Prince of Time

Chapter Two

In seconds Cassie was across the room and kneeling beside him.

“Thorn!”

He didn’t answer.

She looked from him to the cupboard. It was filled with small bottles and boxes of various sizes, none of which was familiar.

Frantically she knelt beside him and turned him on his back.

He’d looked ill.... Perhaps he’d been after some medication. But as far as she could see, he’d passed out before he could take anything.

The greenish cast of his skin was frightening. When she touched him, she found his flesh cold and clammy. The pulse in his neck was thready, his breathing labored. And a few minutes ago she’d heard him retching. He needed a doctor, but she was the only help he was going to get.

She’d seen him grab up a small bottle just before he lost consciousness. Lifting his hand, she pried the stiff fingers open and removed a vial of blue liquid. Would the contents cure him? Or kill him?

She shuddered as another disturbing thought struck her. Was this a sudden attack of some contagious illness? Was that why he’d been isolated in this place?

Willing the ungenerous questions out of her mind, she concentrated on Thorn. How was she supposed to know what to do for him?

He’d been lying quietly on the stone floor. All at once his face contorted in pain, and he thrashed his arms and legs like a drowning man. Cassie grimaced at the agony etched into his features.

He cried out—two distinct words she didn’t understand, repeating them several times. “Reah. Januk.”

Then the thrashing grew more violent, racking him with frightening spasms that looked as if they would tear muscles and tendons.

“What should I do?” she begged.

Agony contorted his features. The spasms came hard and fast, one barely ending before the next one began.

His body wrenched, lifting him momentarily off the floor. He screamed, and his heels drummed. It was getting worse. Cassie sensed that whatever was wrong was going to kill him in a matter of minutes.

Swiftly making a decision, she pulled the seal off the bottle he’d been holding. Prying his jaw open with one hand, she tipped the vial to his lips with the other.

With agonizing slowness, the liquid dribbled into his mouth. He grimaced.

“Swallow it. Please swallow it.” She waited tensely, all her senses tuned toward Thorn. Finally, he did.

“Thank you,” she breathed. Now she could only wait and watch for some sign that she’d done the right thing.

His body still shook with spasms. Aching to do something more to help him—anything—she pressed her torso against his and held his arms at his sides, trying to make sure that he didn’t hurt himself. Although he was the patient and she the care giver, the physical contact was strangely comforting. Groping for his hands, she laced her fingers with his, and lay with her eyes closed, willing the viscous liquid to do its work.

She didn’t know him, nor could she fathom what he was doing in this strange place. She couldn’t even hold a meaningful conversation with him, for heaven’s sake. But she felt that some kind of inexplicable bond had formed between them. At least that was the only way she could explain the terror that had overwhelmed her when he’d fallen to the floor.

By slow degrees she realized that the spasms were quieting, and the beat of his heart was growing stronger and more regular. For several more heartbeats, she kept her cheek pressed against his powerful chest. Then she raised her head. The agony on his face was only a shadow of remembered pain.

Cassie hovered over him, one of his large hands still clenched in hers. Finally he sighed and lay quiet like a swimmer who had finally pulled himself onto shore after a long, exhausting race.

“Thank God,” she murmured.

His lids fluttered. His lips moved. And she sensed that he was making a tremendous effort to struggle toward consciousness. Hardly daring to breathe, she watched his face. His lids opened, and those startling blue eyes focused on her. Almost immediately, they registered surprise, then the same vulnerability she’d seen when he first came out of the transparent chamber.

“You’re going to be fine,” she told him, hoping her voice conveyed her meaning.

He tried to say something.

“No. You’re too weak. Just sleep,” she murmured. “We’ll talk later.”

Somehow.

His lids drifted closed. After a few moments, he appeared to sink into a normal sleep. She found blankets of some synthetic material in the supply cabinet and made him a bed.

Then, with an unsettled feeling, she looked down at him. What was it about this stranger that brought out such tender feelings? Usually she kept men at a distance. She’d learned not to get involved because she knew that the minute you let someone get close, you gave them the power to hurt you.

This was only a response to a fellow human being in need, she told herself. But she didn’t really believe that. And the admission was frightening.

Silently, she backed away from Thorn. Now that the emergency was over, she’d better find a way out of this place. Behind the capsule where he’d first been standing were the computers she’d seen when she’d first entered the facility. She squinted at the equipment. The design was sleek and streamlined, obviously highly advanced models, but she’d used a variety of computers—both at the State Department and at the travel agency. Perhaps she could boot one of these. If it was connected to a modem, escape from this place could be as simple as a phone call.

Sitting down in a gray contour chair, she stared at the machine. There was a flat, glassy-looking screen embedded in a raised panel, but no keyboard. Was the system voice activated?

