 
On Edge (Decorah Security Series, Book #1)

A Decorah Security Series Prequel Novella

By Rebecca York

**Ruth Glick writing as Rebecca York**

### Published by Smashwords, Inc.

# ** **

# **Table of Contents**

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Afterword

Decorah Security Series by Rebecca York

Off-World Series by Rebecca York

Praise for Rebecca York

About the Author

Contacts

Copyright

# Chapter One

A muffled scream woke Frank Decorah.

In the darkness of the room, he listened intently, thinking that the sound had been part of a nightmare, one of the many he'd suffered over the past few months. But it came again, and he pushed himself up, listening.

He was sure it was Gordon, the weakest of them. Or the weakest one left. Patrick and Jordan were already dead. Not from their injuries but because they'd lost the will to live.

Frank understood that. A time or two he'd been on the edge of giving up. Every man and woman in this hospital unit had wondered how he could go on. But Frank had hung on with dogged determination—perhaps from the conviction that something good was coming, although he had no concrete reason to believe it.

He ran a hand through his dark hair, wanting to call out to the man down the hall who had screamed, but he wasn't going to wake the others. They needed their sleep if they were going to face the grueling ordeal of the next day.

The staff referred to it as physical therapy. The men and women in the program knew it as pain and torture. Yet they also knew it was the only way to make their battered bodies functional again.

He glanced at the lighted clock on the bedside stand. Two in the morning—when human biorhythms were at their lowest.

Glad that he was wearing gym shorts and a tee shirt instead of one of those obscene hospital gowns where your ass hung out the back, Frank swung his legs over the side of the bed.

Well, the leg he had left. Thank God he was missing only one leg that was missing. Gordon had come home with both lower limbs blown off. Other guys had lost their legs and their penis. Some were missing both legs and an arm. He didn't know how you coped with that much physical destruction. One missing limb was bad enough. But he hadn't been given the choice of injuries when his team had been sent on a desert raid gone bad. Nick had been to the right of him, the man who had stepped on the land mine. He'd been killed outright. And Frank had taken some of the blast in his right leg. Lew had saved Frank's life by getting a tourniquet onto the leg with the gushing artery. Martin hadn't been so lucky. He'd died in the medevac helicopter.

Frank sighed. The remaining members of his SEAL team were off in Iraq again—with some new guys filling in the blank places. And Frank Decorah was here at the Naval Medical Center in Bethesda, prepping to face the rest of his life.

His crutches were between the bed and the night table, and he used the side of the bed for support as he inched close enough to grab one and shove it under his right arm. Except for the missing leg, his body was in excellent shape. The PT team in the hospital had made sure of that.

When he got both crutches into place, he took a moment to steady himself, then used the motion he'd learned to swing himself across the room on his good leg. He'd gotten pretty good at it. The staff had had him up and moving around faster than he would have thought possible. And he was even getting damn good at using the prosthesis that substituted for his left leg from just above the knee. But there was no time to put the thing on now, not if he was going to get to Gordon in time.

He didn't know exactly "in time" for what, but he made a quick exit from his room and started down the hallway. Although the night lights were on, the corridor looked eerie, like he'd stumbled out of the hospital and into an underwater scene. And the pungent antiseptic smell that masked the scent of bodily fluids was missing.

At the end of the corridor, he could see the nurses' station, but it looked like the women were asleep at the desk.

He wanted to shout, "Wake up," but he kept his lips pressed together because that would break the spell.

He pushed that weird thought out of his mind and clumped on.

He made it to Lieutenant Gordon's room and stopped abruptly in the doorway, feeling an arctic chill wafting toward him. Inside, he could hear voices. Gordon and someone he didn't recognize.

"Let me ease your pain." The woman's voice was low and soothing, yet it set Frank's teeth on edge.

"No."

"This is so hard for you. You've given so much. Too much. You know you want to let go. Just open yourself to me, and all this can be over. I'll make the end sweet and comforting for you."

"Go away," Gordon moaned.

"Is that what you really want? Do you want to live the rest of your life as a helpless cripple?"

The conversation made the hairs on the back of Frank's neck prickle.

Who was speaking to Gordon? It didn't sound like one of the hospital staff—or anybody else who should be here. Frank wanted to tell himself he'd never heard that voice before, but he knew it would be a lie. He had heard it. In his own room, in the dark hours of the night when he had been at his sorry worst.

Whoever was in there, he didn't want to get close to her again. But he had to stop what was happening—even if he didn't understand it.

His lips set in a grim line, he pushed into Gordon's room in as much of a rush as he could muster.

The sight that greeted him made his heart stop and then start to pound. A woman dressed in a slinky black evening gown and black stilettos was leaning over the wounded Navy officer's bed. He couldn't see her face because it was hidden by a curtain of long, blond hair, but he knew she desperately wanted something from the man in the bed, something that would kill him if he surrendered to her.

For the first time since he'd awakened, Frank spoke. "Get the hell away from him."

Startled, she turned, fixing her gaze on Frank. At first glance, she was young and beautiful, her skin a glowing alabaster, her eyes the color of midnight, her mouth a perfect red bow like a woman in a lipstick advertisement. But as he took her in, he saw that the beautiful face was only a mask. Below it was a quality that he couldn't quite grasp, but it carried a warning that made his chest tighten painfully.

She tipped her head to the side, staring at him, clearly taken unawares. "How are you here?" Her voice carried both a note of accusation and shock.

"I heard Gordon call for help."

"Impossible."

He shrugged.

"Go back to your bed. Sleep. Forget me. " The words were a command, pounding at him like a physical blow, knocking him backwards so that he almost lost his balance. Somehow he managed to stay upright with the help of the crutches. When he was sure of his footing, he clumped his way farther into the room, fighting his blurring vision and the icy chill sinking into his skin.

"Leave him the hell alone." He issued his own order, punching out the words.

She stayed where she was. "This is none of your concern. It's between me and Lieutenant Gordon."

"You're wrong. I'm not going to let you have him." It felt like iron bands were constricting his chest, making it almost impossible to breathe, but he stamped forward inch by inch. Bracing himself on one crutch, he raised the other, swinging it at the woman like a club.

She hissed like a viper, her features flaring with anger as she ducked the blow and caught the crutch, pulling Frank off balance and shoving him back so that he toppled to the floor, landing heavily, pain zinging through his stump.

The attacker smiled in satisfaction, then advanced on him. Her face seemed to swim in his hazy vision.

"I'll teach you not to meddle in my business."

He fought to drag in air, fought to hang on to consciousness as invisible needles probed into his skin, sending shock waves of pain all the way to the marrow of his bones. He was going to die there on the floor of Roger Gordon's room.

Dimly he heard running feet in the hallway. Before the woman in black could finish him off, someone else sprang through the door, another woman. She was dressed like the nurses, but he was sure he had never seen her in the hospital before.

The woman in black whirled to face her, the two of them poised for battle like combatants who had fought each other many times before.

"Leave," the newcomer ordered.

"Make me."

The nurse—if she was a nurse—advanced on the apparition, her hand outstretched, and Frank thought he saw a bolt of lightning spring from her fingers.

It struck the intended target, drawing a gasp. She backed up, hissing and spitting like a cornered panther. She raised her own hand, hurling her own bolt of lightning, but it stopped and sputtered before it reached its goal.

"Bitch," the woman in black growled.

"Abomination."

For long moments, neither of them moved. Then the woman who had been in the room when Frank arrived gave a small shrug and backed away. As she receded, she seemed to grow less substantial, turning to mist. Or perhaps it was a trick of his blurred vision.

Finally she was gone, and Frank lay panting on the floor.

The nurse came down beside him, and he caught her delicate, feminine scent like a field of wildflowers in spring.

"Are you all right?" she asked, her expression filled with concern.

"Yes." He glanced at Gordon, wondering how he was reacting, but the man on the bed seemed to be deep in sleep.

Frank sat up and pushed himself backwards across the cold floor so that he was leaning against the wall, his leg stretched out in front of him and his stump still throbbing from the fall.

"Who are you?" he asked the woman who had come to his rescue.

"Ariel."

"You work here?"

She considered the question. "Yes, but probably not in the way you think," she answered, her exotic accent something he couldn't place.

"How?"

"I am . . . a guardian. But tell me, how did you get to this room? At this time?"

"I heard Gordon cry out."

She tipped her head to the side, staring at him as he kept his own gaze steady. She was a striking woman with dark hair that hung around her shoulders in waves, eyes a stormy violet, lips a pale pink without the aid of makeup. Her features were delicate, but they held a look of fierce determination. She was about five five, he judged. Six inches shorter than he.

"Lilith was right. You shouldn't have heard anything, not from your plane."

"Who is Lilith?"

"An evil one."

"Evil how?"

She hesitated for a moment before answering. "A mind vampire."

The words sent a wave of cold skittering across Frank's skin. "A mind vampire? What are you talking about?"

"She comes in the night for the men who are too weak to fight her."

"And what do you mean 'from your plane'?"

"We are not in the material world where humans dwell; it is another realm."

The explanation didn't help. He glanced over at the sleeping man. "But we're in the Naval Medical Center. Gordon's in his bed."

"The planes can merge—briefly."

When his brow wrinkled, Ariel shook her head. "But I shouldn't have told you any of that."

"Why not?"

"Does it sound like the truth to you?"

He considered the question. "I don't know."

"You should go back to your bed."

He was on the floor with his crutches scattered around like matchsticks. It was going to be a hell of a job getting to his feet. He pictured the maneuver. A grim-faced, dark-haired man, graceful as a fallen donkey trying to right himself when he was still harnessed to the cart shafts.

"Let me help you."

That wasn't so great either. She looked too fragile to hold his weight.

"I'm too heavy for you."

"I am stronger than I look."

She held out her arm, and he figured he could always let go if he started to pull her over. But she braced her legs and stood without bending while he pulled himself up.

When he was erect, she steadied him with one hand at his waist. He should back away, but something had happened between them that he couldn't explain. She had said he wasn't supposed to be in this place. Did she mean it was forbidden? Or that he had somehow walked through an invisible doorway?

Whatever she'd meant, he _was_ here, and he couldn't stop himself from gathering her closer, holding her for a long moment, feeling her warmth, breathing in her scent. Everything about her was intoxicating. When he reached to stroke a hand through her raven hair, her breath caught.

"Don't," she whispered.

"Why not?"

"We shouldn't have met."

"Yeah, I guess a guy with one leg . . ."

She leaned away from him, her eyes fierce. "This has nothing to do with your leg."

"What is it then?"

"I have a job to do."

"Maybe I can help."

"Too dangerous."

"I _did_ help, didn't I? I mean, I got to Gordon's room before you did."

She considered that. "Yes. It is strange that you did. But it can't happen again. You must forget me."

The one called Lilith had said something similar, but he wasn't going to forget either one of them.

If it had been just another day in the real world, he would have backed away from her. But this encounter was in a different category, like a dream and yet not a dream. Instead of protesting, he murmured, "If you're going to vanish from my mind, it doesn't matter what happens now, does it?"

She tipped her head to the side. "What do you mean?"

"This."

He brought his lips to hers for a kiss that started off sweet and soft as he judged her acceptance. When she didn't pull back, his intent became more demanding. It had been eons since he had kissed a woman, eons since he'd even thought about it or wanted to. Now he was focusing on every subtle nuance of her lips on his. She didn't try to pull away, but he felt her shock at the contact. He gathered her in, wanting more of her—wanting everything from her.

She seemed to know little of kissing, but he felt her relax into the sensuality of the moment, and he felt his own body harden in answer to her response.

He stroked one hand up and down her back, loving the lithe curves of her body. His hand was traveling under her hem when he felt her push against his shoulder.

"You should not." She caught her breath. "I should not."

His eyes opened. "Why not?"

"We should never have met."

He had forgotten that he was a man with one leg, a man whom no woman was going to want.

"Sorry," he muttered.

She raised her face, searching his eyes. "Are you really sorry?"

"No."

"Good."

She'd gone from protest to reassurance in the space of a few moments.

"You liked it," he said. It wasn't a question but a statement.

"Yes."

He watched her swallow hard.

"But my liking it is all right because you won't remember it."

"The hell I won't," he answered with conviction. "And what kind of logic is that?"

"You're not being logical. I don't have to be, either."

Before he could say anything else, she eased away from him and bent to retrieve his crutches from the floor. She handed them to him, and when he had put them back into position under his arms, she took a step away, looking him up and down. He stood his ground, wondering what she saw exactly. He was damaged goods, but when a man had called for help, he'd reacted like the old Frank Decorah.

"You were brave to come in here."

"I had to."

"Thank you," she whispered.

"For what?"

"For the kiss. And the rest of it." She turned and walked out of the room. As she did, the light changed, moonlight flooding through the window as though a cloud had suddenly been blown away by the wind.

From the bed, Gordon called out, his voice groggy, "Frank?"

He turned back to his buddy. "Yeah."

"What are you doing here?"

"You screamed. Don't you remember?"

"I had...a nightmare."

"About what?"

Gordon considered the question for long moments, then finally said, "I'd rather forget it."

Frank cupped his fingers around the man's shoulders. "Don't give up. Things will get better—for both of us."

"Maybe."

"For sure."

One of the nurses poked her head in the door. It was the one they called Nurse Ratched behind her back, the one who tried to run the ward like a prison camp.

"I heard Lieutenant Gordon call out. What did you do to him?" she demanded.

"Nothing. I heard him too. I came to find out what was wrong."

"But I didn't see you come down the hall."

Frank shrugged.

He'd seen her sleeping at her desk; in fact, everybody had been sleeping. And none of them remembered what happened.

None but him.

