue urging me to open for him, and his naked body, chiseled and heavy, bearing down on my hips as I widened my legs and bared my soaked—

Holy Mary Mother of God. Am I going nuts? Am I dreaming again?

Flames licked my face, but I had to know.

A glance showed me the nuns at work with their backs to us. So, I did the only thing I could think of. I lifted my face to him and planted a small tentative kiss on his lips, desperate to make sense of a world gone mad.

He startled, but he didn’t recoil or retreat. On the contrary, after a few seconds, his lips pressed against mine. I probed a little more, deepening the contact. His lips relaxed, allowing me to explore him just as I’d done in my dreams. His mouth was strong but soft, patient but responsive. He kissed me back, a soft kneading of lips that sent prickles of awareness through my body. He closed his eyes, and I melted into his arms like sugar rendering into caramel.

This felt good. He felt right.

I dared a small swipe of my tongue over the seam of his lips. He answered by opening right away and seizing my mouth. When he briefly plunged his tongue in my well, I hesitantly dipped my tongue in his. I gasped as I recognized the flavors that brightened my senses. He tasted earthy, like salt and wheat. As the kiss grew in intensity, his breaths fractured and so did mine. His fiery wafts blew over me, scented with the same ardent notes of passion I remembered from my dreams.

This couldn’t be happening. He couldn’t be the man of my dreams. It was impossible!

I had trouble letting go of him. Part of me wanted to forget reality, dream on, and surrender to him, and yet ending the kiss was the most important part of my test. Every morning, when I woke up, he dematerialized from my thoughts, revealing he had only been a dream. But now, as I reluctantly relinquished his lips and opened my eyes, my heart almost leaped out of my chest. He was still there, holding me, solid, present, and permanent in every way.

He’s real.

Far from clearing my confusion, the realization left me reeling. I sat up, trying to sever the powerful connection between our bodies, to interrupt the odd current buzzing through me in a closed loop.

The moment he released me from his hold, I fought a bout of vertigo. On impulse, I braced myself on his arm. Immediately, the world stilled. I felt as if I would float away into nothingness without his touch, as if he were my anchor, my link to the real world, and the only one who could keep oblivion at bay.

“Angel?” Concern dimmed the tawny light in his eyes. “Are you okay?”

“Fine.” The flush burning my face spread to my whole body. I dragged my gaze to my fingers. They were locked around his wrist, so tight I could see the crescent moon imprint of my nails etched on his tanned skin.

I made a great effort to let go. “Sorry.”

“You mean about kissing me?” He lifted one corner of his mouth, his eyes dancing with effervescent mirth. “It was—”

I raised a finger in the air. “Don’t you dare say anything.”

“I was gonna say nice.”

“I… um… I was trying to…” I stammered. “In my dreams, you—”

He scrunched his eyebrows, studying me with big, rounded eyes. “What dreams?”

“Forget it.” Oh, God. I was making such a fool of myself. “I’m a little… off.”

“You have reason to be.” He hooked his carbine on his shoulder, got up, and taking me completely by surprise, lifted me in his arms as if I weighed nothing. “We gotta go. The soldiers will be here in...” He managed to twist his wrist and check his watch. “T-minus thirty-five mikes and counting.”

Soldiers. Fire. Death. Destruction . Yes. I remembered that dream as well.

“Wait.” As he hopped down from the ledge and started forward, fear returned to squash my chest. I tried to twist myself out of his hold. “Put me down.” When he kept going, I pounded his chest with my fist, a moot point, not to mention foolish, given that he wore an armored vest. “I said, put me down!”

“Angel,” he started. “We have no time for—”

“Put the wain down!” On cue, Sister Janet’s umbrella rained down on the back of the big warrior. Thump, thump, thump . It bounced off him as if he were made of steel.

“You cannot take her from us, you big oaf.” Sister Elsa waved her cane in the air, flicking it against the back of his legs with impressive accuracy.

“Hey! Ladies! Stop this!” He whirled around and glared at Sister Janet. “You’re gonna break your damn umbrella, and you’re fair skinned, so you need it.” He shifted his glower to Sister Elsa. “As to you, I’m gonna feel really shitty if I have to get rid of your fucking cane, so stop using it as a fucking weapon.”

