Shiva's Bow: A Livi Talbot Novel, #4

By Skyla Dawn Cameron

NOWHERE TO RUN. NO ONE TO TRUST.

For once, life is looking good for single mom and adventurer Livi Talbot.

Work is steady, her team is dependable, her daughter is thriving. And then there's deadly operative Dale West—who sometimes turns into a tiger and always throws her off her game. Just as she's ready to confront her growing feelings for him, he invites her on a mission for his agency that will take her team to Nepal. A recent earthquake has revealed a mysterious temple deep in the Himalayas, and the secrets within could be fatal in the wrong hands.

A supernatural weapons dealer and his army of mercenaries are at their heels to complicate things, as is someone from West's past who makes Livi question their potential future. She's always been slow to trust, but believing in West might be the only way they survive.

If his lies don't get her killed first.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Skyla Dawn Cameron
• Release date: Aug 27, 2019
• ISBN: 9781927966310

Book preview

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Praise for Skyla Dawn Cameron

SOLOMON’S SEAL

Whip-smart, gritty, and fascinating. Olivia Talbot is a badass, and a mother, I’d want on my side if the world went to hell. Skyla Dawn Cameron’s deft characterization, complex plotting, and brutal action leaves the reader gasping for more.

—Lilith Saintcrow, New York Times Bestselling Author

It's well written with a balanced blend of humor and adventure you can't deny is spellbinding.

—My World...in words and pages

DEMONS OF OBLIVION SERIES

This not-to-be-missed release rocks from word one. Skyla Dawn Cameron writes as though she’s been producing bestsellers for years.

—Bitten by Books

Urban fantasy at its best with characters and a plot that makes it stand out from the rest of its genre.

—The Romance Reviews

A dark and gorgeous heroine that will have you enthralled in moments.

—Bookmark Your Thoughts

What a riot this book was! I felt like rediscovering what the genre of urban fantasy is about all over again.

—Nocturnal Book Reviews

...fast, funny, and furious... The action and fight scenes were intense, the romance bittersweet, and it left me wanting more.

—The Romance Studio

RIVER WOLFE SERIES

River is a powerful and new take on your typical young adult paranormal story and I absolutely loved it!

—Bitten by Books

...a fresh and unique take on the werewolf legend.

—Judy Bagshaw, author of Kiss Me, Nate

...a terrific book, filled with unique and well-drawn characters, realistic dialogue, and a great deal of humor...

—ParaNormal Romance Reviews

This book is a permanent addition to my keeper shelf, and will be revisited many times in the years to come.

—Elaine Corvidae, author of Tyrant Moon

...a story about love. Not just the happily-ever-after fairy tale kind, the real kind, the sort of love that takes two people and cements them together in relationships that are like lighthouses on rocky shores.

—Long and Short Reviews

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A Livi Talbot Novel

Skyla Dawn Cameron

Books in the Livi Talbot Series

MAIN SERIES

Solomon’s Seal (#1)

Odin’s Spear (#2)

Ashford’s Ghost (#2.5, novella)

Emperor’s Tomb (#3)

Shiva’s Bow (#4)

Yampellec’s Idol (#5) (coming soon)

EXTRAS

A Livi Talbot Holiday Short (#2.4)

King’s Bounty (#3.5)

Tiger’s Memory (Patreon exclusive, West prequel novel)

Santa’s Secret (Patreon exclusive, West prequel short story)

Solomon’s Seal – West POV (Patreon exclusive, West story)

Shiva’s Bow

Copyright © 2019 by Skyla Dawn Cameron

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

Cover Art © 2019 by Skyla Dawn Cameron

First Edition August 2019

eBook ISBN 978-1-927966-31-0

Paperback ISBN 978-1-927966-30-3

All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.

This book is a work of fiction.  Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this or any copyrighted work is illegal. Authors are paid on a per-purchase basis. Any use of this file beyond the rights stated above constitutes theft of the author’s earnings. File sharing is an international crime, prosecuted by the United States Department of Justice Division of Cyber Crimes, in partnership with Interpol. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is punishable by seizure of computers, up to five years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000 per reported instance.  Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted material.

If you obtained this book legally, you have my deepest gratitude for the support of my livelihood.