# Chapter Two

The squeaky wheel on the meds cart woke Frank at six thirty in the morning. He lay in bed, remembering the night before. He must have had a nightmare or something, because what he recalled couldn't be real. He'd heard Roger Gordon scream and made it into his room down the hall in time to see a woman in black leaning over him, getting ready to suck the life out of the man.

And how had he figured that?

He couldn't exactly say, but he'd known to the marrow of his bones that it was true.

He'd tried to fight her off, and she'd sent him sprawling on the floor. As she'd swooped in for the kill, another woman had rushed into the room and rescued him. She'd told him her name was Ariel. And the evil woman was Lilith.

That was about it, except for a very hot kiss and a bunch of weird details he could hardly believe. Ariel had told him he shouldn't be there. She'd ordered him to forget what had happened, and he was pretty sure she was confident that the command would wipe out his memory of the events. But they were engraved on his mind as though someone had taken a wood-burning iron and gouged the scene into the tissue of his brain.

He winced, hating the metaphor, yet unable to shake the image.

He pushed himself up as he'd done the night before and swung his leg over the side of the bed. Only now he didn't have to hurry.

Instead he reached for his crutches and hobbled into the bathroom where he used the toilet, then turned the water in the shower to hot.

He could lean his shoulder against the tile wall and stand up to wash without the crutches. After his shower he shaved, staring at his reflection in the mirror. He was thirty-five, but he probably looked older, with sunken eyes and deep creases between his nose and lips.

He went back to the bedroom for the prosthetic leg. Donning it was part of his morning routine. Since his stump tended to perspire in the sheath that held on the artificial limb, he sprinkled on an absorbent powder, then pulled the special sock over the stump of his leg, before fitting the prosthesis over it. When he was finished, he stood up to make sure it was comfortable and not going to chafe.

That was a big problem when you had an artificial extension on the end of a limb. Get it irritated, and you were in big trouble.

After dressing in sweatpants and a tee shirt, he stepped into the hall. He'd been here last night. Well, not here exactly. Another plane of existence, Ariel had said. Where the light was eerie. Now it was normal morning light. He ran his hand along the institutional green surface of the wall. It felt cold and solid. If this was reality, what had last night been?

When he saw one of the day staff nurses watching him, he pulled his hand away and headed for the mess hall where the ambulatory patients ate.

Pausing in the doorway, he looked at the fifteen troops who were already there, not just Navy but from other branches of the service too. Most were sitting at the square Formica tables set far enough apart for easy access with wheelchairs and crutches. Several orderlies were on duty, ready to assist anyone who needed help.

Gordon, who had lost both legs, was in a wheelchair, which was pulled up at the table in the corner. He stared at Frank for a long moment, then back down at his plate on the table in front of him.

Frank stopped for a mug of coffee from the urn and carried it to the table.

"Join you?"

"Sure," Gordon answered without a lot of enthusiasm.

"Be right back." Frank got in the cafeteria-style line, picked up a tray and a plate, and served himself scrambled eggs, bacon, toast, butter and jam, which he carefully carried back to the table where he'd set his mug. Walking was one thing. Walking and balancing a tray of food was another, and he knew the orderlies were keeping track of him as he returned to the table.

He set down the food and pulled out his chair.

"So how are you doing?" he asked Gordon.

"Okay," the man answered without mentioning anything about the night before.

Unsure how to proceed, Frank forked up some scrambled eggs and ate them.

"I woke up last night and thought I heard you," he finally said.

Gordon's head snapped up. "Heard me do what?"

"Did you call out for help?"

"No." The flat denial left no room for argument.

He waited a beat before asking, "Did you feel like you might . . . give up?"

Gordon kept his gaze level. "What kind of question is that?"

Frank shrugged one shoulder. "There were times when I felt like I couldn't go on. You ever feel that way?"

Gordon pushed his fork around the plate. "I think we all do at one time or another."

"Yeah. But don't stop believing that you can make it. We're all going to get through this."

"And when we finish the program, then what?" Gordon asked.

"I don't know. Whatever you want."

"Oh, sure." He gave Frank a fierce look. "I worked in a warehouse before I joined the Navy. I'm not going to be operating a forklift."

"There are other things you can do."

"I don't need a bunch of bullshit about the wonderful kingdom of Oz from you this morning."

"Sorry. I guess I was just feeling vulnerable."

"Why? You've still got one good leg, and you're up and walking."

Frank nodded. "But I don't know what I'm going to do with the rest of my life, either." He hadn't planned to discuss his own fears, and maybe giving Gordon a pep talk wasn't the way to go. But what was? Stay awake at night and listen for sounds of trouble?

He looked around the room. More of the men and women in the rehab program had come in, and there were now twenty-four of them eating or getting food. Were any of them at risk from that mind vampire thing? He shuddered.

"What's wrong?" Gordon asked.

"Nothing." He wasn't going to say he was imagining himself in bed with a woman, making love. One particular woman, actually. Only how the hell did you do it with one leg? He flicked a quick glance at Gordon. Or none?

He finished breakfast quickly, then stood up too fast, almost losing his balance and making a grab for the table. Everybody turned to stare at him, and he ducked his head to keep from making eye contact.

He felt their eyes on him. Were they feeling a wince of self- awareness as they watched him almost fall over? And which of them was susceptible to the thing that had tried to suck the life out of Gordon? It had looked like a beautiful woman. If you were female, did the vampire take the shape of a handsome man?

Would it do them any good if he knew?

He wished he'd never had that weird encounter last night. No, that was a lie. He really wished he'd had more control over it. And he wished he'd had more time with Ariel.

After breakfast, he reported to the PT room where they checked him out on his prosthesis, then had him work on his upper body strength—which was important when a lower limb was missing.

By noon he was glad to take another shower before lunch, which he ate with Thompson and Wardell, two guys who were both married and going home to their wives and families when they got out of here. He wondered if their wives would stick with them, but he wasn't going to ask.

Then again, how did you start dating again at thirty-five, with one leg? With his trousers on, maybe you couldn't tell. But it wasn't the kind of thing you waited to tell a woman when you were already at the stage of taking off your pants.

With free time in the afternoon, he went down to the computer room to do some research on what he knew about last night's encounter.

He liked the new way of doing research, liked the easy access to information he would have needed a library for a few years ago.

He started by Googling "Ariel" because he was more interested in her. On a personal level. It turned out that Ariel was the name of an angel who was known as the Lion of God. An angel of protection—which fit what she'd been doing last night.

Was she really an angel?

He clenched his hands into fists. He didn't want her to be an angel. He wanted her to be a woman. And not a woman he'd met on another plane of existence. But a woman who had responded when he'd kissed her.

Why? he asked himself. Was he hoping for a relationship with her?

With a snort he went back to the computer and typed in "Lilith." In Hebrew folklore, Lilith was Adam's first wife, but the name was known as far back as Babylonian times. She was also an ancient demon of the night who supposedly kidnapped or strangled male children.

Had she switched from children to disabled men?

He didn't find anything in the mythology that helped him settle the question. But he kept poking through websites until dinner. Then he returned to his room, knowing he was waiting for the hours after midnight, because what had happened last night had seemed more real than reality.

Did he want it to be more real—because he longed to escape a life where his future had been taken out of his control?

Maybe, but he knew something else was out of his control as well. He had never been to that other plane of existence before last night, and he had no idea how to get back there. Maybe getting there had been a fluke. Maybe he couldn't even do it again. That thought made his throat tighten painfully. He had met Ariel there. He wanted to meet her again. Well, it was more like an aching need. A void inside himself that only she could fill.

He made a rough sound. Only she could fill? And she probably wasn't even real.

# Chapter Three

Frank wanted to leave his prosthesis on when he went to bed. He wanted to meet Ariel standing on two feet, but he knew that was a bad idea. Because he had to rest the stump, he sat on the edge of the bed and reluctantly reversed the process of donning the leg.

He set it on the chair, then grabbed his crutches to get ready for bed. Last time he'd tried to hit the mind vampire with one of his crutches, which had left him dangerously off balance. This time he'd take his Bowie knife.

Of course it was against regulations for patients to have a weapon at the Naval Medical Center, but since his injury, he hadn't felt comfortable being totally unarmed. He'd paid one of the orderlies to bring him the knife, which he kept behind a piece of loose molding at the bottom of his closet. He got down on hands and knee, retrieved the weapon and brought it to the bed, where he covered it with the top sheet.

As he lay beside it, he wondered what to do next. Last night Gordon's cry had awakened him from sleep. Should he try to sleep now? Or stay awake and figure out another way to get into the other plane?

If he focused on Ariel, would she come to him, or could he go to her?

He lay in bed remembering how she looked, focusing on individual features like her thick dark hair or her large violet eyes, then taking in the whole picture again and remembering what her lips had felt like against his—what her body had felt like in his arms. Why was he obsessed with her? Because she was a fantasy and easier to deal with than a real woman?

He fell asleep contemplating that question. And he awakened to the sound of the meds cart at seven in the morning.

"Damn," he muttered as he pushed himself up in bed. He'd slept through the night.

Deep disappointment threatened to keep him in bed. Then he remembered that he had an appointment with Dr. Leonard, the shrink who'd been seeing him since he arrived at the Naval Medical Center. Since he didn't want to report that he was too depressed to talk to the guy, he heaved himself up and got ready for the day.

After lunch he was on his way down to the psychiatric unit wondering what he was going to say. If he was brutally honest, he'd have to tell the doc that he'd had a psychotic experience. But was that true? He thought his interactions with Ariel and Lilith were real, but he couldn't explain them in rational terms. Of course, that was the definition of being crazy, wasn't it? You thought you were perfectly fine.

He snorted. He wasn't going to argue that point with a mental health professional.

Dr. Leonard put down the folder he was looking through as Frank came into the room. "So how are you doing?"

"Pretty well," he answered, trying to keep his voice casual.

"No problems?"

"Just the usual. Physical stuff."

"What about the argument you had with Gordon in the cafeteria yesterday morning?"

His eyes narrowed. "What? Did somebody report us for talking too loudly?"

Leonard shrugged.

"I don't like being watched all the time."

"You're in a hospital. It's bound to happen."

Frank shifted in his seat. "I was asking him about the night before. I heard him scream around two in the morning, and I got up to see what was wrong."

"Yeah, a nurse saw you in his room."

Frank felt his pulse rate go up. If Gordon had ended up dead the next morning, would someone have accused Frank Decorah of smothering him in his bed?

Not a comforting thought. He kept his gaze fixed on Leonard as he asked his question. "How many of the guys who've come through this department committed suicide in the past few months?"

The doctor reared back. "Why would you ask that?"

"I'm trying to figure my survival chances."

"Your chances depend on you—not a bunch of statistics."

Frank looked down at his hands. Getting into a fight with the unit's shrink wasn't going to do him any good. And he was picturing how Leonard was going to write up this session.

"Is something specific worrying you?" Leonard asked.

"No," he denied, hoping the lie didn't show on his face.

"You don't have to wait for your regular sessions. If you need to talk to me, you can always come in."

"I appreciate that," he lied again.

"Have you talked to your brother lately?" Leonard asked.

"No. Like I told you before, he always looked up to me, and he's having trouble coping with my injury."

"You may have to accept that your relationship won't be the same."

"I have," he snapped.

Cooper was something else to worry about. Or to put it another way, something else he didn't want to have to deal with. His brother had come to see him—once, before Frank had gotten the prosthesis. When he'd stared at the place where Frank's leg ended in disaster, his face had gone white. And the visit hadn't gotten any better from there.

At least he still had a brother. He wasn't going to think about his young wife, who had died in childbirth, and the little girl he had given up for adoption, because he knew he couldn't raise her alone.

After a while, Frank saw the psychiatrist look at his watch. "Our time is up."

_Thank God_.

He had never thought the sessions with Leonard did him much good, but this one was worse than usual.

"Do you want to schedule an extra appointment?"

"No." He pushed himself to his feet and left the office, hating that he'd gotten himself into a stupid confrontation with the shrink. Oddly it hadn't felt as if it had come from within himself, but rather from an outside force pushing him to it.

An outside force? Could some paranormal being could manipulate his mind while he was awake? He hoped to hell not. And he hoped to hell the paranoid thought wasn't a sign that he really was cracking up.

He snorted. Maybe he should make himself a tinfoil hat to keep out the bad vibrations.

But seriously, were his thoughts rational? Was he actually paranoid, or did he have something real to fear? He'd put money on Lilith being dangerous—and tricky. He didn't know what to think about Ariel.

All he could do was hope she was a real woman—and not someone unreachable.

He needed to find out, and he was determined that he wasn't going to simply sleep through another night. There had to be a way to force himself into the other plane? There damn well better be.

Sitting in a corner of the lounge, he pretended to watch the evening news. But he was really thinking about himself—about Frank Decorah, about his future and his past. Why had he stepped into a place the other night that wasn't this earth? At least if he believed Ariel's explanation for where they'd been. And why did he think he could get back there?

Was he different from the other men and women here? Had his injury triggered something inside him that he hadn't known he possessed?

Perhaps something had come back to him that he'd had a long time ago and lost.

His mind ranged back to his early childhood—to when his memories came only in snatches. He'd lived with Mom and Dad on a farm in Iowa. Before Cooper was old enough to be his playmate, he'd spent long hours on his own. Big Bird and Oscar had been his friends, and Mister Rogers had given him a neighborhood, but he hadn't been happy to sit in front of the television set all day. He'd spent as much time outside in the orchard behind the house playing pioneer or soldiers. And sometimes out there, weird things had happened. He remembered flickers of movement at the edges of his vision, like something . . . unexpected was just at the edge of the world he knew. He'd turn his head quickly, and nothing would be there, but he'd be sure that something _had_ leaped away before he could see it clearly.