“Computer,” she called out the way the crew did on the starship Enterprise.

Nothing happened, and she felt ridiculous. Maybe the keyboard would light up if she touched the desk.

The moment her hand connected with the machine, a bolt of electricity shot from the surface. It crackled over her skin and zinged like a burst of lightning through her whole body, making her gasp in pain.

Slumping in the chair, she cradled her hand against her chest. After several moments, she was left feeling weak and shaky. Holding out her hand, she stared from her reddened flesh to the desk and back again. So much for communicating with the outside world. She wasn’t going to risk a shock like that again.

The hair on the top of her head prickled as if a secret door had opened to the underworld, and a cold breeze was blowing toward her. Until now, she’d thought of this installation as odd. Strange. A mystery as intriguing as its naked occupant. But the situation had taken another twist. She’d just learned that this hidden place was dangerous as well as strange. And perhaps deadly.

* * *

HALFWAY AROUND the world, Zeke Chambers leaned back in his rickety chair and finished the last of the strong, sweet coffee. His gray eyes scanned the view of unspoiled mountains against a crystal blue sky. The peaceful scene was deceiving. Yesterday at sunset, a small homemade bomb had ripped through the entrance to the cave his international team was excavating, turning the orderly dig site into chaos. Luckily, no one had died, and the structural damage was minimal. But two workers had been sent to the local physician, and the team’s schedule was set back several days until the debris could be cleared.

Like the rest of his colleagues, Zeke had a tent at the site. But last night he’d slept in a real—if somewhat lumpy—bed in the village inn and treated himself to a hot shower. From his table at an outdoor café, he could see men and women making their way with carts and baskets to the market down the street where horse-drawn wagons full of vegetables and wares competed with small European cars for the parking spots along the main street. Had one of the innocent-looking villagers been responsible for the bombing? And why?

Zeke sighed. When Victor Kirkland at the State Department had helped him get this “plum assignment,” the man had neglected to mention it might also be dangerous.

“Zesto café?” a young waitress interrupted his thoughts.

“No, I’m fine,” he answered in her language.

Zeke popped a last bite of nut-and-cinnamon pastry into his mouth and wiped his sticky fingers on a cloth napkin before turning back to his laptop computer.

He could afford his own top-of-the-line equipment. In fact, the trust fund he’d come into three years ago when he’d turned thirty provided enough income for him to take any job he wanted—or not work at all if he chose. After an extended sabbatical last year, he’d found he was as happy backpacking through Europe as teaching anthropological linguistics at Johns Hopkins University in Baltimore.

With the hunt-and-peck style he’d developed to accommodate the dozens of foreign-language keyboards and word-processing programs he had to use, Zeke keyed in a few more lines to his log entry from the day before.

“Explosion at cave site under investigation. Could be local protestors who think we’re going to cart off their national treasures. Or grave robbers trying to beat us to the punch. Should resume work by tomorrow afternoon.”

“Good morning, Professor Chambers. May I join you?” a deferential voice inquired.

Zeke glanced up to see Dr. Feydor Lenov standing beside the table. The bearded Russian archeologist, a late addition to the team, had flown in several days before.

“Have a seat.” Zeke saved his file, then popped the black disk from the laptop onto the tablecloth.

The Russian heaved his considerable bulk into a chair, and Zeke waited to see if it would take his weight. It did. He’d heard the man had been a competitive weight lifter in his youth.

After ordering coffee, Lenov leaned across the table and lowered his voice. “Heard anything more about the bombing?”

“Not much, except we can get back to work tomorrow.”

“Well, I should hope so. I didn’t come here to twiddle my thumbs. Montague will be hopping mad about the delay.”

Zeke raised an eyebrow. “You’ve met our sponsor?”

“Once, several years ago at an exhibit in Paris, we exchanged a few words. He likes antiquities better than people.” Lenov’s accent sounded midwestern.

Zeke wondered if he’d learned his English in the States or in a KGB training class. “Looking for something particular at the site?”

The Russian’s answer was drowned out by the sound of an altercation at a neighboring table. Scraping his chair on the stone floor, he moved closer to Zeke and away from the ruckus.

The men who’d been arguing suddenly began trading punches. A table overturned, and customers scattered like frightened mice. Zeke grabbed his computer and jumped out of the way. For a large man, Lenov moved just as fast, dodging as one of the combatants fell across their table. With an angry look, the fighter pulled himself up. But his assailant had hightailed it down the street. Shouting insults, the injured party followed.

Zeke shook his head. His wonder at the volatile local temperament turned to paranoia as he righted the table and searched the floor. His disk had vanished.

