Outlander Ch. 08

She smiled at his words and he had never seen anything more beautiful. His breath quickened as she raised her hands and wiped the blood from his face before tenderly cradling his head with both hands. He remained motionless as she healed him, closing the gash over his eye and soothing his bruised body. A thrill ran through him, but the power he felt at her touch had nothing to do with the leylines.

His eyes never left hers as the pain subsided. When the last of his aches had faded away, he let his eyes wander over her face, caressing the unblemished skin of her cheeks, the elegant shape of her nose. His eyes stopped on her lips. They were full, parted slightly, and glistened with the moisture of her tears. He imagined those lips pressed to his own and his breath caught in his throat.

He tore his gaze from the temptation of her lips, fleeing the desire that suddenly flared to life. He sought refuge in her eyes, but what he saw reflected there only fanned the flames of need. There was an intense yearning in her emerald gaze, a conflagration that rivaled his own. Without conscious thought, he began to lean toward her, drawn as though caught in the pull of a maelstrom.

'What am I doing?' Jack stopped himself, confused. He tried to look away but her hands still cupped his face and pulled his gaze back to hers. His heart skipped a beat at the longing he saw there.

Before he could do or say anything, she pressed her lips to his, and he forgot everything but her. He groaned with need and pulled her body to his, enfolding her in his arms as they both knelt on the ship's deck. He heard her sigh as their lips parted and her soft wet tongue slipped between his lips. He tasted the salt of her tears, felt the softness of her lips, and the silky heat of her tongue against his. He was painfully aware of the firmness of her breasts pushing into his chest as she passionately pressed herself to him. The heat of her body against his was more than he could stand. A moan escaped his lips as he surrendered to his desire.

Garek was aware of Ithos glancing at him as Jack and Ava kissed. The crew, caught up in the moment, roared their approval. Garek kept his face expressionless but his thoughts were roiling beneath the surface. He had suspected that the two were developing feelings for one another and if it were his choice, he would not choose Jack for Ava. The man was most likely doomed to die. The Seer's vision said nothing about his survival and he would, given the choice, save his daughter that pain. Still, if Jack found love with Ava perhaps he would accept his destiny and willingly join the fight against the Karokai. Garek immediately felt guilty at the thought of using his own daughter to influence the Outlander. He chose to ignore the impropriety of their very public kiss and remained silent.

Jack was dizzy, intoxicated by the taste of Ava's lips, her scent, the sweetness of her breath, and the warmth of her body pressed against his. He was on the verge of mindlessly scooping her up and carrying her to his cabin when she suddenly gasped and ripped herself from his embrace. She scrambled to her feet and turned on him with a look of fury painted on her face.

"You bastard," she spat and strode away through the cheering crowd. Her mother followed her as she headed below deck, leaving Jack on his knees, stunned.

Before he had time to process what had just happened with Ava, the crew rushed in upon him. He was pulled to his feet and swept into the celebration. His hand was shook and his back clapped more times than he could count. The female crewmembers hugged him and more than a few kissed him soundly, but his thoughts were consumed by a specific pair of soft lips, raven hair, and emerald green eyes.

He never once thought of Barbara.

* * * *

Ava slammed the door to her room and stomped around the small cabin in a fury, oblivious to the blood that now stained her hands and her light blue dress. She turned when her mother calmly entered without knocking. "How dare he?" she screeched.

Emma arched her eyebrow and regarded her furious daughter. "How dare he what?"

"He kissed me. He has a wife waiting for him in his world, and he kissed me." Ava spluttered angrily.

Emma looked intently at her daughter for a moment before speaking. "First, you kissed him." She held up her hand to silence her daughter's protest and watched as Ava turned to continue pacing the room. "Yes, Ava, you were the one who kissed him. And second, if he had a wife, she's either dead or she has abandoned him."

"How do you know that?" Ava asked, turning to stare at her mother.

"Lord Aramon on the rock, girl," Emma exclaimed. "You will never attain the rank of Witch or Sorceress of the Third if you don't learn to use your brain. The man is heartbroken; any fool can see that. He's running from his pain, not trying to get back to it."

"Are you sure?" Ava asked. She was unaware of the hope in her voice.

"Of course I'm sure," Emma responded. She hesitated for a moment before continuing. "Are you in love with him, daughter?"

"Of course not," Ava said automatically in an indignant tone. Then she remembered how her stomach had fluttered uncontrollably and how her heart had thudded in her chest at the kiss she and Jack had shared. "I don't know," she said after a pause, doubt showing on her face. "I don't understand him at all."

"Men seldom make sense. But his heart is good, and that's what matters."

"But he does crazy things," Ava complained.

"And also noble things," Emma countered patiently.

"Yes, but he's stubborn to the point of being stupid."

"Not stubborn, determined."

"But --" Ava paused, searching for an argument. "Most of the time he doesn't want anything to do with me," she said desperately, unaware that she was crying.