Had he seen glimpses of creatures from the other plane of existence? They'd never turned real and solid for him, and he'd been glad of that—because he sensed that they were dangerous.

Now that he was pulling up long-forgotten memories, he remembered something else that sent a shiver up his spine. He'd gone over to where he'd seen the creatures. The things themselves had vanished, but he saw tracks in the dirt, tracks of animals that even a little boy knew should not have been roaming around an Iowa farm. Maybe some of them were big cats. And maybe others were huge lizards. He couldn't be exactly sure.

He clenched his teeth. At any rate, he'd outgrown the flickering images at the edge of his vision. They'd been replaced by the prints of Cooper's little shoes when his brother had toddled outside to join him playing boys' games.

He deliberately turned his mind to the good memories. Like the tree house Dad had helped them build in one of the apple trees. The puppy his parents had let them adopt. The swimming lessons in the pond at the edge of the field. And was there anything that smelled better than the scent of gunpowder set off under the hammer of a cap gun?

oOo

Frank made himself stay up until after midnight that night, the last guy in the rec room when everybody knew they had a rough day at PT the next morning. Then he methodically made his preparations for bed, dressing in the tee shirt and shorts he liked to wear at night.

He retrieved the knife from its hiding place again and put it under the covers. Then he made himself comfortable in bed.

A few years ago he'd gotten some self-hypnosis tapes when he'd needed to quit smoking, and he remembered the techniques. Look up to the line where the wall met the ceiling, repeating the trigger phrase he had used, "Relax now. Relax now."

When he sensed the familiar relaxed, dreamy feeling stealing over him, he leaned back more comfortably into the pillows.

He knew he was in a light trance already, but he needed to go deeper, and he needed to go to that other plane where he had met Ariel.

He stowed the knife in his waistband as he pictured himself standing on rocks at the edge of a huge lake, probably Lake Superior, where his family had taken a vacation cabin for a few years. He imagined himself in bathing trunks, imagined his body whole again as he pushed off from the rocks and dove in, hitting the water and going down.

_Deeper_ , he chanted. _Deeper. You're going deeper_.

At the bottom, he could see a green glow and felt a surge of victory. It was like the glow from the night before.

There was no sensation of needing oxygen. He was one with the water, like a sea lion, able to hold his breath for half an hour. And no sensation of pressure. He could go as far down as he needed, except that his outstretched hands hit a barrier.

He cursed under his breath. He could see the green light ahead of him, but there was no way to get through to it. Pulling out the knife, he slashed at the transparent barrier that held him back. The blade struck something he couldn't see and couldn't cut.

That sent his anger flaring. Like that stupid discussion with Dr. Leonard. He'd made a mistake challenging the doctor, but he wasn't going to make a mistake now.

_Anger isn't going to do you any good_ , he told himself. _You need to relax. You need_ _to let it happen._

Forcing himself to calmness, he gathered his resolve. _You want to go there. It's important to you. You have to cut through the force field_ , he told himself as he used the knife in a steady stroke that was slowed by the water.

It worked. He kept at it and cut himself a hole in the membrane and stepped through in a gush of water.

He'd dived into the lake wearing a bathing suit. But on the other side of the barrier, he was in dry clothing—jeans and a dark tee shirt. There was no billboard advertising the location, but he knew he was in the other plane.

Last time he'd come to this plane he'd still been in the hospital. This time he was in a jungle clearing walled in by thick greenery.

He looked back over his shoulder and saw that the water had disappeared entirely, swallowed by the thick foliage. The tee shirt he wore felt familiar, but he hadn't worn jeans since he'd lost his leg.

Lost his leg?

Apparently that wasn't true here. Under the well-worn denim, his body was whole again, and the jeans felt good against his skin as he flexed his leg, then tested his balance. He took a few steps and dragged in a breath, grateful to be standing on his own two legs again.

"Don't get used to it," he warned himself, as he looked around, wondering if he had trapped himself by coming here. Or was there some way to get out?

He'd never sunk so deeply into a trance that he couldn't wake himself up, but now he sensed that even if he tried, he wouldn't wake. He'd forced his way in here, and he was reaping the rewards—and lack thereof.

He kept the knife in his hand as he looked around the clearing, probing his surroundings. The place smelled damp and richly verdant. A tropical environment with thick loam underfoot and plants he would not have seen back in Maryland. Palm trees, trailing vines with huge leaves. Trees with bright orange or white flowers, others with thorns on the trunk. Giant ferns with huge fronds.

Was this place some kind of alternate reality, or was he making it up as he went along? Like the change of clothing.

"So transform from a jungle into a park in Maryland. Or how about the orchard where I used to play when I was a kid?"

The suggestion had no effect on his surroundings.

A small movement caught his eye, and he saw a bright green poison dart frog. Nearby huge ants climbed up and down a tree trunk.

In the thick foliage, animal sounds and flickering shadows warned him of danger.

He tensed as a large cat came padding out of the foliage, its eyes a bright blue, its orange coat spotted black and green. It was no creature he had ever seen on earth, but then this wasn't the real world. Still he closed his fist around the handle of the knife, waiting.

The predator paused for a long moment, looking at him, their eyes meeting. He tensed, waiting for it to spring. It growled, a low menacing sound that was almost like words—in a language he couldn't understand. A warning, he thought.

Seconds ticked by before it padded back into the foliage. As he watched it disappear, he let out the breath he'd been holding.

The cat had looked like it was considering if he was worth eating. Apparently not—this time.

Could it hurt him? Could he die here? Not by having a mind vampire suck out his soul but by getting mauled and eaten by a predator. He'd rather not put the concept to the test.

He looked back again, to the place where he thought the water had vanished. He couldn't be sure now because one patch of jungle looked a lot like the rest. But he'd come here to find Ariel, and he was pretty sure he wasn't going to do it by standing in this clearing.

He saw trails leading through the foliage, but which one should he choose? When he looked down at the ground, he saw many prints. Some looked like they could have been deer or elk. Some were much larger, like the feet of giant lizards.

It brought back the memory of the prints he'd seen in the orchard back home when he'd been young. Had the animals he'd seen at the edge of his vision come from this place?

He didn't know, but as he stared at the evidence of their comings and goings, he saw something that definitely wasn't made by an animal—prints that might have been from a woman's high heeled shoe—like the ones Lilith had been wearing the other night. He felt a shiver ripple over his skin. Was _she_ here? She wasn't the one he had come looking for, but she might be the one he would find.

He started down one of the trails, pulling low branches, fern fronds and vines out of his way, and occasionally chopping at them with the knife. Watchful, he kept glancing down at the prints on the ground and probing the foliage on either side of him. He heard sounds, as though someone—or something was keeping pace with him. Whether animal or a human he couldn't tell.

He didn't know if there were any humans here...or if Lilith was human. Or Ariel.

A wind came from nowhere, whipping the foliage and pressing at his back, like a hand hurrying him along, deeper into the strange place.

Somewhere in the jungle he thought he heard laughter, and it wasn't a friendly sound. He had the sense that someone was stalking him, not an animal, but a presence more dangerous.

Heat shimmered around him, and moisture dripped from some of the trees, sending drops of water splashing onto his head and shoulders.

Ahead of him, through the foliage, he could see the rays of the sun bouncing off of something huge and white—a building or a cliff.

That gave him pause. He had left the hospital at night. And last time he'd been in the alternate reality, it had also been night. Now sunlight was filtering through the leaves above him. Was this place connected to where he had met Ariel—or somewhere else? That thought made his stomach muscles knot. He had come here to find her, but what if he'd done the exact wrong thing?

The jungle stopped abruptly, and he halted in the shade, blinking as he looked out over a green lawn sparkling in the sun. On the other side was what he'd seen through the trees, a large building made of white stone, with intricate designs carved along the top and bottom edges. The shape of the place was vaguely Indian with a dome on top. Two wide steps led up to arched colonnades that ran along the front and sides of the structure. Beyond them, he could see a courtyard with a fountain spraying a jet of crystal water into the air. At the edges of the courtyard were beds filled with a riot of bright flowers, and beyond the open space he could see a shadowy interior, but he couldn't tell what was in there.

Music floated toward him, something exotic and vaguely Indian, like the building.

He stared at the twenty-yard stretch of manicured green lawn, dotted with sunny yellow flowers that separated him from what he had started to think of as a temple. The lawn looked inviting, beckoning him to the structure beyond.

_Is anybody there?_ The words trembled on his lips, but he didn't speak them. Somehow he felt like breaking the silence was the wrong thing to do. Better to cross the lawn and investigate for himself. Yet, something about that innocent stretch of ground stopped him.

He stayed where he was, staring at the temple. As he searched for signs of life, a flicker of movement caught his eye. A figure walked across the courtyard, a dark-haired woman wearing sandals and a sari of bright fabric. His heart leaped.

"Ariel?" he shouted.

She looked up, shock and then alarm registering on her face as she realized who had called out to her.

"Frank."

"Thank God," he heard himself answer. He'd come here looking for her, and he'd feared his journey into this place might be for nothing, but she was really here. Was that building her home?

She charged down the steps and stopped at the bottom.

His chest tightened as he gazed at her. She was as beautiful as he remembered, her dark hair falling around her shoulders, her violet eyes regarding him with a mixture of wonder and fear.

When he took a step forward, she held up her hand. "No. Stay there."

He paused, and she asked, "How did you get here?"

"I fought my way in." He started toward her, and the fear in her eyes exploded.

As he stepped onto the lawn, she screamed, "No."

But it was already too late. A large ugly hand emerged from the grass, a hand that was human in shape but covered with reptilian skin. It whipped out and caught his ankle, clamping around his flesh, claws of steel digging through to the bone.

# Chapter Four

Frank cried out in pain and shock and went down on all fours. More hands reached through the grass and soil, grabbing him, pulling him downward. From somewhere in the jungle, he heard the laughter again, only louder. And this time he knew it was Lilith enjoying his plight.

Had she planned this?

He stopped thinking about her and focused on freeing himself, trying to ignore the pain where the claws gouged his arms and legs. Fumbling in his waistband, he pulled out the knife, discarding the sheath and slashing at the nearest hand. Blood fountained from the wrist, and he heard a muffled scream from below the ground echo through the still air.

But wounding one hand wasn't going to do the trick. It seemed he was in a field of monsters that stayed below the ground, reaching up to claw at him and keep him from going back or forward.

Another hand reached for the knife, and he slashed at the fingers, drawing more blood and another muffled scream.

He ignored his own pain and kept fighting the hands, pulling and cutting himself free. Though it was a shorter distance back the way he'd come, he kept struggling toward Ariel.

When she stepped onto the grass, fear for her shot through him.

"Go back," he shouted, even as he fought for his own life. While his attention was split, two of the hands clamped onto his leg and pulled.

He felt a searing agony, heard a horrible ripping sound and his own scream. Not just his scream—Ariel's.

Looking down, he saw that two of the hands had wrapped themselves around his leg and ripped it off, along with the leg of his jeans, leaving him with a bloody stump. It was the leg he had lost in Iraq, and now it was gone again, yanked away by the monsters. He fell over, landing on the grass, still fighting and slashing at the hands, knowing they could rip off more of his limbs, and he was stuck here.

The grass below his body was soaked with his blood, and his vision fogged.

He was going to die here from blood loss.

Through the fog he could see Ariel coming toward him, leaning over and waving her arms in a horizontal motion. As she moved above the hands, they vanished back into the earth, leaving a path where she could travel safely. She reached him, making a low, moaning sound as she took in the missing leg, the mangled stump, and the blood.

Grasping him by the shoulders, she began to drag him toward the building. He tried to help her by pushing with his remaining leg. What felt like centuries later, they reached the steps, where he collapsed. He looked into her eyes, seeing her anguish as blackness closed in around him.

oOo

Frank wasn't sure how long he was unconscious. He kept his eyes closed and lay very still, evaluating his physical condition. He'd had his leg torn off by savage reptile-like hands, yet now there was no pain and no feeling of being drugged, either. In fact, he felt as fit as he had before he'd hypnotized himself and come to this place.

Wondering what he was going to see, he opened his eyes and looked down his body, which was covered by a light but richly patterned blanket that reminded him of an Oriental rug, only softer and thinner.

He knew he should be dead from loss of blood, but when he pulled the blanket aside, there was no wound. He ran his hand down his thigh, past his knee to the place where the leg should end. The leg was intact. It was like the monsters had never touched him. Did that mean that no injury here was permanent? Or, more likely, had Ariel saved him, the way she'd saved Gordon in the hospital?

Relieved by his physical condition, he glanced around. He was in a comfortable room, lying on a low couch that was covered with rich fabric. The couch rested on a large Oriental rug scattered with bright cushions. Gauzy fabric hung in front of arched windows and also in front of a doorway. In front of the couch was a low brass table, and on it was a silver cup. He propped himself up and reached for it. Lifting it to his lips, he drank water that tasted like it came from a pure mountain stream.

After drinking his fill, he set the cup down, stood up and tested his balance, then walked to the door. Music floated toward him, the sound of a flute and drums. As he brushed the curtain aside and strode into the hallway, he also heard birds chirping. As he walked, he passed rooms along the way. One contained a large indoor swimming pool. Another was a library with shelves of books. He walked in and looked at them. Some seemed ancient, yet others were modern novels and textbooks on subjects ranging from English and Russian to history and literature.

