brains.
“You said that the villagers just broke over Philip and Carlos like a tidal wave, and when everyone retreated, there was nothing left but the altar.”
“Mmmm,” Hunter said, tasting her neck.
“I think in all the confusion, some of the worshippers took the codex, the god bundle, the mask, all of it, and disappeared back into the jungle. I think they put the sacred artifacts in a very safe place and went back to their usual lives. They’ll stay like that, apparently normal, working and waiting until their belief burns out or the Maya renaissance comes.”
Hunter’s body went still, then one hand slipped away from her. He found new flesh to touch, to caress. Her breath came in with a small whimper of pleasure and need.
“You want to find the artifacts,” he said.
“Yes.”
“Will it be safe?”
“The villagers could have killed me at any time while we climbed out of the cenote and walked back to the compound,” she said simply. “We were watched every step of the way.”
“I know.” The memory still could make his skin crawl.
“Philip was right about the cult of Kawa’il. It existed. It exists now.
“I didn’t think you would.” Hunter’s voice was neutral.
“After we’re married—”
He turned her swiftly and kissed her like a man desperate for warmth.
“What?” she asked when she could talk again. “You asked me to marry you when we were climbing out of the cenote and I said yes.”
“All I heard was a cussword when you stubbed your toe.”
“Which time?”
He smiled.
“Just for the record,” she said, “yes”—she kissed his chin—“and yes”—she nipped the corner of his mouth —“and yes”—she licked his lips—“and—”
Whatever she was going to say was lost in a long, sensual tangle of tongues and breath and need.
Finally he lifted his mouth just enough to say, “Good and good and good and good.”
“Can you spend part of your time on the Reyes Balam lands with me? Celia agreed to fund the digs and pay me more than enough for—”
He shut her up by kissing her again. “I already talked to my uncles. I can work from the estate or from the moon, so long as they don’t lose their Mexico expert. And they expect to meet you real soon.”
Squirming until she could reach his shirt and begin unbuttoning it, Lina murmured in his ear, “Are you actually volunteering to be my bodyguard and site artist?”
“I’ll guard every sweet inch of your body.”
She smiled. “How about the artist part?”
“Can I draw you naked?”
“Only if mosquito netting is involved.”
He laughed softly. “I can work with that.”
AUTHOR’S NOTE
THE WRITTEN, PHONETIC VERSION OF THE MAYAN LANGUAGE is a work in progress. Scholars disagree about when or whether to use apostrophes to indicate a vocal hitch in a word.
I also was confronted with many choices as to accent marks. If a word is commonly understood and printed in the United States without any accents—for example, Mexico, Cancun, the Yucatan—I didn’t use accents, even though they
Some Maya scholars agree there is a God K. Some don’t.
Kawa’il, his cult, and his artifacts are my own invention.
About the Author
ELIZABETH LOWELL’s acclaimed suspense novels include the
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