His Lost Mate

By Kathy Kulig

Haunted pyramids. A dangerous entity. Can reunited lovers survive their destiny from an ancient past?

 

Archaeologist and psychic Lauren Halpern hoped exploring ruins deep in the Central American jungle would launch her new career. But nothing has gone as planned. When a shaman ghost warns her of pending danger, she can't convince the drop-dead gorgeous leader Deven Chandler to believe her esoteric beliefs. Although she's determined resist her passionate desire for him, she senses a supernatural connection she can't understand.

 

Scientist Deven Chandler refuses to allow superstitions to threaten his project. But he's unable to deny his fierce attraction to the bright and beautiful team member. Soon after they give into their fierce passions, real trouble begins around the ancient ruins. Mysterious accidents, strange visitors, and vanishing guards jeopardize the camp. When Lauren disappears, he must go against rationality and risk everything to save her.

 

As Deven embarks on a journey to fight a deadly enemy he's not sure exists, Lauren discovers the courage to face her deepest fears. Deven and Lauren must challenge the deadliest evil of all—an ancient entity they once fought hundreds of years ago. Will they lose each other again forever or will the power of love prevail?

 

His First Mate is an exhilarating paranormal romance book. If you like intriguing mysteries, ghostly escapades, and steamy love stories, then you'll adore Kathy Kulig's thrilling tale.

 

Buy His First Mate to dig into a sultry adventure today!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kathy Kulig
• Release date: Jul 21, 2015
• ISBN: 9781519982223

Kathy Kulig

New York Times & USA Today bestselling author Kathy Kulig writes a variety of sexy romances, including paranormal, contemporary, and suspense. Her books can be dark and edgy, passionate and erotically-charged, but there's always a steamy romance and a happy ending. Besides her career in writing, she has worked as a cytotechnologist, research scientist, medical technologist, dive master, bartender and stringer for a newspaper. In her spare time, she can be found mountain biking, traveling, lounging with a good book or having dinner out with her husband. Kathy resides in eastern Pennsylvania.

Book preview

Prologue

Tikal, 700 AD

W e have to leave tonight , Kayab said, clasping Cimi’s hand. He didn’t dare look at her or she’d detect the fear in his eyes—and a Mayan warrior never showed fear. Kayab was not afraid for himself. He was afraid for Cimi.

Sitting on a rock ledge above the lagoon, Cimi dangled her feet in the cool water. Why now, Kayab?

It’s too dangerous to stay. Your father said we must leave tonight, when Chac meets with the shamans in the temple. They will be praying to the gods until morning. We’ll be far away by then.

She stared up to the heavens and sighed. I know we have to go. I didn’t think it’d be this soon. I hate leaving my father, my friends, this forest...

Kayab glanced around the lagoon. What had once been a roaring waterfall only a few seasons ago was now a thin trickle. Surrounding the lagoon, the giant ferns, orchids and palmettos had browned or withered and the tall, lush trees were now spidery, brittle branches.

In the village, the maize crops barely produced enough food for their people. Chac, the ruler, demanded more offerings to the storm god to bring the rains. The storm god was angry, only more blood would satisfy him. The thought made Kayab’s stomach churn.

Our last afternoon in our secret place, Cimi said with a teasing grin as she slid one delicate toe up his leg. Then she slowly stroked her hand up and down his thigh. He shivered and felt his loins stir and his shaft grow hard. How could she be playful during these dangerous times?

Restraining his desires for a moment, he untied a leather pouch secured to his belt. He removed a small object wrapped in a black woven cloth and tied with a thin branch of violet orchids. The orchids he had found at the far end of the lagoon, still thriving on a dead mahogany tree. It had to be a sign of hope from the gods. Cimi, I have a gift for you. He handed her the package. Open it. He’d carved the owl himself and had Muan, Cimi’s father, bless it with special powers of protection.

Cimi unwrapped it. It’s beautiful, she whispered as she turned it over in her hand. An owl made from jade.

It will protect you from harm. Keep it with you always.

But women are not allowed to own jade. If someone sees this, they will take it from me.

Then hide it, but keep it close to you.

I will, Kayab. I promise.

Kayab rose and touched her cheek. He breathed in her musky feminine essence blended with the fragrant jasmine blooming around the lagoon. One of the few flowers not yet killed off by the drought.