He left the library and followed the sounds of the music and the birds, ending up in the sunny courtyard he had seen before he tried to cross the strip of grass. The memory made his stomach clench, and it took a moment before the chirping of the birds brought him back to the present. They were blue, yellow and orange, many with iridescent plumage, eating tropical fruit and seeds scattered on a wooden platform set in the flower beds about three feet from the ground. As he watched, a small furry animal with large eyes poked its head up from the flowers, then reached up a paw to snag a piece of mango before disappearing into the flowers again. He walked into the sunshine, listening to the music.

In the jungle, he'd kept silent; now he called, "Ariel?"

He sensed someone on the other side of the courtyard, and looked in that direction. Ariel stood in the shadows, watching him.

His heart leaped when he saw her. She was still wearing what looked like an Indian sari, or perhaps it was a South Sea island sarong, the blue and green silk setting off her pale skin and dark hair.

She looked beautiful and delicate, but he knew that exterior hid an iron will.

"Who are you?" he asked as he took a step toward her.

She didn't answer, but he knew one thing for sure—the two of them had met because they were meant to be important to each other.

Quickly he crossed the courtyard, his gaze riveted on her. She quivered as he approached, and he saw the raw nerves shimmering in her eyes.

"How did you come here?" she asked.

"I wanted to, and I did."

"But how?" she pressed.

"I used a technique I learned."

Her breath caught. "For crossing the barrier between worlds? Who taught you?"

He gave short laugh. "It was a tape to help me stop smoking."

He registered the confusion on her face. "When I stopped smoking five years ago, I did it partly with self-hypnosis," he explained. "You learn how to put yourself into a trance, then you go deeper by, say, walking down a flight of stairs. I fixed the idea in my mind that I could come here by diving into a deep lake. And it worked."

"But you should not have come. You see this is a dangerous place."

"Apparently." He swallowed hard. "Could I die here?"

"Yes."

"Then you must have saved my life."

She answered with a little nod.

He gestured toward his leg. "How did you make it whole again?"

She shrugged one shoulder. "I have the power to do that . . . here."

"How?" he asked again.

She turned her palms up. "I can change the forms of matter."

An awesome power, he thought. "What about those monsters?"

"They are part of my defense system."

The matter-of-fact words were like a fist to his gut. " _You_ did that to me?"

Her eyes darkened, and she shook her head quickly. "I didn't mean to. I had no idea that you were coming here—that you _could_ come here."

"But I did."

"No one has done it before. You walked through the jungle?"

"Yes."

"Where dangers lurk."

"And this is a place of safety?"

"Yes. It is my house."

He looked around the courtyard. "And you made it beautiful for yourself."

"For my pleasure." She kept her gaze on him. "But you do not belong here."

"Maybe, but I couldn't get you out of my mind. I wanted to see you again." He swallowed. "Hold you. That's why I had to try."

Her breath caught, but she repeated, "You should not."

"You didn't want to see me?"

Emotions chased themselves across her lovely features. "Yes. I did. As you said, I could not drive you from my thoughts."

"But you didn't come back last night."

"No one needed me last night."

"That didn't have to keep you away."

"I don't do things simply for my own benefit."

"Why not?"

"I never have."

That admission tore at him. Before he could stop himself, he reached for her and pulled her close. Closing his eyes, he held her, stroking his hands up and down her back and plunging his fingers into her thick, dark hair.

If he tried to measure their relationship in the real world, he'd say he barely knew her, but this wasn't the real world. Still, he silently acknowledged that he was taking liberties, again. Only now he didn't think she was going to vanish.

Holding his breath, he prayed she would not pull away. At first her body was stiff. Then with a sigh, she let herself melt against him.

He breathed in her delicate scent, absorbing the feel of her slender frame and her feminine curves. It felt so good to hold her, after months of feeling alone and unwanted.

The two of them swayed together, and he wondered if she needed him as much as he needed her.

The unspoken invitation made his heart beat faster. And faster still when her hands began to move restlessly across his back, then down to the waistband of his jeans. With her arms around him, she pulled his shirt from the back of his pants, then slipped her hand under, pressing her palm against the naked skin of his back, sliding fingers over his warm flesh, sending shivers over his skin.

He closed his eyes, marveling at the way her touch made him feel hot and cold at the same time. When she tipped her face up, he lowered his head to settle his lips on hers. She opened for him, and he drank in the wonderful taste of her as she continued to cling to him.

He might not have known her long, but he sensed things about her that he wasn't able to put into words. He wanted to make love with her, and he was sure she wanted him as well.

She looked up and glanced around the courtyard. "Come inside," she murmured.

He knitted his fingers with hers, and she led him into the house, on the opposite side of the building from where he'd awakened.

They stepped into a bedroom that was beautiful, adorned with patterned cushions, silken hangings and a wide bed on a low platform.

"Is this where you sleep?" he asked.

"Yes."

His gaze came back to her, and he looked his fill. He'd seen women in saris before, and they always had on a blouse under the length of fabric, but her arms and shoulders were bare expect for where one end of the sari was draped over her shoulder. Below the fabric he could see the high, firm shape of her small breasts.

If he pulled the material from her shoulder, he knew he would expose the top of her body. He wanted to do that, yet he worried that would be going too fast for her.

She might have invited him to her bedroom, yet he saw a mixture of desire and uncertainty on her face.

The need for her pounded fiercely through his body, but he held himself in check as he gathered her in his arms, kissing her face, the curve of her ear, her jaw line. His hands stroked up and down her back, under the hanging fabric, then glided around to find the sides of her breasts.

She rested her head against his shoulder as he touched her, easing the silk away so that he could caress her satin skin, taking her breasts in his hands and skimming his thumbs across the hardened peaks, bringing a gasp to her lips.

"I should do that, too," she murmured. Her hands were at the front of his tee shirt, rolling it up so that she could slide her hands over his chest. His breath caught as her fingers tangled in his thick hair, then found his nipples.

He closed his eyes, enjoying her touch. It seemed like a miracle that she was in his arms.

"You'll have to show me what to do," she murmured.

The whispered words got his attention. "What?"

"I have never done this before."

# Chapter Five

His breath hitched. "You haven't made love with a man?"

"No. It wasn't something I ever wanted."

"But you want it now?"

She nodded. "You made me want it."

When she raised her face, her gaze met his, and it felt as though time had stopped.

Ariel had never been with a man, but she wanted to be with him.

He was dizzy with desire for her, yet her words had given him pause.

As he watched, she pulled the top of the sari off her shoulder, revealing the top half of her body. The garment was tied at her waist, and she undid the knot, pulling the covering off so that she stood naked before him.

His gaze took in her perfect body. The curve of her hips, her narrow waist, her beautiful breasts. Then he raised his eyes to her face, where he saw doubts flicker. He paused.

"Do I not please you?" she asked.

"Of course you please me. You're beautiful."

"Then why do you not reach for me? I thought you would want to press my body to yours."

He made a strangled sound and uttered words that surprised him. "Perhaps we are not meant to do this."

"You do not sense something between us? It is something difficult to put into words. Long ago my mother told me that when I met the right man, I would know. I asked _how_ I would know. She said only that I would."

"Oh Lord, Ariel."

She reached for him, and at the same time he reached out for her, pulling her into his arms, holding tight. He had thought that making love to her would be a precious gift. He hadn't understood how precious.

Desperate to feel her breasts against his chest, he stepped back far enough to yank his shirt over his head and toss it on the floor before gathering her into his arms. A sound of gratitude rose in his throat as he absorbed the feel of her against him.

It was difficult to draw in a full breath, difficult to keep his balance as he swayed her in his arms so that her breasts moved back and forth against his body.

She cried out as her nipples slid against the roughened hair of his chest.

She made a small sobbing sound, her arms clasping his back.

He fumbled with the button at the top of his jeans, opening it and lowering the zipper so that he could drag the pants down his legs and kick them away. But he left his briefs on.

He reached around her, sliding his hands over the curve of her bottom, her hips, the indentation at her waist, all the places he'd longed to touch. Imagined touching.

Since the night he'd seen her, he'd known he wanted her, but he hadn't dared to imagine this. This was so much better than any daydream he could have conjured up, and he marveled at the intensity of what he felt now.

He bent to pull the covers back, then brought her down to the bed with him, rolling to his side, holding her in his arms.

"What do we do now?" she asked.

"The same things we've been doing. Give each other pleasure."

"What gives you pleasure?" she asked.

"Touching you. Kissing you."

"And all of that pleases me."

He cleared his throat, wanting to make sure she understood everything. "Do you know that when a man enters a woman's body for the first time, it may hurt her?"

He saw her swallow. "No."

"But if you're ready for me, the pain will be quick," he said, wondering if he was telling the truth. He'd never made love to a virgin, but he wasn't going to test her confidence by admitting that.

His gaze on her face, he cupped her breasts, shaping them to his touch, then playing his thumbs over her distended nipples.

She closed her eyes, her breath catching as he took one hard peak into his mouth, drawing on her as he used his thumb and finger to tug and worry the other nipple.

His name was a gasp on her lips.

Gratified by her response, he slid one hand slowly down her body, pausing to play with the tight curls at the juncture of her legs before reaching lower, parting her folds and touching her there.

He felt her tense. "All right?"

"Yes."

She was aroused, hot and moist for him. He had never needed a woman more, yet he wasn't going to rush this. Not when he knew this moment was so important—for both of them.

He touched her and kissed her, tasted her, lifting his head to watch her face and judge her readiness as he continued to stroke her most intimate flesh.

He saw passion mold her features, felt her hips lift restlessly against his fingers.

He slipped his finger into her, then out again, stroking up to her clit.

She gasped. "That feels so good."

"There's more. Do you know the pleasure a woman feels when she reaches sexual climax?"

"No."

"I'll show you. Just with my hand."

"How is that possible?"

"You'll see."

He continued to stroke her, dipping into her, pressing against her swollen sex, sliding up to her clit as he rocked his hand. His finger plunged in and out of her, feeling her inner muscles tremble, then convulse.

He felt her climax against his hand, felt her whole body clenching. While pleasure still gripped her, he levered himself over her and plunged inside her.

She cried out, staring up at him, and he went still above her, overcome by emotions. "The painful part is done. I'm in you," he whispered in a choked voice, bending to kiss her. He rolled to his side, taking her with him so that he could kiss her and touch her when he began to move his hips.

He felt tiny tremors in her sheath as her arousal built again. Then, as he moved, she began to match his rhythm. Her fingers dug into his shoulders as she climbed toward orgasm with him. Summoning every ounce of self-control he possessed, he held himself back, waiting for her to reach the peak of her pleasure again. Only when he felt the spasms of her climax did he let himself go, crying out as his own orgasm rocketed through him.

He rolled to his side, cradling her in his arms, overwhelmed with the joy of making love with her— and the trust she had given him.

"Thank you," he murmured.

"I should be the one to say that. You gave me something I never knew about. Never expected."

He turned his head so that he could kiss her cheek. He had so many questions, but he understood that he might not get the answers he wanted—or any answers at all. And as he lay in this woman's bed, enjoying the feel of her head resting on his arm, he felt a profound peace and happiness—which he was afraid he would never feel again.

He was sure he could prolong the sweet respite by keeping his questions locked in his throat, but he had never considered himself a coward.

"Ariel, who are you?" he asked in a voice that he couldn't quite hold steady.

She stiffened in his arms, then scooted away from him, putting a foot of space between them. "I can't talk about that."

"You don't trust me?"

"I want to."

"But?"

"But this is very new to me, and I think I may already be breaking the rules."

"What, you lose your powers if you're not a virgin?"

"I don't think so." She raised her hand, and a television screen appeared on the wall across the room. Not bulky but perfectly flat like a picture hanging in a gallery. As he watched, it flicked on and he saw Bernard Shaw reporting on the situation in the Middle East.

"I guess I can still do it," she murmured.

"You can get CNN here?"

"If I want. And channels from other countries."

Instantly the channel changed to a women commentator speaking what sounded like Russian.

"Movies?"

"What one do you want to see?"

He hesitated. Then he said, " _Coming Home_ with Jane Fonda and Jon Voight." He could identify with that one.

This time the change took a few moments. As the movie showed on the screen, he reached for her hand, knitting his fingers with hers.

"He is injured in a war. Like you."

"Worse." He changed his mind about the movie. "Turn it off and get The 1812 Overture."

She did it, pulling up a recording the Boston Pops had done on PBS.

As he listened to the music, he wanted answers, but he wanted this time with her, too. She had given him something he hadn't expected. Not just the sweetness of making love with her. In this place, he was whole again, and he was pretty sure that wouldn't be true when he went back to the Naval Medical Center. He didn't ask about that. Instead he asked, "How long can I stay here?"

"I don't know." She dragged in a breath and let it out. "No one from your world ever came here before."

"Why me?"

"You possess something other men lack."

"What?"

"I think your mind is open in an unusual way."

"Or the two of us have a connection that neither one of us can explain."

He waited for her to say it could be explained, but she only nodded.

"Show me your house," he said, wondering if he'd find any clues. If she had a TV, maybe she had a computer connected to . . . what? The universal mind?

When she climbed out of bed, he saw the blood on the inside of her thighs and drew in a ragged breath.

She followed his gaze and flushed. "That happened when you entered me?"

"Yes."

"I should wash."

"Let me wash you."

Her flush deepened.

"There should be no secrets between us. At least physical secrets," he said. "Where's the bathroom?"

She gave a little nod but picked up the sari and draped it over her body before leading him down the hall to a huge bathroom with a marble tub as big as a Jacuzzi, a large shower enclosed on all sides by glass and a marble sink. One wall was tiled in a mural that looked like it could have come from ancient Greece, and the toilet was in a separate room that was modeled on a Roman general's campaign tent.

"You like to mix your decor."

"I change it when I want."

He turned on the water in the shower, adjusting the temperature to steamy. "Come on in."

"With you?"