If you did not obtain this book legally, you are responsible when there are no future books. Please do not copy or distribute my work without my consent.

Shiva’s Bow

Nowhere to run. No one to trust.

For once, life is looking good for single mom and adventurer Livi Talbot.

Work is steady, her team is dependable, her daughter is thriving. And then there’s deadly operative Dale West—who sometimes turns into a tiger and always throws her off her game. Just as she’s ready to confront her growing feelings for him, he invites her on a mission for his agency that will take her team to Nepal. A recent earthquake has revealed a mysterious temple deep in the Himalayas, and the secrets within could be fatal in the wrong hands.

A supernatural weapons dealer and his army of mercenaries are at their heels to complicate things, as is someone from West’s past who makes Livi question their potential future. She’s always been slow to trust, but believing in West might be the only way they survive.

If his lies don’t get her killed first.

For those who trust.

"The weapon by the middle raised

That all the crowd in wonder gazed.

With steady arm the string he drew

Till burst the mighty bow in two.

As snapped the bow, an awful clang,

Loud as the shriek of tempests, rang.

The earth, affrighted, shook amain

As when a hill is rent in twain."

~Book I, Canto LVII: The Breaking of the Bow, The Rámáyan of Válmíki

Translation by Ralph T. H. Griffith, M.A.

❇

Of all forms of caution, caution in love is perhaps the most fatal to true happiness.

~Bertrand Russell

1

The Call

In a development that would surprise no one who knows me, my phone rang while I was dangling off rock with a thirty-foot drop below.

The dark blue gemstone, about the width of my palm and glittering in the light so it couldn’t be missed, waited three meters to my left and two up, well out of reaching distance and balanced precariously on a ledge of rock. Every time I moved even an inch, the light shifted on its multifaceted face, winking and mocking. I glared in response. My muscles ached and sweat slithered down my overheated flesh as I clung to the cliff-face, eying the stone and ignoring the incessant ringing in my ear.

Just call back later, damn it.

As if hearing me, the shrill in my earpiece ceased and I let out a breath of relief. With my hands occupied—keeping me suspended against the rough terrain of the rock and away from certain broken bones and probable death below—I couldn’t even toss the earpiece off when it bothered me. If I did, Dawson would’ve no doubt bitched about me breaking the equipment, so it was probably just as well.

My gaze trailed the rock between me and the stone, scanning for a spot to gain purchase. There looked to be a hold within reaching distance, but I wanted my feet better placed first. I cast my eyes downward, checked below, and my left foot stretched out—

The phone rang. Again.

It shrieked in my ear and I winced. Blew out a steady breath, tried to focus on anything else. Left foot reached again, settled on a nice, sturdy ledge. I urged my weight forward, hugging the rock, and swiftly slapped the button on the side of my earpiece to answer the call. Dust from my well-chalked hand puffed in the air.

My hand darted back to grasp the rock just as I barked, What!

Bad time?

Dale West. Of course it was him calling. I’m a little too...preoccupied at the moment to chat. My balance was better here, even with my legs stretched a bit too far apart. I let out a huffing breath and pushed, upward, arm reaching, fingers clasping another hold. My right foot lifted, found a perfect hold, and I moved up another step.

How about a work-related inquiry? he asked. Smooth as butter. Which sounds cliché, but it was literal with him—his voice deep, smooth, gliding in my ear and in my brain, allowing just six words to sink in as if they’d been sixty on the subject.

I frowned at the stone, struggled to keep my focus, and didn’t look down. You know—I grunted as I pushed up again; nearer to the stone but still seeming impossibly far—"clients are actually bidding on me now. I don’t think—another hop up and I was at an overhang of about two feet; I had to either get over it, or keep moving left and under the stone—your agency can afford me much longer." I went for the overhang, reaching up and straightening my arms, using my hips to turn. My long braid of dark hair swung freely, back and forth, giving a slight tug on my scalp.

"This is more of a...side assignment."

I groaned and pulled myself over the outcropping of stone and scrambled up, relief rushing through me as I briefly stood on far more solid ground. It wasn’t much and sloped almost immediately upward, but it was enough to catch my breath for a moment. The last time I did one of those, I ended up with a broken leg and nearly drowned. Among other things.