"He's terrified of you, daughter," Emma said as she struggled to conceal her amusement.

"Terrified? But why?" Ava asked, genuinely perplexed.

"From the way he kissed you, the way he lost control, it's obvious that he desires you," Emma explained. "But his heart is broken and caring for you would only expose him to the possibility of more pain. He feels vulnerable and avoiding you is an attempt to protect himself."

"But I would never hurt him," Ava protested.

"So you do love him then?" Emma pressed.

Ava looked horrified and slowly sank down to the edge of her bed. "Oh God, what do I do now?"

Emma gazed at her daughter sadly. She knew how hard it would be for her only daughter to love such a man, a man chosen by fate. Fate made its choices with little regard for the wellbeing of a woman's heart. It was a bitter lesson that she herself had been forced to learn. She sighed before answering her daughter's question.

"You must do as all women who love great men do."

Ava looked up at her expectantly.

"Endure."

* * * *

Mohanjo's eyes popped open, but he saw nothing in the darkness of his cabin. Years of training had given him the ability to wake whenever he chose, and tonight he had chosen to wake in the deepest part of the night, when Captain Drebin and almost everyone else aboard the Kraken would be in their bunks asleep. He smiled as the darkness embraced him and soothed his mind. It was in the dark and shadows that he and his brothers of the Vas Dathruun plied their trade.

He retrieved his dagger from beneath his pillow and silently rose from the bed. He carefully made his way across the small room to open his cabin door. The well-oiled hinges turned silently and he stuck his head out into the hallway, cocking his head one way and then the other, ears straining for any sound that might reveal that someone was close by.

Satisfied no one was about, he softly closed the door, locked it, and padded to the small desk bolted to the wall of his cabin. He felt around in the desk's drawer until he found the items he wanted. He struck the fire stick and lit a small candle. It provided just enough light to faintly illuminate the area around him, but no more. The wan light of the flickering candle cast the rest of the room into a dance of eerie, distorted shadows.

He placed the third item he had taken from the drawer on the desk in front of him. The small grey stone appeared to be a common rock, unworthy of interest to anyone who might snoop through his things. But the blood stone was anything but common. In the center of the stone was a drop of his master's blood, placed there by magic. Not the feeble magic of the Covenant or those fools of the Aramonic Priesthood, but the true sorcery of the Dark Lord Karak, given to his children, the Karokai.

He took up his dagger and pricked a finger. He squeezed around the cut until a drop of blood fell and seeped into the grey surface of the stone, like water being sucked into the sand of a desert. The red drop faded from sight, completely absorbed.

Mohanjo waited patiently for the magic to take effect, waited for his blood to join with the blood of his master. Suddenly the air above the blood stone began to shimmer, and the light of the small candle seemed to struggle as the darkness pressed in on it. The shadows of the room came alive and flowed into the space above the blood stone. The shadows swirled then coalesced into the shape of a man's torso. The figure was translucent, a shadow defined by the absence of light.

The specter wore a cowl pulled over its head and the malevolent shape of cruel lips was the only thing visible of the man's face. "You summoned me, Daro?" the apparition asked, its voice a sibilant whisper.

"Yes, Master," Mohanjo said. Inside, he thrilled at the sound of his true name being spoken by his Master.

"You have news?"

"Yes, Master. Captain Drebin plans to move his ship a few leagues south of Panaar while Captain Liaman is forced to dock at Antyor to re-supply his ship. When the Arabella sails for Panaar we will be waiting for them. Drebin plans to deliver the Outlander to the King, hoping for riches and glory. The man is a fool and thinks it's a good plan. But the Outlander will never get the chance to fulfill their prophecy. I will personally cut his heart out instead."

"No, Daro. I want him alive. You will capture him and any with him that you can and bring them to me," the figure hissed.

Mohanjo's breath caught in his throat. "Master, does that mean I can become my true self again and rejoin my brothers after I have delivered the Outlander and his friends to you?" he asked, unable to disguise the longing in his voice.

"Succeed, and you will rejoin the Vas Dathruun as you desire."

"Thank you, Master," Mohanjo said.

"Summon me again when the Outlander is in your possession," the figure hissed and seemed to come apart as the shadows snapped back into their natural positions.

Mohanjo felt elated as he placed the stone back in the drawer and blew out the candle. Soon he would reclaim his true face and move among his brothers using his true name. He was sick of being a spy. He despised the salty stink of the sea and longed to be on land where he belonged. He was weary of only killing at Drebin's order. When he was reunited with his brethren, he would slake his thirst for blood; he would kill until the need in him was satisfied, and bathe in the blood of his victims until he was washed clean of the stink of these people.

He climbed back into bed and drifted off to dreams filled with blood and screams, a serene smile on his sleeping face.

*****

Author's note: As always I want to thank the guild for their support, CM for keeping me humble, And Jillieb for being the best editor a guy could ask for. Please take the time to vote and leave a comment. Thanks.