“You need to get down there, clean things up, then finish your mission—get samples from that mine and bring Santo to the fort. Collect a few ghoul heads while you’re at it.”
Guerre shook his head. “Sending Merc’s not a good call, Liege. He’s still recovering and hasn’t yet been able to replace his blood stores.”
“Then he better not need them.”
“Let me go with him,” Guerre said.
“No. You are far too valuable in this fight. The Omnis would kill to have a healer like you on their side.”
“I would never be on their side.”
“Don’t say never. There are ways they could get what they want out of you.”
“Selena and I will go,” Bastion said.
“Not gonna happen. You’re too noisy, and she’s too new. We have to keep this on the down-low.”
Acier chuckled. You are loud, bro. To Liege, he said, Send me.
Liege shook his head. “You’re training Selena. It’s critical that continues uninterrupted.”
“Forget it. I don’t need any of you wankers to do my job for me,” Merc said.
“There’s another reason it has to be Merc. To get into that mine, we’re going to need his newest skill—skin-walking.”
Merc crossed his arms and spread his legs. “No.”
Liege didn’t accept his response. “Any other attempt to penetrate the energetic seal Flynn’s got on the mine will only call his attention to you. You need to ride someone else in.”
“And if I get stuck in my host?”
“You won’t. We’ll have access to your body. We’ll pull you back. What’s happening in that mine is almost more important than getting Santo brought back. Whatever’s going on is a big deal to Flynn, so it’s a big deal to us. I need you to watch the mine workers. Find one whose loyalties are flexible, and ride him through Flynn’s protections.”
“And if I come back befouled by my host’s questionable morals?”
“I’ll clear his energy from yours,” Guerre said.
Merc’s gaze moved between the healer and Liege. Finally, he rolled his eyes shut and shook his head. “Fine. I’ll do it. When do I leave?”
“Now.” Liege glared at Merc. “Except for your host, you handle yourself as you were trained—without involving regulars.”
“Roger that.” Merc saluted then left the room.
Liege sent his crew a wary glance. “Lautaro, keep an eye on him. He may need backup. He’s as low as I’ve seen him.”
I will, as always, Liege. Lautaro flashed out.
Merc had lied when he said he didn’t want Ashlyn. He’d wanted her from the moment they’d first encountered each other in his coma nightmare, standing at the edge of the cliff, looking at the wreckage that had taken his wife and daughters’ lives.
What he’d meant to say was that he didn’t want to want her. He hadn’t corrected himself, though, and that was just as well. It was best that he cut her out of his life now, before things went where he knew they could, before they merged their lives, before he learned to let another love into his heart, before she grew his heart a size bigger and then left a gaping cavern in it when the Omnis came for her, because they surely would, like they’d come for his family.
And that was the curse of the Matchmaker, wasn’t it? If he ignored the match, he would die. If he didn’t, his heart mate would.
How was he going to keep the two of them apart? The hunger they had for each other was incendiary. If they could maintain their distance, maybe the Matchmaker’s Curse would vanish.
Was the curse time-sensitive? Did it go away if it wasn’t acted on?
Being so near Ashlyn caused his body to feel the pain of unfamiliar, unsated, endless lust. Merc had once told Acier that he’d wanted to desire sex again. Well, he’d gotten that wish tenfold, only it wasn’t just sex that he wanted; it was Ashlyn in his arms, in his life.
This was bad. He knew she had to be suffering too, given the way she’d responded to him with every bit of the same hunger he’d been feeling.
Maybe it was like a fever they could try to survive.
Or maybe it would kill them both.
Focusing, he sent his spirit nexus back to Ashlyn’s house. He went into her room and stopped just inside the door. He had to pause for a moment to calm himself. He looked at her sleeping on her bed. She couldn’t be his, he reminded himself. The Matchmaker would fail this time, because the fiend didn’t realize that Merc would rather die than go through what he had when he lost his wife, his whole fucking family.
But crikey, he wanted one last glimpse of Ash. She wore a spaghetti-strap tank top and a pair of knit shorts. She was lying on her back. He couldn’t believe the hunger he felt. Coupled with the way she made his heart hurt, it was overwhelming.
Something about her was missing. He frowned while he tried to figure it out. The glass medallion. She wasn’t wearing it. He looked around the room for it. She’d been wearing it the night he’d first come to her. She wore it at the fort. Why wasn’t she wearing it now?
Merc’s spirit wandered back down the hall to her living room and he found himself drawn to her shelf of knickknacks. He looked them over, trying to figure out what had drawn him in that direction. These were things she’d collected on her travels, artsy things, antiques, touristy things. If anyone was curious about what she was made of, he’d only have to look this collection over to see the wonder she saw in the world…and that her heart yearned for adventure.
The soft, gentle kind of adventure, not the Merc kind.
He stared at the shelf a moment longer. Her necklace wasn’t there…but his utility knife was.
Shit. He’d come back for that later.
Merc focused on the emotion surrounding the medallion. He followed its energy into the kitchen and stopped in front of the sink. Nothing seemed out of place. Telepathically, he opened the cabinet below the sink and found her trash. The necklace was in there. He pulled the glass-encased dirt medallion out. As soon as his spectral energy connected with it, he felt all of Ash’s energy around it, in layers that hit like waves. Fear, longing, hope, need, amazement.
Love.
He lowered his head and sighed.
They were so fucked.
He sent the medallion back to her room. She hadn’t moved positions.
Open your hand, he compelled her. When she did, he put the necklace in her palm.
Goodbye, Ashlyn.
15
Lautaro waited for Merc in the wide foyer of his sprawling Colonial home. He looked cool in his pressed, natural linens. His smile was wide and gracious. Not a damned fake thing about him. Merc was glad he’d met Ashlyn before Lautaro did.
Wait. No. He didn’t give a fuck about Ash. Or Lautaro.
Lautaro laughed as he reached a hand out to shake with Merc, then pounded his shoulder and laughed. “You are as volcanic as ever, I see, my friend.”
“And you’re as sweet and perfumed as I remember.”
Lautaro chuckled again, spreading his arms wide. “I wear no chemicals. What you smell is the scent of a happy man.”
“How can you be so happy?”