A side assignment for me, he amended.

Hmm. Interesting. Those don’t go well for me either. He nearly got me killed in Brazil in the spring.

And you get yourself kidnapped and blackmailed regularly—are we really going to compare?

I suppose the common denominator is me in all problem scenarios, Mr. West. I dragged the back of my hand over my sweaty brow and my right leg twinged with phantom pain. I knew it was steady—not only had it completely healed several months ago, but I’d insisted on extra physical therapy to ensure nothing about it would ever seem off. My livelihood depended on fitness after all, and I’d take no chances. Not once did I have any trouble in the last few missions, but the terror of the cave-in had never entirely left my mind.

Is that a no, then, Olivia? he prompted.

There was no more enjoying the reprieve, not with the gemstone so near. I dipped my hand into the pouch at my side, thoroughly re-dusted my palms, and inched toward the edge with another handhold in sight. It is incredibly irritating when you always use my full first name, you know.

Yes, I do.

Prick. I could perfectly picture him on the phone, leaning back with the phone to his ear, lips spread in a cocky grin with black brows arched over pale blue eyes.

If he was going to be an asshole, he could wait for an answer until I felt like it. I grasped a handhold and hoisted—

A prickle ran through the air as the intercom on the far wall clicked on and Dawson’s breathless voice followed a moment later, the bass of some eighties rock band in the background. Livi.

I nearly lost my grip and scrambled back, stepping firmly on the overhang once more. Goddamn it. Oh, here is this fabulous climbing wall at home for Christmas, they said. It was West’s idea—isn’t it perfect? they chirped. Now you can practice in the safety of the villa. Right, sure, it was great—except it meant every-fucking-person on the goddamn planet could interrupt me while I was working and cause me to maybe fall and splatter my brain on the blue gym mats below.

For a moment, I frowned at the wall and cheap glass gemstone sitting on the ledge. Concentration was shattered now that I had Dawson’s disembodied voice in the room and West on the other line. Today was supposed to be a quiet afternoon for me to climb without interruption. Kid at a day-camp, best friend in Colorado. My team was likewise occupied: Laurel was in the city doing other work, Dawson doing his own tech-guy thing, and my two security guys who stuck around even when I wasn’t on a mission had the day off.

Perhaps I should be surprised that only Dawson and West were currently talking to me.

Liv? Dawson repeated when my mouth still hung open to answer.

At least they both weren’t talking at the same time. What?

The...daycare camp thingy or whatever just called.

Emaleth. Oh, for the love of—  If she got in another fight—

It’s...not that.

The edge of worry in his voice, the tone—it wasn’t something I could put my finger on beyond a mother’s instinct that Something Wasn’t Right Here. The cold touch of dread flicked against my spine and my heart shot up, throbbing painfully in my throat in a way even climbing nearly forty feet in the air didn’t do to me. I didn’t ask for details, just grasped the nearest rope, hooked my belt on, and rappelled down.

Feet touched down, gear off the rope. I padded breathlessly across the mats, the material giving after climbing the cliff for the past half hour, climbing shoes keeping me from slipping. My hand slammed onto the intercom, which had a video setting as well as audio; Dawson’s face appeared on the screen, dark brows pulled down in worry as he leaned forward. The rock bass still thrummed but quieter as if he’d turned it down.

They called the landline for some reason, he continued without me asking. I just hung up, they said she’s being taken to the ER—

Oh god. What hospital?

St. Mary’s—

I didn’t need to know what happened, figured Dawson could fill me in when I called him on the drive there. I ran from the intercom, through the massive door that led from the gym to one of the villa’s many halls, and raced toward the front of the house.

Call you back, I muttered at West, ending the call, still running, hating that this stupid place was so goddamn big it seemed to take a week just to cross it. My heart hadn’t stopped hammering and already I was dreading the half hour it was going to take me to get into New Bristol from the country.

Please be okay, Em.

2

The Look

That I hadn’t been pulled over for speeding on the way to the hospital almost made me believe in a god.

The lack of parking nearby, however, did not.