"Yeah. You need to learn that it's not just for washing."

He stepped under the water, which turned his skin instantly slick and hot.

He held out his hand, and Ariel stepped in with him. He reached for a peach-colored washcloth hanging on a small rack and wet it under the water, then bent to wash the blood off her thighs, watching it run into the drain and swirl away.

When he was done, he pulled her close, absorbing the feel of her wet body plastered to his.

Reaching behind her, he found a bar of soap in a wall niche and slicked his hands, running them up and down her back, playing over the curve of her butt, wringing a small exclamation from her.

He bent to nibble on her ear, sucked on the lobe, stiffened his tongue and probed.

Tipping her head up, he brought his mouth to hers, playing with her lips and then her teeth and the sweet territory beyond. He let his soapy hands cup her breasts, loving the way her body quivered in his arms.

She sighed and dipped her head so that he couldn't see her face as she walked him in a little circle. She'd moved him so that the soap dish was to his back, and when she played her soap-slick hands down his back to his butt, he grinned. She was a fast learner.

Very fast, he realized when she slipped one soapy hand into the crack between his butt cheeks and closed the other around his aching erection, imitating the motion of intercourse.

"Don't do too much of that," he warned her.

"You do not like it?"

"I like it too much. You'll make me come."

"That's what it's called?"

"Yeah. Or orgasm. Or sexual climax."

He moved her hand to safer territory, then went back to her taut nipples, using a circular motion to skim their edges, alternating that with flicks of his thumbnails across the very tips, wringing a sob from her.

"We could use a little shelf in here. For you to sit on," he muttered. "About at the height of my hips."

The requested shelf materialized in back of her, and he lifted her onto it, spreading her legs and moving between them so that he could thrust into her.

He saw her look down at the place where they were joined.

"You can't tell where one of us starts and the other ends," she breathed.

They both watched as he moved slowly in and out of her, his hands on her breasts again, tugging and twisting at the nipples.

They had satisfied each other not long ago, but neither of them had quenched their thirst for the other. The water beat down on them in torrents now, matching the torrents of pleasure coursing through him. Again he held back, waiting until he felt her come before following her into ecstasy.

She collapsed against him, her head drifting into the crook of his neck, then turning so that she could nuzzle her lips against him.

He reached to turn off the water, then grabbed a fluffy towel to dry her off as she did the same with another towel she must have conjured out of thin air. A very useful talent, he remarked.

Scooping her up in his arms, he cradled her against his chest, intending to carry her back to bed.

But his arms were suddenly empty. In the blink of an eye, she was gone. Vanished.

And then he was gone, too.

# Chapter Six

Frank wasn't sure how long it was—minutes, hours, years or a century—before he woke with a gasp, his body jerking painfully as his eyes flew open. Where was he?

In pain and confusion, he looked up into the faces of two nurses and a doctor standing over him. The doctor was Southwell who was in charge of the internal medicine program on the trauma floor.

"Wha. . .?" Frank tried to ask.

"Take it easy."

Frank wet his dry lips and waited a moment before trying again. "What happened?" he managed to ask.

The doctor's face was strained.

"You were dead. We got you back." Southwell gestured toward the crash cart beside the bed. On it was a defibrillator, and the doctor was holding the paddles.

"My heart stopped beating?" Frank clarified as he struggled to wrap his mind around the situation.

The doctor nodded.

Frank tried to square the information with his previous memories—starting when he'd finally gone to bed the night before. He remembered putting himself into a trance, forcing himself deeper, and then... Nothing. He forced himself to relax, to breathe, to let the memories come.... The jungle. Yes. He had ended up in the jungle where Ariel lived. He'd been attacked by her guards. She'd saved his life, and they'd made love.

"What's the last thing you remember?" Southwell asked.

Frank couldn't tell the doctor the truth. Or he'd get a guaranteed transfer to the psych ward. Instead, he said, "Going to bed."

"And you were here in bed all night?"

"As far as I know."

"What does that mean?" Southwell demanded.

"I suppose somebody could have moved me. Like if I were unconscious," he said, wishing he'd just kept his mouth shut instead of coming out with that last speculation.

Before the doctor could ask another question, an orderly came in. "Dr. Southwell?"

"Excuse me." The physician detached himself from the group gathered around Frank and went over to the orderly, where they conferred in low voices. Finally Southwell returned.

"What is it?" Frank demanded.

The doctor hesitated.

"What?" Frank said again, his gaze drilling into Southwell's.

"Gordon is recovering."

Frank felt everything inside himself clench.

"From what?"

"He had a heart attack. We managed to revive him."

Frank turned his head toward the window, seeing the first glimmer of dawn, then looked back at Southwell.

"You're saying both of us had heart attacks tonight."

"You didn't have a heart attack. We believe you suffered cardiac arrest, but we'll have to run some tests."

"What's the difference?"

Southwell went into a technical explanation that Frank couldn't follow very well. But the bottom line was that Gordon's heart had been damaged, and his had not.

"Why did it happen to me?" he asked.

"We don't know, but we're going to check you over, starting with some blood work."

One of the nurses stepped forward with a blood-draw tray.

"What, you think I'm on something?" Frank asked as she inserted a needle into his arm.

"We're checking every possibility."

"Just us—me and Gordon? Nobody else?" Frank asked.

"Yes."

"So I guess it's not something like Legionnaires' disease infecting the hospital."

"Legionnaires' causes respiratory distress and possibly mental confusion."

Frank sighed. "I was just using it as an example of a disease that sweeps through a confined population."

"I see. But no, nothing like that."

When the nurse was finished with the blood draw, Southwell listened to his heart and performed a routine physical.

"We'll schedule you for more tests in the morning. Meanwhile, I want you to stay in bed where we can keep an eye on you. Don't put on your prosthesis."

"Okay," Frank agreed, although he really didn't have much choice about complying. As Leonard had said a couple of days ago, he was in a hospital. And the doctor had reminded him that he only had one leg.

With a hitch in his breath, he looked down toward the bottom of the bed. He could see one leg under the sheet and the place where the other leg should have been. In Ariel's alternate reality, he'd had two legs. He hadn't really expected to come back here and find he'd grown the missing limb again, but seeing the empty place under the sheets still triggered a spurt of emotion he had to work to suppress.

"What's wrong?" Southwell said.

"Nothing," he answered, not wanting to talk about the feeling of being cheated—in more than one way.

He forced himself to lie in bed, looking what they would consider normal, while the medical team checked the monitoring equipment before they cleared out of the room.

When he was finally alone, Frank clenched his fists. Until a few nights ago, he'd been a typical patient in the amputee unit. Then he'd stepped into another plane of existence, where he'd met two women.

He'd thought one was evil and one was good. But now it looked like they were both evil, only Ariel had hidden it better. She'd bided her time, waiting to strike him when he was most vulnerable.

He'd been drawn to Ariel—fixated on her, actually, after their first meeting in Gordon's room. He'd longed to see her again, and he'd worked hard to get into the other plane of existence because he'd wanted to be with her. His mistake.

Now he knew the truth. That first kiss had been a lure to get him into a place where he'd be totally vulnerable. In the other plane, she'd tried to kill him twice—with some sexual stuff designed to distract him between attacks. The first assault outside her house was from what she called her defense mechanisms. The second time she'd sent him back here at the right moment for his heart to stop. Luckily he'd been in a hospital at the time, and the staff had revived him.

Well, he'd learned his lesson. He was going to stay away from her. She'd come across as sweet and nice, but that was apparently just a pose.

He gritted his teeth as he remembered the joy of making love with her. She'd told him she was a virgin, and she'd given him the gift of her virginity. But he knew she could manipulate physical reality. After all, she'd given him back his leg—at least while he was in her alternate reality. If she could regenerate a whole leg, why not a little membrane that made her a virgin again?

A cynical laugh bubbled up inside him, but he broke it off before it reached his lips. He was remembering what it had been like making love with her. She'd seemed to want him. The way she'd responded to him had made his heart soar. But now he was pretty sure she was simply a wonderful actress.

He looked up and saw one of the nurses standing in the doorway. "Is something wrong?" she asked. "Your heart rate's elevated."

He shrugged. "I guess I'm upset about almost dying."

"Understandable," she answered. "Shall I ask the doctor to give you something to help you calm down?"

"I'm fine," he said, struggling to sound calm. Jesus, he was grappling with weird stuff he couldn't discuss with anyone, and the nurses' station was monitoring his every physiological reaction.

She watched him for a few more moments before turning and walking away.

He lay in bed, trying to calm himself down, when he wanted to get up, attach his damn leg and go down the hall to see Roger Gordon. Was the man still going to deny that something was going on?

But what was it, exactly?

The nurse returned with some breakfast which he couldn't eat because it tasted like wet newspaper.

They wouldn't even let him walk around. They put him in a wheelchair to take him around to the various labs—where he had everything from an EKG to an MRI.

Nothing came out abnormal, including the results of the drug tests. He wasn't taking anything besides what the hospital had given him.

As they wheeled him around to the respective departments, he kept looking for Gordon. But the lieutenant was nowhere in sight. Had they deliberately put the two of them on a different exam schedule? Or was Gordon too sick to leave his bed?

He couldn't ask, because he wasn't going to act like he was obsessed with the guy. Not after the conversation he'd had with the shrink.

By the end of the day Frank was exhausted, but he had one thing to be thankful for. After the results of the tests, they removed the monitoring equipment for a few hours, and they even gave him permission to go to the bathroom, put his prosthesis back on, and eat in the dining room—where he sat by himself at a table in the corner, enduring glances from the rest of the patients. Everybody knew he'd almost died early in the morning—which was why he was going back on telemetry for the night. And as the hospital finally quieted down, he fought to hide the raw edge of his nerves.

Night was the first time he'd gone into that other place. Night was the time he'd fought his way back in because he wanted to find Ariel.

Now he lay in bed with his heart pounding and his hands clenching the sheets.

Did he think that holding onto a security blanket would anchor him to this reality?

He didn't know.

One of the night nurses came in to offer him something to help him sleep. He declined and lay rigid in bed, feeling something tug at him.

When he slid his eyes to the side, he thought he saw the jungle where he'd stepped into that other plane. Not just the jungle. He imagined he saw Ariel at the edge of his vision, reaching toward him.

He felt the tug of her will. She was trying to pull him in there again, but he resisted with all of his own will, because whatever she had been to him was just an illusion.

# Chapter Seven

They let him go back to his normal routine the next day, and when he walked into the mess hall, he saw Gordon across the room. They stared at each other, and Frank wondered if the man was finally willing to talk about what had happened. But when Frank started across the tile floor, he saw Gordon stiffen. Making a quick decision, Frank changed course and headed for an opposite corner, where Derby and Callahan were already sitting.

"How are you feeling?" Callahan asked.

"Pretty good."

"They know what happened to you?"

Frank shook his head. "I wish they did," he lied. He was pretty sure what had happened to him, but he couldn't tell these guys. He couldn't tell anyone, because that would only make sure everyone knew he had lost his marbles as well as his leg.

He went through his usual day, but as the night closed in, he felt edgy. He worried that he'd feel the pull of the alternate reality the way he had the night before.

Did going there mean death? Or was that an overreaction? He wondered if his defiance meant his will to live was getting stronger.

There was no way to answer any of those questions as he went through the steps of getting ready for bed, laying his artificial leg within easy reach for the morning.

But he kept glancing at the prosthesis, feeling vulnerable without it. Finally, he got up and eased it on again, even as he wondered why.

Did he think the leg was extra insurance that Ariel couldn't pull him back into the other plane of existence? It was a half-assed theory because she could get rid of the leg with a lightning strike. Or just a wave of her hand.

He tried to stay awake, watching subtle images flicker at the edge of his vision. Maybe he _was_ going crazy, and he should go back to Dr. Leonard and lay it all out. He dismissed that thought as soon as it surfaced. The doctor wasn't going to help him. He'd just take the opportunity to write a report on Frank Decorah's deteriorated mental condition.

He tried to stay awake, but finally he dozed off—only to snap alert when he heard a strangled cry from down the hall. He went rigid. This was just like the first time—Gordon calling out for help.

Last time Frank had gotten up and rushed to the other man's aid. This time he lay still with every muscle and nerve screaming, praying someone else would hear the call and go to the rescue.

He pictured the scene, remembering how the woman in black had looked leaning over Gordon. Had she been in his room leaning over him when he'd had his cardiac arrest and nobody had been able to see her?

Sitting up, he leaned toward the door, listening intently for assurance that someone else was going to take care of the Gordon problem. But he heard no running feet, no urgent questions from a nurse. Instead he heard Gordon moaning.

Shit!

Unable to lie there and let Lilith kill the lieutenant, Frank heaved himself out of bed. Was this the reason he'd left the prosthesis on? Because he'd known something was going to happen?

Or was this some kind of trick to get him out of bed? But why? There wasn't any barrier at the door to his room. Anyone who wanted to come after him could just come in. He went to the closet and looked for the knife. Then he remembered he'd left it in the other plane. Damn. He was about to give up looking when he saw it there, behind the loose molding where he had hidden it when he'd first decided he wasn't going to stay weaponless in the hospital.

He pulled it down and pulled off the sheath, wrapping his hand around the leather handle as he hurried grimly out of his room. Once again the hall was bathed in green light, and once again it looked like the nurses were asleep at their station. So they could wake up in surprise when they found Gordon dead.

Frank clumped down the corridor and turned into the lieutenant's room, holding the knife down beside his right leg. His breath caught as he saw what he had expected. A blond woman wearing a slinky black dress and spike heels was leaning over Gordon in the bed.

Lilith, in the same pose as when Frank had first seen her in here.