Come swim with me. He was sorely hard now. If he didn’t get into the cool water soon, he’d take her, but he did not want to rush this precious time.

After removing his beaded necklaces, he untied the leather belt and pouch then dropped the black cloth wrapped around his waist in a pile on the rock. He stood naked before her, studying her expression. Although violence and starvation had been common in the village for many years, he expected Cimi to show fear about leaving, because they would be breaking the laws of their ruler, Chac and the gods. But he didn’t see any fear in her eyes. She was braver than he or Muan thought. She seemed to think exile was more of an adventure, so unlike a Mayan woman. He loved her strength and innocence.

Silently, he beckoned her to follow him. Her sultry look and her parted moist lips said she wanted him too. He stepped to the edge of the rock and dived into the pond.

The water was cool, but did not ease the throbbing heat in his loins. When he surfaced, he flung his long hair out of his face, spraying water droplets in all directions.

Standing naked at the edge of the stone ledge, her dark hair cascading down her back, Cimi offered him a full view of her firm, small breasts. When she cupped her breasts and massaged them, he struggled for breath as if the gods were stealing the air from his chest. Then her hand slid down her belly and stroked between her legs.

He froze and gazed at her in disbelief. She had never been so bold. Come be with me, Cimi. He groaned like a wild animal.

She dived into the water and swam to him.

Grasping her arms from under the water, he pulled her to him, kissed her hard and hungrily. The water made her skin slick and smooth. He felt the curve of her breast, the roundness of her buttocks, felt her arms reach around his neck and cling to him.

Cimi. I burn for you. With his lips, he caressed her neck, her breasts, then sucked her nipples until he felt her body quiver. Her hand covered and guided his, pushing his hand down between her legs. Her urgency inflamed him.

When he found her slick folds, she moaned and arched her hips into him.

His fingers probed and opened her, sliding inside her sex. She sucked in her breath and rocked against his hand. As her moans became louder and her body trembled, he knew she was ready. With a whimper, she shoved his hand away, gripped his shaft and pressed it against her sensitive flesh. For a moment, he thought he would lose all control.

Now, Kayab...take me.

Kayab lifted her legs around his hips and drove into her, thrusting deep and hard as Cimi dug her fingers into his shoulders.

The cool water sloshing around their heated bodies didn’t cool the fire building within his erection, but he held back while her soft cries of pleasure increased with each thrust.

Focusing to keep his control, he held her gaze, then her body jerked and Kayab supported her tightly while she soared in ecstasy. Then he plunged faster and deeper as his sensations grew, his muscles tensed and passion claimed him. He flung his head back, groaned and his body quaked his sexual release.

While his body continued to pulse, he held her close and waited for his strength to return. When he slid from her body, Cimi moaned in protest. Her hands caressed his chest and she kissed his neck. Kayab, lie with me in the grass.

Oh my beautiful Cimi. He kissed the top of her head. It is late. We must go back or we will be missed.

Why don’t we leave the forest now?

Your father said we don’t dare leave before the evening meal or Chac will have the warriors track us. He stroked her cheek with his fingers, kissed her hard, then scooped her up in his arms and carried her to the shoreline, where he laid her on the grass. Living in exile was a frightening choice for a young woman, but the risk to stay was great. Even the daughter of a shaman was not safe, but he and the jade owl would protect her.

Seeing her naked stirred his shaft again. She noticed his erection and giggled. He loved making her laugh. I burn for you, Cimi. But their playful afternoon was over. They had a long and frightening night ahead of them. We must go now. Don’t be afraid. I promise, I’ll always protect and love you.

A slight breeze stirred the dried grass and ferns surrounding the lagoon and long shadows crisscrossed the trail back to the village. Kayab and Cimi quickly dressed.

After the evening meal, Kayab instructed, meet me at the small northern pyramid. It will be safer to escape at night.

WHERE WAS HE? KAYAB was late. The sky had darkened and turned a deep indigo blue streaked with orange and crimson. Soon it would be night and Cimi avoided the pyramids after dark. On top of the northern pyramid a fire still burned from an earlier sacrifice. The shamans and Chac had returned to the village for the evening meal and by now were in the large temple. She was alone. Kayab would be coming soon.