I’d left without anything other than my keys and wallet after dumping my equipment belt, which incidentally meant I didn’t grab any emergency cash for the paid parking in front of St. Mary’s, and I’d cut up my remaining credit card a few months earlier. I parked my burnt-orange new-to-me Jeep instead down the busy road and ran along the sidewalk, weaving between people dallying about in the thick, late-July heat.

When that seemed to be taking too long, I leapt for a brick and iron half-wall circling the hospital’s grounds and hoisted myself up and over it to the parking lot on the other side. I was dressed for climbing still, in my black yoga pants and tank top over a sports bra. I hadn’t even bothered with shoes, which left me in my snug, uncomfortable-to-walk-in bouldering ones.

Across the hot asphalt, shielding my eyes against the blinding glare of afternoon sunlight on cars, trying not to get hit by the crazy city drivers who navigated the lot. My heart hadn’t slowed; instead it seemed to be speeding, lurching in my chest with a thud-DA, thud-DA that echoed in my ears.

My feet had trouble stopping as I came upon the glass door, and I coughed against a cloud of smoke from nurses crowded together on their break sucking cancer sticks with sun glinting off their shiny uniform badges. Though the door automatically opened with a friendly hum, that wasn’t fast enough and I squeezed between the gap, flying past the next one as well and nearly plowing down an elderly man in a wheelchair who scowled up at me with pained dark eyes.

The antiseptic hospital odor struck me immediately and now it was my stomach lurching, twisting. I couldn’t remember what I had for lunch but I worried it was about to hit the information desk not far from the ER door as I slammed into the edge. My palms pressed into the counter and breath puffed out, striking the plastic divider between me and the receptionist.

The dark-haired woman there with a headset and fingers hammering on the keyboard in front of her didn’t look up but, I assumed, addressed me. Yes?

Emaleth Talbot. My voice shook, my hands shook—everything was shaking and I could barely see straight, blurriness crowding around the edge of my vision and heat from the sun and exercise flaring on my face. She was brought in by her daycare maybe half an hour ago? Dawson hadn’t told me what was wrong—said he didn’t know, just that they said I had to get there ASAP and wouldn’t discuss it over the phone.

She still hadn’t looked at me, eyes focused on the computer monitor in front of her, and my nerves were swiftly unraveling.

E. M. A. L. E. T.—

I know how to spell.

Jesus Christ. Look, my kid was brought into the ER—what the hell is going on?

For the first time, her fingers paused, remaining poised over the keyboard. She looked up at me.

Looked.

It was a pressing look, not the quick scan a receptionist usually offered in her busy day. For the moment she looked, the world slowed and pressure built against my head. My mouth went dry, throat closed off to the size of a pinhole and soon my lungs ached, burning.

Breathe. Just breathe.

But I couldn’t. Couldn’t suck air into my lungs because of that look.

My fingers trembled as I pulled out my wallet and set my driver’s license in front of her so she could confirm my identity. She did look at it but didn’t bounce between the photo and my face; I must’ve looked enough like it for her to not question, and she handed it back to me. She requested Em’s heath card, which I provided—the school had the number on file, I was pretty sure, but they needed to swipe her card here for services.

After handing the card back and confirming our address and number, the receptionist pressed her lips together and her gaze lifted over my shoulder. This woman is Emaleth Talbot’s mother, the little girl?

My brain went into overdrive, analyzing, trying to figure out if there was some thing I could find in her voice, in her words, that would give me a clue as to what the hell was going on. I swung around to see a short man with an impressive beak of a nose in blue scrubs standing not far from the desk with a clipboard in hand, dark eyes behind wire-framed glasses, the name on the badge dangling from his pocket hidden by fluorescents on the new-sheen of the plastic. He couldn’t’ve been much older than me—so a nurse? An intern? Regardless, I turned fully to face him, my back bumping the edge of the information counter, still unable to breathe.

thud-DA, thud-DA.

Right, come with me, he said, and gave me that look.

He knew something I didn’t know. And he offered no reassurance, let alone an explanation.

He walked. I followed. Starch threatened to leave my legs, to knock me on my ass, and I almost let it happen but then they’d wheel me off somewhere else. And then I’d never find her.