But the scene wasn't exactly the same. This time Gordon's eyes were open, and his whole face was suffused with panic as he looked up at the figure hovering over him. Then his gaze swung to Frank, and hope bloomed on his features.

"Help me," he croaked.

"You know I'm here?"

"Yes. Please, for God's sake, get her away from me."

Frank focused on Lilith. "Get the hell off of him," he shouted.

She smiled at him, and he saw the true vision of evil lurking below the surface of her beautiful features.

"Thank you for coming," she said. "It's you I want, not him."

"Why?"

"It's the difference between a bowl of oatmeal and a prime rib dinner. He's boring. You would make a much more tasty meal."

"You can't have me. And you can't have him either."

She laughed—not a pleasant sound. "If you think you can stop me, you're sadly mistaken."

"You're the one who is mistaken. Get the hell out of here."

"Not until I have what I came for."

He saw Gordon staring wide-eyed at the exchange, but he ignored the lieutenant, keeping his focus on the demon.

His hand tightened on the hilt of the knife. He didn't know if he'd be able to kill a demon with a knife, but in this alternate reality, he thought anything was possible.

Still his chest felt constricted by giant steel bands as he advanced on Lilith.

She stopped him about four feet away, throwing out a bolt of force that unsteadied him momentarily. Last time she'd knocked him to the floor, but he hadn't been wearing his prosthesis. He was going to let her think she could do it again, then surge forward and slit her throat.

He moved as though he were unsteady on his feet, watching the satisfaction on her face. Then he lunged.

When he threw her off balance, they both went down. But he plunged the knife into her chest, drawing a gasp from her. He pulled the knife free, raised his arm again and buried the blade deep into her body.

"Die, you bitch. Die," he ground out as he kept stabbing her, feeling the violence boiling over inside himself and transferring itself to the knife.

He was winning. He was going to vanquish her.

Yet, in the end, it was something no human being could accomplish.

From some hidden well deep within the demon, a surge of energy coursed through her. Even as he thrust at her, he felt her hands on his shoulders, pushing him away.

His free hand scrabbled at her, trying to keep her within reach, but she pushed him down with more force than he would have thought possible with the wounds he'd inflicted.

As he flew backwards and sprawled on the floor, he saw her expression change from surprise to triumph.

"You think you can defeat me?" she challenged. "You are only a weak human piece of dirt."

"And what are you?"

"A being far more powerful."

"An evil being."

She laughed. "You can define evil as you wish."

She would finish him off, then go for Gordon. He knew that deep in his soul. He spared a glance at the other man and saw him lying in the bed, consumed by fear as he watched the end of the battle.

But Frank wasn't willing to give up. Even if he was going to lose, he would die trying to defeat this monster.

He pushed himself up and began to claw his way toward the demon again, but now he felt an invisible wall between them, like when he'd tried to fight his way into the other plane.

Although he slashed at it with the knife, this time he was unable to cut his way through. No matter how forceful his strikes, the knife only bounced back at him.

Amusement flickered on Lilith's lips as she watched. From her position of safety, the look in her eyes changed. Not just the look. The color darkened and her mouth opened, a parody of a smile stretching her lips.

"And now you die," she whispered.

He felt power gathering in her, power that focused in the outstretched hand she pointed at him. As he watched, small lightning bolts flickered around her fingertips.

With a twitch of her lips, she launched the bolt at him, and he knew he was going to die.

But the surge of power never reached him. From out of the air, a body flew between him and Lilith, taking the bolt meant for him.

Lilith screamed, her face contorting to one of unimaginable anger as her plans were thwarted.

Frank screamed, too, when he realized what had happened. He saw Ariel lying on the tile floor beside him, still and lifeless.

# Chapter Eight

Lilith had vanished. One moment she was in the room. In the next she was simply gone.

Frank wasted no time worrying about her. Instead, he bent over Ariel, his heart blocking his windpipe as he closed his hand around her shoulder.

"Ariel," he gasped out. "Ariel."

She didn't move, didn't speak. Gathering her in his arms, he cradled her against his chest.

He'd doubted her feelings for him when he'd come back to the hospital to find he'd suffered a cardiac arrest. But now she had leaped between him and Lilith's fatal blow.

He rocked her in his arms, bending to press his lips to her cheek. He had denied what he felt for her—until this moment.

And now it was too late.

"Ariel, oh Lord, Ariel, don't die," he begged.

She didn't stir, and as he held her, she began to fade and lose her substance. She grew paler and lighter, so that he could see right through her.

And then she vanished, leaving him sitting on the floor, cradling nothing in his arms, grappling with a feeling of total devastation. She was gone. She had given her life for his, and he could hardly cope with that knowledge.

He wanted to howl with grief, and perhaps he would have done that if he'd been alone.

But Gordon spoke, reminding Frank of his presence.

"What the hell happened?"

"Lilith, the mind vampire, came to suck the life out of you," he answered, hearing the flat quality of his voice.

Gordon didn't argue with the explanation.

"She was trying to take your life force."

"And you kept her from doing it?" the lieutenant asked.

He nodded.

"And the other one—Ariel—kept her from killing me. But how is any of this possible?"

"I don't know," Frank answered.

He pushed himself up and stood unsteadily, grabbing the side of the bed to keep from falling.

"I'm sorry," Gordon whispered.

"About what?"

"About that girl dying."

Frank could only answer with a tight nod.

Gordon dragged in a breath and let it out. "And about not admitting I understood what was going on."

"You admit it now?"

"Yeah. Well as much as I can understand it. One of them was evil, and the other was good?"

"Right." Frank clipped out. At least that concept had gotten through Gordon's thick skull.

Frank steadied himself and made his way slowly toward the door.

"Wait," Gordon called out.

"I need to be alone," he answered, keeping his back turned so that Gordon wouldn't see the tears in his eyes.

He stepped into the hall, walking slowly back to his room, knowing he had lost Ariel.

Numbly he sat down and went through the procedure of taking off his prosthesis. He was too drained to cope with what had happened. But he vowed one thing. He couldn't let this terrible loss destroy his will to live. That would mean he'd be ripe pickings for Lilith. And he would not taint Ariel's memory by allowing _that_ to happen.

oOo

Somehow Frank got through the next day, thanking God that he didn't have an appointment with Dr. Leonard because he couldn't talk about what had happened or talk about his feelings. And he didn't want to be the subject of another write-up citing him for being uncooperative.

He did his PT. He ate in the cafeteria, as much as he could choke down. He avoided Gordon because he didn't want to talk to him either.

But after pushing food around on his plate at dinner, the lieutenant scooted his wheelchair beside him as he was leaving the mess hall.

"You okay?" Gordon asked.

"Yeah," he replied, but he kept on walking.

Later, out n the hall, he noticed Gordon wheel himself to an alcove where the chairs and tables were unoccupied. Frank thought about walking away but he decided there was no point in making the guy feel worse than he no doubt already did. He walked over to him.

"Maybe you're fooling everybody else, but you're not fooling me," Gordon said without looking up.

"What, now you're on the psych staff?"

"I can see you're hurting."

Frank lowered himself into a chair so that he was at the other man's eye level. "And there's nothing either one of us can do about it."

Gordon nodded as he looked up. "I want to ask one question. Did that... thing come after me because I was feeling like I might give up?"

"I think so."

"So the message is—stay strong?"

"And defeat the evil vampire by choosing to live."

Gordon nodded again. "I'm not going to let her get me."

"You realize we're having a conversation about something nobody would believe?"

"Yes. So we're both not nuts?"

Frank laughed. "Hopefully."

"I didn't want to deal with it," Gordon said. "That's why I wouldn't talk to you about it."

Frank dragged in a breath and let it out. "You saw the weird green light?"

"Maybe. Sort of. I get the feeling you were more involved than I was—I mean I was just a victim."

Now that they were talking, Frank opened up to his curiosity. "What did you see last night when I came in again?"

Gordon looked like he didn't want to answer. Finally he said, "The bad one was leaning over me, and I could feel her sucking the life out of me. Then you started fighting her. She was winning, until the other one appeared."

At the mention of Ariel, Frank felt his heart clench.

"We can talk more about it later," Gordon said, seeming to catch on to Frank's mood change.

They went their separate ways, and Frank returned to his room. As he prepared for bed, one thought permeated his mind—getting back to the other plane of existence again.

He had to get to Ariel's house. He had to see if she was lying there, injured. What if she needed him? That thought made his heart start to pound. But how could he get over her monster defenses on the lawn?

He took off his prosthesis and climbed into bed. Lying back, he closed his eyes and started the hypnosis routine to put himself into a light trance. He felt the peaceful feeling slipping over him and was encouraged.

But his consciousness didn't move from the bed, and when he felt a light touch on his cheek, his eyes blinked open.

Ariel was leaning over him, her colorful sari clinging provocatively to her body and her eyes bright in the greenish light that filled the room.

"Is it all right for me to be here?" she asked in a small voice.

"All right? Of course it's all right. Thank God you're here." He pushed himself up, his gaze ranging eagerly over her as he breathed her name. "Are you really in my room, or am I imagining you because I want you so much?"

"You didn't imagine me."

"But you were hurt when you took that bolt meant for me. You didn't move, didn't respond to me—and then you faded away. Like she did."

"My spirit and my body needed time to heal."

"You're all right now?"

"Yes."

He looked around. "Where is Lilith?"

"You weakened her. She used up all her energy when she tried to kill you. How did you know to stab her?"

"It seemed like the thing to do."

"It drained her substance. That's why she put up the shield."

He dragged in a breath and let it out. "But there was no way for me to kill her, right?"

"No. She has existed for thousands of years. She will go on. But she will think long and hard before she tries to harm you again."

"I thought I was losing."

"You were hurting her. A lot."

"But she would have killed me with that bolt," he clarified.

"I don't know. But I couldn't take a chance."

He reached for her and pulled her down beside him on the bed, cradling her against him as he brought his mouth to hers for a long hungry kiss.

"I was sure I had lost you," he whispered. "When you faded away and didn't come back."

She put her hand up to silence him. "I must explain something to you first. I understand why you thought I had tried to harm you." She looked up at him, and her eyes seemed to melt into his as she spoke. "But it wasn't me. It was her. She figured out how to yank you out of the other plane, and that was a shock to your heart."

He nodded, then looked toward the door. "Can you make sure nobody comes in here?"

"I already have."

"Can you take me back to the other plane?"

"I could. But I want to be with you here."

"Why?"

"Because I know you're worried about . . ."

"About making love with you when I only have one leg," he finished.

"Yes. And I want you to know that it doesn't make any difference to me."

She stood up and pulled the sari from her shoulder, then untied the knot at her waist, dropping the garment on the floor. She stood naked beside his bed, looking down at him with an expression that told him she wasn't quite as confident as she appeared.

"Come warm me," he whispered.

He lifted the covers, and she slipped into the narrow bed beside him. And suddenly the bed was a lot wider and more luxurious, filling almost all of the hospital room. It was covered with a bright patterned spread, and soft pillows in a riot of colors now cushioned his head. Even the walls were no longer plain institutional green. The bed was in a tent now, something that a desert nomad king might use, with rich hangings closing in the sleeping chamber.

"Nice," he murmured.

"For my pleasure. And yours. And for my pleasure, we should take off your sleeping clothes."

One moment he was wearing a tee shirt and shorts. In the next he was naked except for an embroidered loincloth that circled his waist and hung down to hide his genitals. It left the lower half of his body exposed. One hair-roughened leg and one empty place where the other leg should be.

He pressed his hand against the mattress to keep from pulling up the spread and hiding his stump.

"You are beautiful," she murmured.

"How can you say that?"

"Easily."

She knelt beside him, kissing him lightly on the mouth, then sliding her lips to his jaw line, his shoulder, his chest, nibbling her lips through the crinkly hair there, then touching her tongue to one of his flat nipples.

He wanted to relax and enjoy what she was doing, but he couldn't quite manage it.

"This could get a little tricky," he muttered.

She raised her head. "Not if I straddle you."

"How do you know about that?"

"There are many pictures. Have you seen the illustrations on the walls at Pompeii? Or the stone carvings at Khajuraho in India?"

He swallowed hard. "No."

"But you probably saw the movie _Basic Instinct_."

He laughed. "Did you?"

"I watched it to learn. And others of your moving pictures, like that _Coming Home_ one. Some of them are quite . . . graphic. But the ancient Romans and the Hindus are just as informative. Only the illustrations don't move." She shook her head. "The Greeks aren't as good a source of instruction for a woman. They were too interested in men with men."

She bent her head again, moving down his body, making his stomach muscles quiver as she probed his navel with her tongue.

She looked lower, seeing the tent his erection had made of the loincloth. Her hands went to the waistband, tugging it open, freeing him from the fabric.

"Tell me if I do something wrong."

He made a strangled sound as she took his cock in her hand, holding it while she licked her tongue up one side, then the other.

She moved to the very tip, delicately licking away a drop of moisture, then licking around the head before stroking her tongue down the shaft and up again. And then she took him into her mouth, sucking strongly, wringing a strangled cry from his lips, a cry he could barely hear above the pounding of the blood in his ears.

She raised her head and looked at him with concern. "Am I doing it wrong?"

"Lord, no. It's too good. I don't want to come in your mouth."

"Why not? I want to please you."

"Only if I please you too. Come here."

He held out his arm, and she lay down beside him.

"I want this to be as good for you as it is for me."

He brought his mouth to hers, tasting her again, deeply, roughly, then more gently.

She caught her breath as his fingertips caressed her curves, then grazed across her hardened nipples.

Bending, he took one into his mouth, sucking on her while he plucked at its mate with his thumb and finger, wringing a little cry from her.