She tried not to look at the peak of the temple. The smell the smoke and flickering shadows on the stones chilled her more than any predator in the jungle. The top of pyramids always terrified her.

Another sacrifice would come soon.

They needed to leave now. Her heart pounded as panic seeped into her veins. Cimi paced next to two stone monuments with four vertical rows of carved symbols and an image of the maize god.

As she bowed her head and closed her eyes, her black hair fell over her face. She prayed to the gods to bring Kayab safely to her.

Fear seized her soul. They didn’t have much time. She gripped her jade owl in a tight fist. If Kayab didn’t come soon, she would have to go back to the village. She couldn’t leave without him. She wouldn’t survive alone.

Tears dripped down her cheeks as she gripped her little carving. If she took the owl back with her, the shamans would surely take it away.

She dropped to her knees between the two monuments and frantically dug a hole. She placed the owl inside, then covered it with dirt. Now they couldn’t take away her treasured talisman. It would be safe.

Would the stone still protect her while it was buried?

Tears dripped onto the ground, christening the earth above her buried jade owl.

A rustling in the jungle startled her. She jumped to her feet. Kayab?

Two warriors emerged from the jungle with spears gripped in their hands. Before she had a chance to run, the warriors rushed up and ordered her to kneel.

A third man appeared, smacking a club as thick as his arm against his palm. Veins bulged in his neck and temples. The satisfied smile and the triumphant gleam in his eyes turned Cimi’s blood to ice as one warrior yanked her to her feet and dragged her past the pyramid toward the village.

Anger overcame her fear. She would not fight them, she would not speak or cry out and no matter what happened to her now, she would not betray her father or Kayab.

Chapter 1

Present-day Tikal, Guatemala

C heck out the tomb , Lauren. There’s a surprise at the end. I’ll wait for you here.

Lauren Halpern peered into the ancient Mayan ruin, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. The tiny hairs on the back of her neck prickled and she shivered despite the heat of the jungle. The chamber was hidden by overgrown vegetation with leaves shaped like giant hands and vines as thick as pythons. Although it was midafternoon, the mist still swirled and hovered a few feet above the ground. If her professor hadn’t pointed out the chamber’s opening, she would have walked right by.

You did say you wanted to go exploring, Dr. Deven Chandler said, standing at the entrance to the tomb.

Go in by herself?

She leaned into the opening and sniffed the air. The cool draft from inside smelled like moss and decayed leaves—not bodies, she assured herself. A tomb in the center of Tikal National Park would’ve had any mummified remains removed by archaeologists decades ago, but it wasn’t mummified bodies that concerned her.

What kind of surprise? She hoped her voice didn’t convey her nervousness.

You’ll have to search the chamber to find out.

Crouching down, she laid her camera on a rock, dropped her canvas backpack and searched inside for a flashlight. Above her head, a screech and rustling in the trees startled her. She looked up so fast, she fell back on her butt.

Just howler monkeys, he said calmly.

Oh, cool. She pressed her hand to her chest and felt her heart thumping. Taking a deep breath, she got up off her butt as gracefully as possible, then dug inside her pack again and pulled out a bandana, insect repellant, water bottle, hair brush, two protein bars and a trowel. Shouldn’t I wait for the other students? She was stalling.

No, the guys can see it later. They just started climbing the Temple of the Masks. They’ll be awhile. He stood tall over her scattered items then bent to pick up her trowel. As he examined the pink handle, he appeared amused, then he laid it down.

Out of the corner of her eye, she glanced at his well-worn hiking boots that showed off his muscular legs. When she looked up, the glint of mischief in his eyes took her off-guard. Somehow managed to resist the temptation to flirt and maintain her professionalism. She waited for his flip comment about her pink digging tool but he remained silent. Although she hadn’t met Dr. Chandler before this trip, she suspected he was the type of professor who would test and challenge his students, but hopefully, not intimidate them.

They certainly didn’t have professors like him at Montclair State. He was a hunk. His tanned features, dark tousled hair and gray eyes gave him an exotic look. She couldn’t place his accent, but the melodious roll of his tongue added to his charisma.