* * *

AS CASSIE CRADLED her injured hand in her lap, she swiveled her chair toward the door where she’d entered. It was still wide open. For a wild moment she pictured herself dashing down the tunnel and into the cave of snow. She wanted to get away from this place. More than that, she wanted to get away from the man sleeping on the floor before he woke up and something else happened.

What?

She’d never felt so off balance. Or so open to possibilities. The combination left her feeling breathless. Yet escape was not an option. She’d simply be right back where she’d started a few hours ago. Trapped under an avalanche.

So whether she liked it or not, she was going to have to stay here and cope. With the mysterious environment. With its even more mysterious occupant. Thorn.

Cassie licked her dry lips. Was he the enemy?

All at once she remembered a weird situation she’d walked into back in college. She’d been in the almost-empty library during Christmas vacation because she was trying to get an extra-credit paper finished. Two male students had come up to the soda machine while she was taking a break. One was wearing scruffy jeans and a T-shirt with holes. The other sported an expensive sweater and stone-washed Calvins.

After they left, a guy who’d been watching from the corner sidled up and started asking a bunch of questions about which of the previous pair she thought was more likely to succeed in college.

She’d thought the questions odd and started to leave. He’d begged her to help him out because he was doing an experiment for a psychology class on women’s expectations of men based on their clothing. Cassie had gotten away as quickly as she could.

In a lot of ways, this setup felt similar. She could almost imagine a team of scientists watching the action on television and scoring her responses on a scale from one to ten. How would she react to the naked man? What would she do when she discovered they couldn’t communicate? What about when it looked as if he was dying?

Cassie sat up straighter. “Okay. I’ve figured it out. The experiment’s over,” she said to the room. “You can let me go home.”

No speaker crackled to life. No doors opened, and her mouth firmed in disappointment. It was followed at once by an ironic little laugh. She hadn’t really expected a response, had she? She hoped she wasn’t that far gone.

This wasn’t a case of getting trapped in the college library by a dorky grad student trawling for victims. She’d been caught in an avalanche and almost died. Her guide was probably under a ton of snow.

And there was one more factor she’d been trying not to think about. Her own compulsion to come here. She shivered. She’d pulled strings to get this assignment—fought for it in ways that were completely out of character for her. And ever since she’d arrived, she’d had a sense she was fulfilling a destiny written in the stars long ago.

Nonsense, she told herself.

Standing too quickly, she reached to steady herself against the desk. At the last second she cursed and pulled her hand from harm’s way, taking a step back.

Automatically she glanced at Thorn to see if he’d heard. Then she cursed again at the double stupidity. He was out cold. Even if he could hear, he wouldn’t understand.

She grimaced. Every way she twisted and turned in this bizarre place, she came up against a new problem. She didn’t like having no control. And she didn’t like waiting for someone to wake up and tell her which machines were safe to touch. Particularly a man. Her father had made damn sure of that.

Unable to stand still while her mind spun in circles, Cassie stomped toward the room where Thorn had closeted himself before rushing to grab the medicine bottle. She’d heard water running while he was inside. Odds were it was a kitchen or a bathroom.

But after crossing the threshold, she stopped short. It took a moment to orient herself. There was a funnel-shaped object coming out of the floor. A toilet? She peered into the hole. No water. And no flushing mechanism.

What might be a sink was a shallow trough jutting out of the wall. Then she caught a glance at her reflection in the mirror above it. Instead of being flat, the image was three-dimensional.

She stood very still and pressed her fingers against the surface. It felt hard and flat. Yet the rectangle displayed her head and shoulders as if she were looking at a brilliantly clear holographic image. Eyes wide, she swung from side to side, noting that she could practically see the back of her head—as well as every imperfection in her skin.

Who would go to the trouble of using advanced holographic technology on a bathroom mirror, Cassie wondered as she gazed at the startling image.

With a shrug she looked for water taps. There were none. But when she brought her hand over the trough, water sprayed from hidden nozzles in the wall. It was warm. With a little experimentation, she found that by bringing her hand closer to the wall or moving it farther away, she could adjust the temperature.

What looked like decorative columns above the sink turned out to be two stacks of lightweight tumblers fitted into grooves in the wall. Cassie filled a glass and took a cautious sip. To her pleasure, the water tasted as if it had come from a crystal-clear mountain stream. Well, at least that was something.

“So who designed this place?” she asked her unconscious companion as she emerged again. “Is the Defense Department using it to test advanced technologies? Are you training for an invasion of Mars? Or is this like in World War II when they used Native American languages as a communications code? Is that your background?”

She looked inquiringly at the slant of his closed eyes and the copper color of his skin. “No answers? What a surprise.”

However, he stirred restlessly in his sleep, his mouth drawn as if in pain.