Leaning over her, he stroked his hand down her body, into the intimate flesh between her legs, caressing her, dipping his finger into her, then gliding upward to her clit and down again

Her breath came in little gasps as he brought her up to the high plain where he already waited. As he did, he played with her nipples, tugging and twisting at them, watching the pleasure change the contours of her face.

"Now," she gasped as she levered herself over him again, grasping his shaft and bring her hips down, burying him inside her.

They were both struggling for breath as she began to move over him, slowly at first, watching his face as she increased the rhythm harder and faster.

All his concentration focused on the heat and the friction, and the giving and taking of pleasure. He felt her losing control, felt her driving for completion, and he allowed himself to follow her.

He cried out with his release, as his body pumped and vibrated with climax.

When he came back to himself, he saw her looking down at him, satisfaction flickering on her lips.

He smiled up at her. "Thank you for that."

"Thank you."

She moved off him and pulled the spread over them. Snuggling against him, she nuzzled her mouth against his cheek and neck.

"I never thought I would have this pleasure," she whispered. "I didn't even know what it was."

He wanted to lie in that opulent bed for eons, without thinking about the future, but finally he had to ask the question that was burning inside him.

"Where do we go from here?"

"Where do you want to go?" she whispered.

"I want you to stay with me."

"You mean in this world?"

"Or yours."

He felt the tension in her body before she pulled away. She looked down at him, her face serious, and Frank felt his heart clench even before she said the words, "I can't."

# Chapter Nine

Ariel raised up and looked down at him, her face serious. "I think it is not allowed."

"By whom?" Frank asked.

"By the high gods."

"What high gods?"

When she didn't speak, he knitted his fingers with hers. He had so many questions, so many confused notions. "We have to talk—first of all, about who you are."

"I want to tell you. But it makes me afraid that you will . . . run from me."

He found irony in her words. "I think my running days are over."

"In this world, perhaps."

"Are you saying I can live in your world?"

She didn't answer the question directly. He felt her hand tighten on his. Then she murmured, "I must tell you about myself, I think."

Frank watched her sweep her tongue across her lips before she began to speak.

"I come from this world—the same world as you."

He was glad to hear it, but he didn't interrupt as she kept talking.

"When I was a little girl, I had a bad illness. The coughing sickness. I think today you would call it tuberculosis. I became very weak, and I coughed up blood. My parents were in despair. They were very devout, and they took me to the temple, where the priest said a blessing over me, although I think he believed no ordinary prayer could save me. But while I was there, a flash of lightning came down above the altar, and we all bowed down.

"A voice spoke from high above us. The voice said that I could not live in this world, but I could go to another world and be of service. My life there would be long and valuable if I could complete my training."

When Frank started to speak, she shook her head. "I have never told this to anyone. Let me finish." She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "My parents didn't want to lose me, but they saw this as a way for me to live, and they agreed. They left me with the priest. When they were gone, he carried me to a . . . I don't know what to call it. It was like a large round box with a flat surface inside that turned."

"A turntable."

"Yes. He opened one door and laid me on the cushioned surface. Then he closed the door, and I was in the dark—frightened and alone. He turned a crank, and I heard gears clanking. The turntable moved. It moved me from the temple ... I don't know where. A door opened on the other side, and I climbed out—healthy and strong. And I was no longer in my world. I was somewhere else. There was a huge stone building. And other people, who told me I was one of the chosen. I must study hard so that I could serve the gods.

"I was in a class with a few other girls and boys. I had never even learned to read before I went there. I studied mathematics, and so many other things. And in that place I learned powers, too. Skills that would help me fight evil. You have seen that I can change matter. And I can move from place to place without the need of walking or using conveyances."

"Yes." Frank had so many questions, but he let Ariel tell her story in her own time.

"I was a good student. I learned well. And I knew that my duty was to serve. I was trained to fight the evil mind vampires and other horrors that visit the earth."

"It was hard work?"

"Yes, but I was good at it. Some . . ." She let her voice trail off and started again. "Some left us before they finished."

"What happened to them?"

"We thought it better not to ask."

He reached out a hand to brush her long dark hair from her face. "Who were your teachers?"

"Men and women who had served for long years."

"Not the gods?"

"We never saw them as you would see another person. They were beings of light and energy."

"Who were they?"

"I think they don't consider themselves gods in the sense that we do. Perhaps they are from far away in the universe or from somewhere else entirely, but they want humanity to succeed. They don't talk about themselves, but we knew they served a higher purpose than we can understand."

"You grew up in that . . . training school?"

"Yes."

"What was it like?"

"Like a temple in a park."

He tried to imagine what it was like for her, to be taken from her parents and put in a strange place. He stroked her hand in his. "Were your teachers good to you?"

"They were kind to us."

"And they took care of you when you were sick?"

"We didn't get sick. We were always in excellent health. And it wasn't all work. We played games and had entertainments. We had sports to keep our bodies fit. We learned about art and music."

He dragged in a breath and let it out, knowing he had to ask the question that had been in the back of his mind since she started talking. "And what year was it that you were taken to the temple?"

"Long ago. I think you would say my family belonged to the ancient Roman era. But we did not worship the Roman gods. We lived to the east, at the very edge of the empire. Probably it would be Romania today."

He nodded, struggling to take it all in. "You have been alive all that time?"

"In the other plane, time is not the same. Yes, I am very old. I grew up, but then I stopped aging."

"How?"

"I don't know. It was just the way of it."

Another man might have dismissed her story as a fantasy or delusion. But he had seen too much—experienced too much in the past few days—to dismiss it.

"Where are the others who studied with you?"

"We each live on our own."

"Is it forbidden for you to marry?" he asked in a voice he couldn't quite hold steady.

Her face took on a look of wonder. "You are thinking of that?"

"Yes."

"I never considered that I could. I had my mission, which I love. It is a sacred mission, to protect those who cannot protect themselves. And I have my beautiful house where I can . . . recharge, I think you would call it."

He brought the conversation back to his question. "You can't marry, even if you want it?"

"No man ever came into the other plane with me before. And when I was in your world, I was always invisible."

"So it must mean something important that I saw you."

She answered with a small nod.

"Take me to the place where you were trained. I want to ask the gods for your hand."

She stared at him in wonder. "You would do that?"

"Yes."

"Most men would be afraid."

"I would dare anything—for you."

Hope and fear flickered across her face. "And if they say no?"

"I will try to persuade them."

"I knew you had determination—and bravery—when I saw you attack Lilith the first time. But I think you do not know what you are facing."

"I'll chance it. Can you take me there now?"

"If that's what you truly desire."

"Yes."

She climbed out of the wide bed, and it changed, along with everything else, so that they were back in the drab hospital room. He sat up and reached for his prosthesis.

"You can have two legs there," she murmured.

"No. I want them to see me as I am."

He secured the prosthesis, then went to the closet and got out the neatly pressed dress-white uniform that had been hanging there, unworn. He put it on, with his Bronze Star, his Purple Heart, his Meritorious Service Medals and service ribbons over the pocket along with his gold Navy SEAL trident.

Then he squared his cap on his head. He worked his leg, making sure he was steady on his feet. When he looked in the full length mirror on the back of the closet door, he saw Ariel standing behind him. She had changed from her sari into a simple white gown.

"You look very handsome," she said as her gaze moved over him.

"And you're beautiful." He turned and reached for her, pulling her into his embrace and holding her tight for a long moment before easing away. "How do we do it?"

"I can travel easily between the worlds, and I can take you with me. Grasp my hand." She knitted her fingers with his, and he gripped hers tightly as he saw the room around them shimmer. From one second to the next, they were no longer in the Naval Medical Center. Or in the jungle where he'd landed last time.

Instead they stood in a bleak landscape like a place in some far northern country where there was no grass or trees, only gray rocks. They were on a high, wide ledge overlooking a valley shrouded by mist. The ground below their feet was strewn with rubble, with patches of snow. Jagged mountains loomed in the background like giant shark's teeth, and the sky was a leaden gray.

Beside him, Ariel gasped and pressed against his side as she looked around at the bleak landscape.

Frank slung his arm around her shoulder, holding her close as he took in the desolation, wondering if she had made a serious mistake. "Where are we?" he asked.

"I don't know."

"You've never been here before?"

"No. It looks like the end of the world."

He had the same thought.

When the wind picked up, buffeting them, he wrapped her more tightly in his arms, hunching over her to give her as much of his body heat as possible. The wind cut through his uniform jacket now, like icy fingers trying to rip the fabric from his body.

He saw her cringe and followed the direction of her gaze. She was staring at blinking lights above them in the sky. To him, it looked like a helicopter blocked by clouds.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Perhaps the gods. They must have brought us here."

"Why?"

Wordlessly she shook her head, her teeth chattering. She was barefoot and wearing a thin white gown, and she was suffering from the cold. He looked around at the desolate landscape. Some of the boulders were as tall as a two-story building. If he could get behind one to shelter them from the wind and brace his back against the vertical surface, he could lift her up and hold her in his arms.

He tried to lead her toward a clump of rocks, but the wind began to blow from that direction, forcing them back every time they struggled forward a few feet.

The gale grew stronger, tearing off his cap and flinging it away as it shoved them relentlessly toward the edge of the drop-off.

In his mind, he heard a voice saying, _you can save yourself. Let go of her, and flatten yourself against the rocks._

Was he out of his mind, hearing voices now...or was this fantastic place real? In no time, he got his answer, as the disembodied voice spoke again.

_Let her go, and save yourself,_ the voice repeated.

"Fuck you," Frank answered in an angry growl.

Beside him, Ariel gasped. "What?"

So she hadn't heard the voice. It was speaking only to him. He looked down at her. "They're trying to make me give you up. But I won't." He wrapped his arms more tightly around Ariel, thinking that whatever happened, the most important thing was hanging on to her.

The wind blasted them relentlessly toward the edge.

"Can't you stop it?" he shouted above the roaring around them.

"I'm trying."

The howling around them increased so that they might have been at the center of a tornado.

He brought his mouth to her ear, trying to make sure she heard him above the din. "Whatever happens, remember that I love you."

She squeezed his hand, and he knew that she had caught his words. Her arms locked around him. "I never knew what love was between a man and a woman until I met you, but I do now. I—

But her words were cut off as the wind surged stronger, grabbing the two of them and spinning them off the edge of the cliff.

They vaulted through space, as though they had jumped out of a plane from high above the earth. They spun around, the sickening sensation worse than a parachute jump because no one but a fool would chance it in these wind conditions.

The gusts tried to tear Ariel away from him, but he closed his eyes and hung on to her as they plummeted through the freezing air. He felt his skin turn to ice so that he could no longer sense his own body, and he knew that they were both going to die. Together.

He waited for them to crash into the valley below, unable to stop himself from picturing the shattering impact. Then, somehow, their descent slowed. It was like a layer of warm air had materialized under their feet, wafting them to the ground.

To Frank's surprise, they landed on soft earth, and he raised his head to look around. He saw tropical vegetation, dense foliage, flowers hanging on vines. It looked like they were in the jungle where he had first forced his way into the other plane.

Ariel turned her head, taking in the scene. Her breath caught as she studied their surroundings.

He reached for her hand. "Did you mean it when you said you loved me?" he asked. "Or did you just say it because you thought we were going to die?"

"I meant it, with all my heart."

"That's the most important thing. I mean—that I love you and you love me."

"Maybe not."

The way she said it tore at him. "Why not?"

"It is out of our control." She took his hand. "We must go."

"Where?"

"To the temple—to face them."

He didn't like the resignation in her voice, but he knew that the two of them couldn't stay here. If the gods had conjured a bleak and dangerous landscape a while ago, they could send a green- and orange-striped tiger charging out of the jungle—or anything else.

They walked side by side, holding hands, following a path through the dense vegetation. To confirm his earlier speculation, Frank heard rustling and warning growls in the foliage. And when he looked up, he saw a huge bird circling overhead.

Ariel followed his gaze and cringed.

"What is it?"

"They come for the dead," she whispered.

Through the trees he could see a massive white building. They came out of the green foliage to face an enormous structure that towered far above the jungle.

He had thought Ariel's house was grand, but this building was like no other he could imagine. In front was a wide marble plaza, leading to a facade carved with pictures depicting life in all its richness—animals, people, plants. Some scenes were peaceful like shepherds tending a flock or parents and children cuddling together. Others depicted violence—battlefields with men tearing at each other or cities burning. They were from prehistory to modern times.

As with Ariel's home, there were arched doorways leading inside, not to a courtyard but to an immense open space with a ceiling held up by slender columns that looked too fragile to support the domed roof.

High above, windows let in rays of light that shone down on a rectangular black stone about two and a half feet high and four feet long in the center of the huge space.

"What is that?" Frank asked, gesturing toward the stone, although he was afraid he already knew.

"A sacrificial altar," Ariel murmured.

He heard a voice buzzing in his head, and this time he knew it was meant for Ariel. _Approach, servant of the gods._

She jerked and pulled her hand away from him.

He tried to hold her back, but her slender body was stronger than it looked. She ran from him and knelt beside the black stone. When she laid her head on the horizontal surface, sick fear leaped inside him. Involuntarily, he looked up and saw something awful hanging in the air about thirty feet above her. An enormous blade like the business end of an executioner's ax.

Without considering his own safety, he sprang forward, losing his balance with the sudden movement. But he managed to catch himself against the stone and shielded Ariel with the upper part of his body.

_How dare you interfere? Go back,_ the voice boomed.

His heart was pounding inside his chest, but he stayed where he was. "No."

We saved her when she was dying, and she has broken her agreement with us. Her life is forfeit.