No doubt every female archaeology student at Boston University had tried to claim his heart. in Waiting at the end of a long parade of admirers did not interest her. She wasn’t the competitive type when it came to relationships and she wasn’t ready to jump back into the dating pool. One disastrous marriage screwed up her career, and she wouldn’t allow that to happen again.

Fortunately, Boston University had an opening in their field program this semester. In six months, she would finally have enough credits to graduate with her master’s in archaeology. With the huge amount of research required for her thesis, she didn’t need a handsome distraction to deter her efforts. No man would undermine her dreams again.

Forget your flashlight? Need to borrow one? His lilting accent was very sexy.

I have it. Lauren held the flashlight up, then scooped her belongings into the backpack and strode toward the tomb’s entrance.

Why did she think this was some sort of initiation? Did he want to see if she’d chicken out? She wished Justin and Kyle hadn’t told her about the tarantulas in the jungle, because now she constantly scanned the ground for the large hairy creatures. She didn’t want to step on one, or worse, have one crawl over her foot.

On her last excavation field study in Arizona she had run into a few snakes. She didn’t mind them much—she even killed a couple— tarantulas she didn’t care to see, and she was convinced they lived inside the tomb.

She swallowed hard. She could do this.

He must have detected her hesitation because he chuckled and said, Don’t worry. It doesn’t go back too far. You can’t get lost. I’ll wait outside for the others to join us and I’ll watch your pack.

She nodded, then gripped the flashlight and walked into the chamber, leaving Dr. Chandler behind.

Lauren rolled her shoulders, trying to relax, as she crept farther into the darkness of the tunnel. Inside, the buzz and whir of insects and the chirps and squawks of the jungle wildlife were silenced, like walking into a giant coffin.

Water dripped from cracks in the rocks, forming small puddles on the uneven stone floor.

Forget about the tarantulas, she told herself as she flashed her light around the long chamber. Archaeologists don’t freak out over creepy crawly things.

No carvings were visible along the walls or floor. The ceiling was low, but she couldn’t reach high enough to touch it. As she took in a breath, she scrunched her nose against the dank, musty air. Each step echoed off the damp stone walls.

Looking over her shoulder, she noticed the entrance behind her had become nothing more than a sliver of light. She followed the tunnel around a ninety-degree turn and darkness fell, leaving only the narrow beam of her flashlight to guide her.

After several minutes, she came to a dead end. Okay, where was the surprise? There was nothing there. She illuminated every corner, then directed the light on the back wall and discovered a large Mayan face.

Startled, she shouted and jumped back a few steps. The chiseled wall sculpture spanned the entire wall, about seven feet tall and five feet wide. So this is what he meant by surprise. Her words sounded strange amplified through the tunnel.

Stepping closer to the face, she ran her hand over the stone carving. An elaborate headdress with round ornaments adorned the figure. Protruding eyebrows shaded deep spaces for the eyes and cast menacing shadows over the face. A large square nose, a straight slit for a mouth and two circular shapes for ears completed the form. Amazing. The sculpture was probably over a thousand years old. She imagined an old man with calloused hands chiseling the stone into the beautiful carving and wondered what the carver would say if he had known his creation would be admired by archaeology students centuries later.

Lauren whistled. Her musical warbling echoed eerily. Now that she saw the carving, she was ready to leave the chamber and go out into the daylight. As she turned away from the carved face to walk back to the entrance, she felt the whisper of a breeze. She froze, wondering where the draft came from. Then something brushed her shoulder.

It felt like a hand.

Lauren cried out, spun around and jerked the light back and forth.

Nothing. No one was there. The small pool of light offered little reassurance. She listened but heard nothing. Swearing, she scolded herself for getting spooked and imagining things.

She continued down the tunnel toward the entrance. It couldn’t be much farther. Again she strained to hear movement or breathing, but only heard the sound of her footsteps. A chill skittered up her spine and raised the hairs on the back of her neck. Shouldn’t she be able to see the light from the entrance by now?

Then she heard a man’s voice next to her ear.

Cimi, he whispered.

Lauren screamed and stumbled over the uneven surface of the floor as she scrambled down the tunnel. This time she heard his footsteps and what sounded like beads clinking together.

Then he touched her arm.

She jerked away, dropped her flashlight, shattering the bulb. Darkness engulfed her.