So I kept going. I hitched in a sudden breath and my shoulders twitched with the chill coursing down my spine. Voices chattered, barking orders down the hall as someone was wheeled along in a gurney, the squeak squeak of metal needing oiling. A phone rang. That horrid antiseptic smell clotted my nose and I forced down a gag. The air was too cold, icing the sweat on my skin from outside.

He led me through an open doorway, down a short hall, past rooms of open doors and curtained beds, the typical noises of the hospital surrounding us—beeps of machines, monotone instructions from doctors, moaning and coughing. I ran a trembling hand over my head, pushing back loose strands of dark brown hair and catching my fingers against my braid.

Through another door. It wasn’t far from where I’d come in—literally, just around the corner from the ER waiting room—but with the heavy pressure pushing against my head, it felt like hours were dragging by.

The room was empty. I looked everywhere, my eyes scanning erratically, but it was a waiting area outside of another room, and beyond it I saw only empty beds. Sea-foam blue-green walls, a counter with jars of supplies and locked cupboards above. Nothing to indicate why I’d be drawn here without an explanation.

The young guy, whoever he was, gestured to the bank of four uncomfortable-looking blue chairs off to the side. If you’ll have a seat—

No, I won’t have a goddamn seat—where the fuck is my kid?

He sighed. That look wavered for just a moment, words hovering on his lips, and he might’ve been on hour thirty of back-to-back shifts given the exhaustion in his expression. Ma’am, the doctor will be out shortly—

"Just tell me."

Again, a sigh. Resolved. He clasped the clipboard in both hands, holding it in front of him like it might somehow ward against me. Of course, I’d have him on the floor with my knee in his spine to the sound of his bones breaking if he didn’t spit it out soon and no magical clipboard was going to stop it.

The daycare reported... Hesitation.

I twitched, hands flexing into fists, and for a moment I almost let full on anger take over because it seemed so much easier than the terror and icy uncertainty I’d put up with for half an hour now.

They’re likely doing a kit right after the exam, just in case. It’s standard procedure—

"For what?"

Any time there’s even a chance of sexual abuse—

I stopped.

He stopped.

Everything stopped.

I was sitting. I didn’t know how I got there but my legs must’ve finally given out and I’d managed to get myself onto one of the plastic chairs. I choked, hand coming up to cover my mouth, and I tasted bile but managed to swallow it back.

He was talking. His voice sounded like I was underwater, like I was in that horrible cave under the Mediterranean again, water rushing in, drowning everything out—

...soon, he was saying.

I looked up, fought to focus my blurry vision. Blinked a few times. At least he’d stopped giving me the look—he seemed almost sympathetic now. I’m sorry, what?

It’s just a precaution, we’re required to rule it out when there’s vaginal bleeding, there could be a number of explanations—

"A number of explanations for my six-year-old daughter’s vagina bleeding?"

He snapped his mouth shut. The guarded sympathy hadn’t left his eyes but he was a bit more cautious now.

What are the alternatives? I asked. Some kind of cancer? An infection? If you thought it was any of that...

The clipboard creaked restlessly in his hands and his feet inched back. Away from me. We’re ruling things out right now. The doctor will be out to speak with you when they’re done with the exam and the...kit.

The kit.

He meant a rape kit.

On Emaleth.

It took all of my concentration to listen, to hear, because his mouth was moving again and my head was slow to catch up.

"A representative from Children’s Aid will be in to speak with you as well, along with a police officer. They’ll want to talk about any history of this sort of thing, who has regular contact with her, et cetera. It’s all just a precaution, Ms. Talbot. We have to explore every avenue and report it when we don’t know the cause. Someone will update you as soon as possible."

There were more things I should’ve asked. Stuff I should’ve been thinking. But he stepped away and my head bowed, hands clutched the hard, scratched plastic seat on either side of my thighs and gripped it tight like I might tip over if I didn’t. The floor blurred, spotted tile morphing into neutral-toned blobs as hot water began to boil over in my eyes. My shoulders shook and I held my lips pressed together, sucking air in through my nose, focusing so fucking hard on just the floor in front of me because I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t even think.

That’s why they were looking at me...like that. Because they assumed parents. Or caregivers. Oh god. But no one could have. I vetted everyone I knew, wouldn’t let anyone within inches of my daughter if I had any inkling of doubt.