He stayed where he was, feeling her body quiver under his as he looked up. Emotion filled his voice as he cried, "Why? Because I somehow got into this plane of existence and met her? I didn't intend it. She didn't intend it. But we met. And we became important to each other. That must mean something to you."

When we saved her life, she dedicated herself to serving us.

"She was only a child. She knew nothing of the world or of what her agreement would mean. She only wanted to live. She has served you. For more than a thousand years." His voice broke. "Isn't that enough? Must she be your slave forever? Let her come back to the world with me."

_She can only visit your world. She cannot live there. She would die_.

He hadn't understood that, and he heard himself cry out in protest. But the voice cut him off.

_If we allow her to live in this plane of existence, you will give her up_?

Every fiber of his being recoiled from the cruelty of what was being asked. His hand clamped on Ariel's arm. It might be the last time he ever touched her, but he would suffer her loss to save her life. "I will give her up," he said in a voice he struggled to hold steady.

He held his breath, feeling a vibration in the air. He heard words echoing around him, different voices. It was as though multiple beings he couldn't see and couldn't understand were arguing with each other.

Yet he caught the gist of the argument.

She has defied us.

The situation was not of her making.

He spoke truth. She was only a child.

She dared to give herself to the man.

After long and faithful service.

Frank held his breath, listening to the voices boom and vibrate. Sometimes they spoke of Ariel and sometimes of him.

He proved his bravery.

He has suffered much.

Can he be trusted?

He couldn't stay silent. "Was there ever a man who walked between the worlds as I have?"

The voices raging around him went silent. Then one spoke directly to him.

We saw the tendency when you were young, and we blocked it.

He caught his breath as he thought about his early flashes of something outside the world when he'd played in the orchard back home. He'd seen them as a child. Then they'd simply stopped.

_But it came back—the night you heard your friend scream for help. Perhaps you are something new in the universe_.

Frank Decorah, something new in the universe. He tried to wrap his head around that. Then he tried to use it to his advantage.

"For a reason. I came into this plane before Ariel arrived. I saved a man Lilith would have killed. I can do similar services again, if Ariel can stay with me and tell me what is needed."

Long moments ticked by, and he thought he might go mad waiting for a response.

Finally, one of the voices said, _it is a reasonable scheme_.

Just as relief flooded through him, he was hit with one more warning.

She is forbidden to marry. You would give up a normal life for her? You would give up marriage and children?

"Yes," he answered in a strong voice.

_We will hold you to that_.

And suddenly from one blink of an eye to the other, he and Ariel were no longer in the temple. They were back in the house where he had visited her, both of them, together.

He looked around in confusion. "What happened?"

She raised her head, and he saw tears shimmering in her eyes. "They gave us permission to be together—when we can."

Overcome with emotion, he embraced her.

"And you can help me in my sacred mission."

He smiled against her hair. "I want to."

"My work is important to me. There is so much evil in the universe, and if I can hold it back just a little, I know I have won a victory."

She pulled back and lifted her face to his to look him in the eye. "It will not be easy—this arrangement."

"But as long as I know I have you, I can do it."

He pulled her tightly against him, and she molded the contours of her body to his.

"I love you," he murmured. "So much."

"And I love you." Her voice hitched. "But can you live the life we must?"

"Yes," he answered.

Again, she gazed up at him, her face serious. "You defended me to the gods with your life. That was either very brave or very foolish."

"I had to fight for you."

"I never thought anyone would do something so heroic for me."

"You had done nothing wrong."

"But I did."

He shook his head. "No. You only loved me."

He lowered his head, and as their lips met, he knew that he had almost lost her. And lost himself.

He pulled the white gown over her head, and she tugged at his uniform jacket.

"Do it with your magic," he managed to say.

"Gods. I forgot about that."

In a moment, he was as naked as she, and standing on two legs, because he was whole and uninjured in this place.

Naked, they swayed together in the center of the room, both of them having difficulty staying on their feet.

They made it to the bed and sank onto the mattress together where they came up to their knees, stroking and kissing, both of them so hot that he expected to see flames flicker around them.

He dipped his head, pressing his face against her breasts, then took one hardened nipple into his mouth, sucking on her till he heard her moan. Then he slid down her body until his mouth made contact with the hot, swollen folds of her most intimate flash.

She gasped as she felt his kiss and gasped again as he began to lick and suck at her.

She cried out, "Enough. I want you inside me."

He covered her body with his as she closed her fist around him again before guiding him inside her.

He had been frantic to join with her. Now he went still, looking down at her, meeting her gaze. He could hardly believe she was there with him, beneath him, taking everything he had to give.

"My one and only love," he murmured.

She reached up to touch his face, her eyes full of wonder. "I never thought to have this."

"You have me. As long as I live."

"And after."

"What?" he asked, not understanding.

"There is no death here unless the gods decree it."

He hadn't thought about the future—about what it might mean for him ultimately. He could hardly wrap his mind around it, but he stopped worrying about what would be as she began to move under him.

He picked up the rhythm, slowly at first and then with more force. He wanted this lovemaking to last. But the moment was too emotionally charged. They couldn't hold back any longer, and both of them surged against each other, driving for completion.

He struggled to wait for her, but when her hands clasped his buttocks, he came in a great roiling climax. And he felt her exploding with him.

They hung onto each other as the storm swept them away in time and space. To that place that only the two of them could enter.

And when they floated back to earth, he raised his head and stared down at her again, a grin on his face.

"I never would have imagined this. Permission to be with you in this place."

"I never imagined myself with anyone."

"How long can I stay here now?"

"Until morning, but it will seem longer. I can stretch the time."

He settled down beside her, clasping her to him, marveling that they belonged together now.

He didn't know exactly how it was going to work, but they would find out—together.

He couldn't hold back a surge of joy as the true implications sank in. For the first time since he'd lost his leg, he had a future he craved. A future that included the woman he loved—the woman who loved him.

oOo
Epilogue

Seventeen years later

Frank Decorah cuddled his beloved against his side, so thankful that this amazing woman was still with him. Every time he looked at her, he marveled at her beauty—and her youth. There was not a gray hair on her head. Not a hint of sagging in her marvelous breasts. She looked exactly the same as she had when they'd first met one very strange night at the Naval Medical Center. Too bad he couldn't say the same for himself. His hair was turning gray, and his jaw line wasn't quite as firm as when he'd been a Navy Lieutenant Commander and a SEAL. But he kept his body in excellent shape, thanks to the gym he'd installed in the back room of his house—overlooking the gardens that Ariel tended for him. By magic. He had no work to do there. He had only to enjoy the flower beds, fountains and sculpture she had artfully arranged.

He lived in an old farmhouse he'd picked up for a good price after finishing rehab at Naval Medical Center and resigning his commission.

The property was in the low-rent district between Washington, DC, and Baltimore. Twenty acres in Beltsville, near the Agricultural Research Center, which gave him a buffer zone between himself and the creeping urbanization that had overtaken the once rural area.

The house itself was shielded from the world by the force field Ariel had erected. Nobody got inside unless he wanted them in here, and the visitors had been few and far between.

He and Ariel had redone the interior—the easy way, by magic. He had only to show her a picture in a magazine or on the computer, and she made it real.

The house was a refuge, like her house in the other plane. He'd fought demons with Ariel, sometimes using modern technology like Tasers and computers that were foreign to her. A Taser did a lot of damage to a demon. More than bullets, which tended to go right through them.

But he'd also established something very worldly of his own—a detective agency called Decorah Security that took on clients others might have turned down, clients with problems a normal agency wasn't equipped to handle—where the line between the invisible world and this one wasn't always so clear cut. He'd assembled a team of men and women with special powers. And he had an instinct for knowing which ones to send on which assignments. He sometimes even silently helped clients realize that they should hire his agency.

And over the past few years he'd opened offices in other cities so his operatives could be on a case in minutes, if necessary.

Along the way he'd made a lot of money—much of it from a grateful client who'd left him a small fortune in her will. He paid it forward, taking jobs at cut rates when someone couldn't afford to pay.

He loved his job, and he loved searching out people who could provide something extra to Decorah Security. Some extra special skills. He had a couple of werewolves on his staff. As well as other operatives with various useful paranormal powers, like the ability to tune in on the last memories of dead people. And he was always on the lookout for other men and women who would fit into his program.

The phone on the bedside table buzzed, and Ariel raised her head, but she didn't pick it up. As far as anyone knew, Frank lived alone.

He pulled the receiver to this ear. "Yes?"

It was Zack Marshall, one of his werewolves, who had the job of monitoring communications at the office that night.

"Sorry to disturb you," Zack said.

"That's okay."

Under the covers, Ariel knitted her fingers with his and squeezed. They were always prepared to separate—when one of them had a job to do.

"There's a case I think you'll want to consider," Zack told him, "but we shouldn't discuss it over the phone."

"On my way," he said, swinging his leg over the side of the bed and reaching for his prosthesis.

Ariel also sat up and came around to his side of the bed. Standing in front of him, she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close and cradling his face against her middle. She pressed her lips against his hair.

"You're making it hard to leave," he muttered.

"But you will." She turned him loose and stepped away. "I'll go back to my house."

"And I'll meet you there as soon as I can."

"Stay safe, my love," she murmured.

"You, too."

He watched her step away and vanish into thin air, a trick he'd never quite gotten used to, even when he did it himself. Still, it was part of their way of life, a life more fulfilling than anything he could imagine when he'd first gone to the Navy Medical Center, mangled and wondering what his future could possibly be. Now his work and his life with Ariel were the most natural thing in this world for him, or any other world.

He climbed into his Mercedes and drove to the office, eager to find out what new assignment Decorah Security was going to take on.

THE END

# Afterword

Thank you for purchasing _On Edge_. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I loved writing it.

If you enjoy my books, do me a huge favor. Please go back to your online bookseller, and leave an honest review. Authors live and die by their reviews. The few extra seconds it takes are really appreciated. Thank you!

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And if you like **science-fiction romance** , you might enjoy the following **:**

OFF-WORLD SERIES by Rebecca York

Book 1. An e-book version of _Hero's Welcome_ (an Off-World short story) can be purchased now.

Book 2. An e-book version of _Nightfall_ (an Off-World novella) can be purchased now.

Book 3. An e-book version of _Conquest_ (an Off-World short story) can be purchased now.

Book 4. An e-book version of _Assignment Danger_ (an Off-World novella) will be available early in 2015.

Book 5. An e-book version of _Christmas Home_ (an Off-World short story) will be available in mid-2015.

An e-book version of the _Off-World Collection_ (an anthology of _Nightfall_ , _Hero's Welcome_ , and _Conquest_ ) will be available soon

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#  CLICK HERE FOR A PDF OF ALL BOOKS BY REBECCA YORK AND RUTH GLICK

# PRAISE FOR REBECCA YORK

Rebecca York delivers page-turning suspense.

—Nora Roberts

Rebecca York never fails to deliver. Her strong characterizations, imaginative plots and sensuous love scenes have made fans of thousands of romance, romantic suspense and thriller readers.

—Chassie West

Rebecca York will thrill you with romance, kill you with danger and chill you with the supernatural.

—Patricia Rosemoor

[Rebecca York] is a real luminary of contemporary series romance

—Michael Dirda, The Washington Post Book World

Rebecca York's writing is fast-paced, suspenseful, and loaded with tension.

—Jayne Ann Krentz

# ABOUT THE AUTHOR

A New York Times and USA Today Best-Selling Author, Rebecca York is one of fewer than 20 romance novelists ever to receive the Romance Writers of America Centennial Award for having written over 100 romance novels. Her career has focused on romantic suspense, often with paranormal elements.

Her 16 Berkley novels and novellas include her nine-book werewolf "Moon" series. KILLING MOON was a launch book for the Berkley Sensation imprint. She has written 75 books for Harlequin, many in her popular 43 Light Street series for Harlequin Intrigue. Her recent releases include BETRAYED for Sourcebooks Casablanca and DIAGNOSIS: ATTRACTION for Harlequin Intrigue, A PRIVATE AFFAIR, is a January 2015 novel from Sourcebooks Casablanca.

Rebecca has written for Harlequin, Berkley, Dell, Tor, Carina Press, and Pageant Books.

As Ruth Glick, Rebecca has also published sixteen cookbooks, one of which (100 PERCENT PLEASURE, with Nancy Baggett) was picked by USA Today as one of the twelve best cookbooks of 1994. Her most recent cookbook is THE 2 DAY A WEEK DIET COOKBOOK, published in 2014.

Her many awards include two Rita finalist books. She has two Career Achievement awards from Romantic Times: for Series Romantic Suspense and for Series Romantic Mystery. And her Peregrine Connection series won a Lifetime Achievement Award for Romantic Suspense Series.

Many of her novels have been nominated for or won RT Reviewers Choice awards. In addition, she has won a Prism Award, several New Jersey Romance Writers Golden Leaf awards and numerous other chapter awards

# Contacts

Rebecca York loves to hear from readers!

Web site: http://www.rebeccayork.com

Email: rebecca@rebeccayork.com

Twitter: @rebeccayork43

Facebook: <http://www.facebook.com/ruthglick>

Blog: <http://www.rebeccayork.blogspot.com/>

Sign up for Rebecca York's Newsletter to get all the scoop on Rebecca's SEXY ROMANTIC SUSPENSE at <http://rebeccayork.com/for-readers/newsletter-sign-up/>

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BOOKS BY REBECCA YORK

For a PDF of a complete list of Rebecca York and Ruth Glick books,  click here

# Copyright Information

Published by Light Street Press

Copyright © 2013 by Ruth Glick

Cover design by Earthly Charms

All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, scanning, or other—except for brief quotations in critical reviews or articles, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

ISBN: 978-0-9906321-4-6

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