DR. CHANDLER WATCHED Justin and Kyle as the two young men clad in hiking boots, T-shirts and jeans wandered around the base of the massive pyramid and headed toward a trail that led into the jungle. Gentlemen, stick around. We’ll be heading back soon.

The two men stopped and spun around.

The ruins are wicked, Dr. Chandler, Justin said.

Can we check out the view from the top? Kyle asked.

Dr. Chandler waved them on as the two young men scrambled up the steep steps of the pyramid.

Pacing outside the burial chamber, Dr. Chandler contemplated the uncertainty of the excavation at El Zotz. He couldn’t afford to shut down the field school now. The students depended on him and he hoped he wouldn’t disappoint them.

Besides the academic advantages of the field school, the project offered valuable data for his research. El Zotz might hold the key for proving his theory on what caused the Mayan civilization to disappear. He was close, he knew it. For the benefit of the university, his career and also for his parents and all the sacrifices they made for him, he felt obligated to make a great discovery.

If he could prove his theory, unlimited funds would surface and he wouldn’t have to depend on his main source of funding—Charles Bradford, president of the Harvard Peabody Museum board of directors.

Along the edge of the Great Plaza, the size of a football field, Deven noticed Sylvia Bradford, the curator of the Peabody Museum, standing in front of a stela, a seven-foot tombstone-shaped carving. She flipped open a sketchpad and started drawing with long swift stokes the eroded image of a god or ancient ruler. Tight-fitting white shorts and a green tank top drew attention to her very slim, almost too slim, figure. Her long brown hair swayed in the breeze.

According to Sylvia, the camera didn’t capture the intricate details that her drawings could. She preferred to do both for her museum’s documentation.

How are you coming along with the drawings? Deven asked.

Very well, Dr. Chandler.

Dr. Chandler? Why so formal today? he asked.

She shrugged a shoulder. So what do you think? She held up her pad.

Deven studied the drawing for a moment. Nice representation.

Thank you. She flashed him a sultry smile then continued with her sketch, shading in the details. What are your plans for dinner tonight? How about we dine at our favorite place by the lake?

I’ll have to pass. He caught a hint of disappointment in her eyes. We’re not staying in town tonight. We’re going directly to the field camp when we leave here.

But you usually let the students tour Tikal and the local villages for a few days before they start work.

I know but with all the opposition from local authorities, I don’t want to waste a day touring.

She continued sketching. Small class this semester, she said.

All the rumors have had a negative impact on the program. Ten students cancelled and signed up at other field projects in less volatile areas. Brooding over the lack of students won’t change anything. We’ll have to make the best of it.

Only rumors? How can you be so sure?

The Nequam Rebels wouldn’t waste their time on a couple of artifacts. Not when drug trafficking is more profitable. And they wouldn’t come here. They’d be in Colombia, one of the major hubs, not Guatemala.

I’m sure you’re right. She raised her chin. I won’t be staying in town this trip. I’m staying at the camp.

His jaw tightened. I thought you had work to do at the museum.

I do. The museum at Tikal is about the same distance from Flores as it is from El Zotz. I can take a Jeep. I’d also like to observe the progress at the excavation. She held his gaze. He knew she was daring him to argue.

Because of her father’s financial support, Sylvia had a tendency to try to run his project. He’d rather deal with a Mayan tomb full of rattlesnakes then to deal with her manipulations.

I’m anxious to select a few more artifacts for my collection at the Peabody and I can lecture on ceramics and testing procedures, she said imperiously. My experience goes well beyond anything the students may have learned in their classes.

Deven resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He couldn’t deny her extensive knowledge in Mayan artifacts. Her expertise in ancient ceramics made her a valuable addition to the project, but her attitude made working with her a challenge. Thanks, I appreciate your help, Sylvia.

My pleasure. She flipped to a clean page in her sketchbook, moved to the next stela and started sketching. Were you debriefed at the embassy?

Yes. According to officials, there haven’t been any problems with the Nequam.

That’s good to hear.

Still, I agreed to keep an eye out for any signs of guerrilla activity or artifact bandits around the excavation, he said. Since the stolen artifacts were recovered at the border, the officials are very... nervous.

So you’re in charge of the neighborhood watch again? Sylvia teased.

He chuckled. "The embassy calls it surveillance, but essentially a neighborhood watch is all it is. All part of the job