Bleeding. Bleeding. That had to signify a recent assault, right? She was fine this morning. I’d put her pajamas in the hamper—

Pajamas. And bedding. She never wet the bed. Hadn’t in years; she was quick to potty-train. Kids who were—my brain shifted around the M word, not even daring to think it—hurt like that, they wet the bed, didn’t they? Did I miss a sign?

My mind circled back again. Who did she have contact with? I knew all the day-camp workers. I knew their policies of never being alone with a child... Pru and I checked the place extensively. Dawson ran background checks.

Another parent? A visitor?

While seconds ago I didn’t think I knew anyone who could’ve done it, my brain tipped the other way, remembering every face I’d ever encountered, thinking it could’ve been any of them. Any of them. Fuck. If she was hurt, odds were someone I knew did it. Maybe my internal danger sense was broken after too many adrenaline rushes.

Dimly I saw the blurry shape in my peripheral vision, someone in the doorway, someone at my side, taking the chair to my right, a quiet, warm, listening sense wrapping around me. Silently his left hand folded over my right, not moving it from my death grip on the chair but latticing his fingers between mine, holding on with me.

West said nothing. I said nothing. I just stared at my feet and tried to keep some semblance of rapidly dwindling sanity, my thoughts swirling around and around until I couldn’t make sense of them anymore.

Breathe. Breathe and think. You’re not useful while you’re panicking. Fight now, cry later.

You were on the line when Dawson said what hospital, I whispered, trying to focus.

Yes, he replied. Softly. Evenly. Calmly. He didn’t let go of my hand.

Did you hear what that guy said?

A pause. And I knew, but he said it anyway. Yes.

At least I wouldn’t have to repeat it but that just seemed to break me. I held my breath, like that might calm me, when it only led to a snotty breath in and heat rising in my face as I choked back a hiccup.

And still, he didn’t say anything. Just kept his hand on mine—that hand which was sometimes a large black and white tiger’s paw tipped in sharp claws. Strength never left his grip, even when it was that of a man.

I didn’t need to break the silence, I knew—he’d let me just sit there. But beneath the numbness, guilt and shame sliced through me with matching blades. My lips were moving, words streaming out. "She’s just too young. No one should ever, but... Fuck, she’s not even seven yet, and this... I keep thinking, not her too. Not her too. You hear the statistic, one in three girls, and I thought there’s been enough. She should be safe. She’s one of the other two. I have done everything, I have been so fucking paranoid and careful, and I’m trying to think who... How could I have fucked up this badly? And a second ago I didn’t think anyone could do it but what if? What the fuck if? It shouldn’t’ve been her. Not her too. Just..." My voice cracked and frayed, fat tears rolling down my cheeks.

West said nothing for what could’ve been seconds or minutes—I didn’t know, had no sense of time. Dully I was aware of the quiet tick of a clock on the wall but I didn’t look up, couldn’t see past my own tears.

Then, barely audible: Who hurt you?

I blinked, unsure if I’d actually heard him speak or if it was all in my head. But the tension wrapped around him was palpable, pushing against the air around us. His hand was still over mine and didn’t shift or squeeze. He was still.

Very still.

I tried to swallow the words back but they were already out there. Bitterness twisted me and I sat back in the chair, tilting my head to stare up at the cork ceiling. Tears slid from my eyes, down my temples and I sniffled. Though I let go of the seat, his hand didn’t leave mine, fingers folding more firmly. And I held on willingly, almost gratefully, trying not to think about it too hard.

You want a list? I muttered, my lips twisted in what likely resembled a sneer.

Yes.

I sighed. Do you want to start when I was fourteen and Jeff, my senior boyfriend, took me to the prom and decided what we were doing afterward when he locked me in his hotel room? Or my teen years when I woke up after being either blackout drunk, with no memory of where my panties went? Or Declan, the guy I lived with when Em was a toddler? Or Richard?

My back slouched against the chair and I drew my feet up, the bouldering shoes gripping the edge of the seat. I probably could’ve had my hand back if I fought him, but I didn’t.

Richard Moss, West said very calmly, very evenly. Deceptively soft.

I bit at my lower lip. Lying seemed a little silly now. Yeah.

On the boat.

