Prince of Time. Rebecca York

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СКАЧАТЬ that at the moment she had more strength than he. Obviously he was in worse shape than he’d realized.

      He saw her eyes were round with worry. That, as much as her restraining hands, stopped him from crossing the room. He wasn’t used to anyone caring so passionately about what happened to him. Bemused, he reversed his course. But before sitting down on the makeshift bed, he found a packet of regenerating salve in the healing cabinet.

      “Come here,” he said quietly, accompanying the order with a hand gesture.

      Hesitantly she sat beside him.

      “Let me fix your hand.” Although she couldn’t understand, it was strangely calming to simply talk to her.

      He opened the packet of salve and rubbed a little on the back of his own hand to show her it was all right. Then he reached for hers. Careful of the burned flesh, he spread the ointment on her wound.

      He saw her draw in a quick breath. Saw her let it out in a soft sigh as the salve began to soothe.

      She stared down at her injured skin, watching the red color fade. Then she raised wide, questioning eyes to his.

      He shrugged and squeezed her fingers. For long moments, she sat with her hand in his. They couldn’t talk, yet words were hardly necessary now. He was content to be simply with her like this for hours, the innocent contact like a healing balm. Languid warmth stole over him.

      She started to lean on his shoulder. Then her head jerked up, and the rosy flush he liked so much spread across her cheeks. So she’d felt the closeness, too. And it made her skittish.

      She blinked, her face changing from guileless to guarded. Scrambling up, she darted across the room, picked up a blue carry bag and brought it over. When she returned, she sat an arm’s length from him and began to rummage inside. With a little grin, she pulled out a small leather-covered book and what looked like a writing instrument. Fascinated, he waited to find out what she had in mind—besides putting some distance between them.

      She opened the book and passed it to him. The pages were covered with unintelligible symbols. The only things he knew for sure was that her people had a well-developed written language that used an alphabet rather than ideograms. And that her handwriting was precise.

      He shrugged.

      She found an unused sheet and drew two people. One had a parody of his face. The other had longer hair and two half circles to indicate breasts. She pointed to the first one. “Thorn.”

      He beat her to the punch and pointed to the other. “Cassie.”

      She nodded, obviously pleased. Underneath, she carefully wrote a string of the symbols he’d seen on the previous pages.

      “Cassie,” she pronounced as he studied the configuration, noting double consonant in the middle.

      When he pointed to each symbol, she gave him the phonetic sound. “Kaa-see.” They repeated the process for Thorn.

      He sighed. In a couple of weeks, they might get somewhere with this. By that time they might both be dead.

      She pointed to him and grimaced, her face showing pain, her shoulders sagging in weariness. She used a word he’d heard her say just before he’d fallen asleep. “Thorn weak.”

      “Weak,” he repeated in her language, wishing he could pretend he hadn’t comprehended the meaning. Sick and vulnerable. Lacking strength. They were probably all good approximations. He scowled at her.

      She looked apologetic, as if she knew how much he hated the observation. A timid woman would have backed off. Instead, she followed with a drawing of the Thorn figure lying on a bed, his eyes closed. “Thorn...needs...sleep.”

      The next picture showed Thorn standing straight and tall. She drew him again, sitting at the analyzer and walking through a door. Pausing, she took her lip between her teeth. Then at the top of the page she drew a circle with wavy lines radiating from the perimeter.

      He studied the sketch, and his chest tightened as he deciphered the pictogram. She’d drawn an almost universal symbol—a sun. He pointed toward the sky, tipped his face up and closed his eyes, pretending to bask in pleasant warmth.

      She nodded eagerly. “Sun,” she supplied and began speaking rapidly.

      He put up a hand to stop her. He didn’t know the meaning of the words flowing from her, but he understood she thought he’d be smart to get some sleep before exploring this place. With a sigh, he crossed his legs at the ankles and inclined his head toward the cabinet of healing supplies. Inside were several varieties of cutaneous patches he could use. One would put him into a deep, mending sleep for several hours. The prospect was tempting. If he’d been alone, he wouldn’t have hesitated to use it. But he couldn’t risk being out of commission while his companion’s motives were still in doubt.

      Her green eyes regarded him solemnly. This time he was the one who broke the contact. He longed to trust her. Longed to give in to the conviction that they were in this together. But he’d be a fool to act from such weakness. He looked toward the cabinet again.

      A different patch would put his system in overdrive. But he couldn’t go that route, either, since the dose had to be strictly rationed. If he took a stimulant jolt now, he wouldn’t have the option of using it later when he might need it more.

      Thorn sighed. He’d find out soon enough what nasty surprises Lodar had left for him. For all he knew, there might even be an army outside, waiting patiently for him to stick his head out the door. Unfortunately, he was in no shape to take them on yet.

      Or maybe his present problems had nothing to do with the man he’d been foolish enough to provoke. Maybe the installation where he’d awakened was simply falling apart.

      Because? An answer popped into his mind. He felt the walls closing in on him, and for several heartbeats he fought sheer, blinding terror. Then he drew on the inner reserves that had gotten him this far. There was no use getting worked up about how bad his situation might be.

      His thoughts retreated to a safer venue. He’d take Cassie’s advice—because it was the smartest course. For tonight the best thing to do was concentrate on getting his strength back. And while he was at it, he’d see what he could tease out of this woman who was so warm and close with him one moment and so skittish the next.

      Chapter Three

      Zeke roared down a gravel road on his rented Harley-Davidson. The countryside sped by in a blur of dark green trees, pink and yellow wildflowers and gray rocky hills. But his mind wasn’t on the scenery. This morning, after the incident with the stolen disk, he’d nosed around the café and the market trying to get a lead on the men who’d started the fight. Either they were outsiders, or the locals weren’t talking.

      After steering the powerful bike off the road onto a rutted dirt path, he had to slow his speed to dodge a pothole that would have swallowed a tank. Around the next bend, he came to a sun-dappled clearing dominated by a mammoth granite boulder. For more than a thousand years, it had covered the mouth of a limestone cave. But infrared satellite analysis had yielded the secret of the interior, and reclusive billionaire Jacques Montague had quickly put together a team to explore the site.

      A dozen small tents surrounded a large one that served as both dining СКАЧАТЬ