Instantly she was contrite. He wasn’t responsible for what had happened to her. In fact, he’d seemed as confounded by the situation as she. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you.” Kneeling beside him, she smoothed back the straight black hair that had fallen across his forehead. Not a military haircut, she noted absently as she fingered the strands. They were surprisingly silky.

She should stop touching him. Yet she craved the contact. It was because they were trapped here together, she told herself. Because he was the only other person in this alien place and they needed each other to survive. Yet she knew that didn’t fully explain the tightness in her throat. The worry. The fear of loss. She felt those things for this man called Thorn, whether she admitted it or not.

Her gaze took in more details. His lashes were even darker than his hair. His features spoke of maturity, yet his skin was almost unlined, except around his eyes. Awake, he’d been forceful, antagonistic, even harsh. Sleeping, he looked peaceful. And defenseless. She couldn’t stop herself from gently touching his lips. They moved against her fingers, responding to the intimate contact, and the movement sent a little shiver up her arm.

Cassie pulled her hand away, yet she didn’t want to sever the human contact. Flattening her fingers against his chest, she felt his heartbeat once more. The rhythm was sure and steady. His breathing was normal. Abandoning medical observations, she slipped inside the front closing of his coat and stroked her fingers through the thick hair of his chest.

“You’re in trouble, aren’t you?” she whispered. “We’re both in trouble. Are you going to tell me about it?”

Cassie hardly expected an answer. She certainly didn’t expect Thorn’s hand to cover hers. But it did. Her gaze shot to his face. His blue eyes were open, and he was staring at her with a look of mingled wonder and wariness.

* * *

THORN REMEMBERED every detail of the few minutes he’d spent with this woman—starting with the moment he’d stepped out of the delta capsule.

Things had happened quickly. Too quickly. Ending with long, agonizing seconds when he’d known he was going to die, and he’d called out to the two people who mattered most to him. His heart squeezed painfully, and he pushed their images away. If he started thinking about what might have happened to Reah and Januk, he’d go insane.

So he focused every particle of his attention on the woman who crouched over him. She’d saved his life by getting the ribenazine into him.

Why? Had she been acting under Lodar’s instructions to make the captive drop his defenses by saving his life? Perhaps he was being too cynical.

Whatever her goal, he sensed the tension radiating from her in almost palpable waves. Of course, she had good reason to be afraid. Of him. Of this place. Either she was playing a very dangerous game or she’d stumbled into a situation completely beyond her ken.

He sat up and leaned against the supply cabinet, wincing at the stab of pain that felt like a nail being driven into his forehead. When he tried to get to his feet, the woman put a restraining hand on his shoulder.

“No.”

It wasn’t difficult to guess the meaning of the short syllable she uttered. It was more than a polite suggestion—it was an order.

With an inward sigh, he conceded the point. Relaxing as best he could, he looked at her inquiringly. She met his gaze steadily, a bold move for a native woman. If that’s what she was.

He studied her face. She was very beautiful, with gently wavy hair the color of warm light cast by an oil lamp. It went well with the alabaster skin that bloomed with a hint of pink over her high cheekbones in response to his scrutiny. His gaze was drawn to her clear emerald eyes that at first glance seemed a little too large. They were just the opposite of her nose. It was small and delicate and entirely feminine. As feminine as the gentle curve of her mouth. He’d never seen anyone like her before. Anywhere.

He took the hand from his shoulder and looked at the back. Her fingers were long, tapered, smooth—and strong, he added, remembering her grip on his jaw when she’d been trying to get the medicine into him. Her nails were rounded and buffed. No, he amended as he smoothed his thumb across their surface. They were coated with a shiny, transparent substance he’d never seen before.

She shivered under his touch, but didn’t draw away or lower her eyes.

“Ah, you are very bold, Cassie,” he said in his own tongue, wishing she could grasp his meaning, wishing he could gauge her reaction.

She responded to her name with a tiny twitch of her lips. He pushed her a little further, shifting his grip to find her pulse. The beats accelerated.

She remained very still, trying wordlessly to convey the impression that she wasn’t afraid of him. He knew from her shallow breathing and her pounding heart that it was a lie. Yet he kept coming back to the central truth of their short acquaintance. She’d saved his life when she could have left him convulsing on the floor.

He’d give a lot to know her real motives. Since he could hardly conduct an interrogation, he cataloged other observations. He could tell a lot from her hand, for example. And from the way she took care of her hair and face. She looked no more than twenty. Yet she was wise beyond those years. She was from the ruling class. Perhaps even royalty, because she’d never done manual labor. She was from a land far away from the one where he’d been assigned, since she hadn’t been raised to defer to his people. In fact, she seemed to have no idea of his status.