Of course he’d remember the night on the water, before the last dive, when I came back in the middle of the night obviously upset. Laurel and Dawson knew the truth; the latter because I’d called him to get me, and the former because she was the one who came. And later of course I told Pru.

But not West. I hadn’t wanted him to know. A fight, he figured. Lovers’ quarrel. He’d threatened to beat the guy up for me on more than one occasion.

Richard Moss had come with me to the Mediterranean to find Odin’s spear because he was starting a new blog dedicated to Pulse news, something focused—supposedly—on accuracy about this new world we lived in that half the population pretended didn’t exist. And the feature story was on me.

The others on the crew assumed he was my boyfriend. And Richard did nothing to contradict that; Richard, it seemed, believed we were dating. He’d decided the moment he met me that we were inevitable, and all my hemming and hawing was just background noise.

And then he’d crawled into bed with me and put his hand down my bikini bottoms, and wouldn’t take no for an answer. It took a punch in the face to drive that one home.

You know, it fucking kills me because that time I fought back, I said bitterly. "I beat him up and locked him in the room. And I thought that would make me feel better, but it didn’t matter. He then spent months dragging my name through the mud with his tabloids. He won. They always win. You want to know what happened to Jeff? He crossed the border and went to Yale, and married some rich yuppie, and they go to nice parties with other rich yuppies. And Declan married some oil heiress—his mother must be so proud. And fucking Dick Moss. Engaged to that chick, that vapid popstar of the month, whoever she is. I heard his current net worth the other day and thought I’d fucking puke. They just..."

I shook my head and looked away—I didn’t feel his eyes on me but heat was rising in my cheeks, and it was all too much for me to endure.

My throat was dry and I swallowed painfully. They get away with it. They have everything. And I have to live with it. The times I didn’t fight back and the time I did. Every goddamn day, I live with it. And Em... Em. I’d almost pushed out of my head why we were having this conversation—or, more accurately, why I was running my mouth off. Em’s going to have to live with it—

His hand moved on mine and I felt a sudden, painful flare of embarrassment as I realized he was probably sick of this, of being my own personal dumping ground; warmth left my fingers as he let me go and I bowed my head, ashamed.

But that wasn’t it. West only twisted his hand and slid it under mine this time, palm to palm. His long, strong fingers wrapped over mine. And it was better than it would’ve been if he’d tried to hug me or something else that would’ve made me feel weak.

Instead, just the simple act of holding my hand lent me strength. It said, I’m here, I’m not going anywhere. Like he was at my side, as my equal. Linked, so that if I fell off this ledge, he’d go over with me. You fall, I fall. It was more of an assurance, a promise, than hollow words and platitudes would have been.

I sucked in a breath just as steps touched down in the hall. We both straightened as an older woman in scrubs entered the room.

When she stopped before us, West and I stood, still hand in hand, and I squeezed his fingers like the water was rising and I needed to hold on for dear life.

I’m Dr. Barnes, she said kindly, plucking her glasses off to hang over her chest from a chain around her neck. Ms. Talbot? Her gaze flicked over me, and then she reached for the Kleenex box on the counter behind her, offering me one, which I ignored. Your daughter’s fine, she said as she returned it, the top tissue wafting gently from the movement.

I had West’s hand in a death-grip. If I was any stronger, I’d be crushing bone. What did the kit say?

The kit? Oh. She sighed and rubbed at the bridge of her nose with blunt-tipped fingers. I’m sorry, that should’ve been handled more delicately. We had to check, just to rule out abuse, but it’s what I thought—

‘But?’ So she wasn’t raped?

No.

I blew out a breath and my head spun. West kept my hand but gripped my elbow with his other hand, steadying me. I blinked against the dizziness.

Not rape.

Not rape.

3

Precocious

At the moment, I’d like to go over her family medical history and refer you for some more tests, the doctor continued. Your family doctor can discuss treatment options with you, but I’d like to get a few questions dealt with now—

Before I could ask what in the hell was going on, voices in the hall interrupted, and a moment later my ex Chase Denham appeared. His curly brown hair was damp and combed back, like he’d been drawn out of the shower and rushed over. Warm brown eyes were wide, startled, bouncing from face to face