Sister Elsa puffed out her skinny chest. “Language, young man.”

“With all due respect,” he said. “If you’re fucking dead, nobody gives a fuck about one’s shitty vocabulary.”

“Down!” I smacked him on the shoulder. “Now!”

“Fine.” He huffed a stoic sigh and settled me on my feet. “So much for me rescuing you.”

“I don’t need anyone to rescue me,” I snapped, fighting to find my balance.

“It looked different from over there.” He cocked a big thumb toward the hill.

He had a point, but still, I stumbled away from him.

“If you wanna walk, walk,” he said, “but we’re burning daylight, so let’s go.”

Breathing hard, I braced on the sisters’ shoulders and willed the compound to stop spinning around me.

“She’s frightened of ye, so stay away, ye giant shitehawk.” Sister Janet waved her umbrella at him. “Ye will not harm our wain. Feck off!”

“Who’s the one with a potty mouth now?” The man shifted his voice toward Sister Elsa. “Aren’t you gonna get on her ass?”

“The Irish get an exemption from swearing, or so she tells me.” Sister Elsa planted her cane on the ground. “As to the girl, she belongs to the Lord.”

His gaze fell on me. “Do you?”

“Do I what?”

“Belong to the Lord,” he said. “Have you taken your vows?”

He locked eyes with me. The intensity of his stare reminded me of his kiss, still tingling on my lips and reverberating through my body in prickles of treacherous pleasure.

“If you need to know, I haven’t taken any vows.” I lifted my chin and pledged allegiance to my sometimes absent backbone. “But that’s none of your concern, is it? I belong to myself, and you’ve got no business being here.”

“The hell I don’t.” Cursing under his breath, he massaged the bridge of his nose. “Angel, I swear. I have no intention of harming you or your friends, but if we don’t get the hell out of here, someone’s gonna get hurt, and that someone’s gonna be me. Since I like my ass as is, it’s time for us to say adios to this place. You can come with me voluntarily or not, but you’re coming with me.”

“I’m not going with you anywhere.” I stood my ground. “If you think you’re taking me back to my father, you’re sorely mistaken—”

“I’m not here to take you back to your father.”

“Then why the heck are you here?”

“There we go now.” Sister Janet drew up to her full height, which was barely five feet. “Why are ye here?”

“I came here to find you, Angel,” he stated. “I’m here to help you, if you’ll let me.”

“You’re lying.” My skepticism grew now that I’d put my backbone to good use, and also some distance between him and me. “I don’t believe you.”

“I cheat and lie all the time.” He scoffed. “Believe me, I’d know if I were lying.”

I frowned in confusion. “What?”

“Never mind.” His big chest rose and fell with another exasperated breath. “I don’t work for your father and we have to leave now, so less talk and more hustle, please.”

“No.” Despite his denials, I was sure he was here to drag me, kicking and screaming, back to my father’s clutches.

“Quick fact.” His eyes glinted like copper. “The men who inhabited those corpses until a moment ago came here to kill you. If you don’t come with me, other assassins will show up and finish the work.”

“We don’t know any of that for sure—”

“I do.” His certainty shocked me. “Now, please. I’m asking nicely. Come with me.”

I narrowed my eyes on him. “If you don’t work for my father, then who are you?”

“My name is Javier Guzman, at your service.” He took a small, playful bow, and flashed his hot-as-sin grin, the one that curled my toes and melted my brain.

“ Javier ?” I gasped in complete disbelief.

He’d called himself the same in my dreams.

“You are the Javier?” Strangely, Sister Elsa echoed my surprise.

“In the flesh.” He kept his attention on me. “You, on the other hand, don’t need an introduction. You’re Artemis Astor, the mysteriously vanished daughter of Richard Astor, or ‘Missing Missy’ as we’ve been calling you lately.”

My knees caved. I plopped down on the nearest concrete ledge. Missing Missy. Mysteriously vanished. Richard Astor . No doubt about it. He was my father’s minion.