She went about the business of checking his wounds and shining a light in his eyes and he went about the business of ignoring her. At least until she started asking questions.
“What year is it?”
“25 ADW.” That’s what they called it. Twenty-five years After the Dragon Wars.
“Know where you are?”
“Not specifically. Last time I knew I was in the desert fighting a dragon.”
“Huh.” She pulled his eyelid up and peered at his eyeball like he might suddenly sprout tentacles or something. “Rank?”
“Dragon Warrior.”
She snorted at that. “Name?”
He said nothing. She looked concerned for the first time. “You don’t remember?”
He shrugged. “Might have had one. Before I became a Warrior.”
“Might have had one?”
“There isn’t enough room in the human mind for both memory and enhancement,” he parroted Dr. Barnes and hated every minute of it. The man was an ass. “Therefore, the unimportant must go.”
“In other words, they chopped out your memory,” she said dryly.
“Something like that, yes.”
“They don’t give you names?” She didn’t seem particularly interested. More like she was killing time, so he didn’t bother answering. The truth was, no. They didn’t give Dragon Warriors names. They were built to fight and die. They were human machines. They didn’t need names. He didn’t need a name.
“You’re progressing nicely. Should be out of my ward in a day or two. Soon as we get you on solid food. Rain should be back soon with something for you to eat.” She turned on her heel and stomped back toward the other room.
Rain. So the young woman’s name was Rain. He wanted to say it, to see how it felt on his tongue. The expression on her face when he spoke it. Another strange thought for a Warrior.
Scenes flashed through his mind. Odd disjointed snippets that made no sense. A headache throbbed behind his eyes. Memories. He was experiencing memories. Memories he shouldn’t have. He started at the ceiling, willing his mind back under control.
Unfortunately, it didn’t stay under control very long. Rain returned, swinging into his room, a thermos in one hand and a mug in the other. He watched her, the gentle sway of her hips as she walked, the movement of her hair, which he realized was a rich, dark blond. Like pulled taffy.
A memory tugged. The tang of salt air, the cry of gulls, his small hand wrapped inside a warmer, bigger one ... His mind skittered away again.
The memories were trying to seep through. The memories of Before. Barnes had warned him of this. That the minute such a thing happened he should seek help immediately. Returning memories were the first sign of catastrophic mental meltdown.
But there was no Barnes. Barnes was who knew how many miles away. He tried not to panic. Maybe he could still get back to the base in time.
“Brought you some soup.” She plopped into the chair next to him and leaned forward, a tiny hint of creamy white cleavage visible above the V-neck of her top.
Again, he noticed her scent. Not as a predator scents its prey, but as a man scents a woman. That tease against the senses, so faint yet so strong. He struggled to keep his arousal under control.
“Here.” She splashed some soup from the thermos into the mug. “It isn’t much, but it should taste okay, and it’s got plenty of good stuff in it. Vitamins and whatever. They used some of the fresh tomatoes from Padre Pedro’s garden. I figured the mug would be easier for you than a spoon and bowl.” She handed him the warm mug, her delicate fingers brushing lightly against his, sending another shiver down his spine.
He wrapped both hands around the mug, desperate for her not to notice they were trembling. Definitely meltdown. He was sure of it. He had to get out of here and back to base so Barnes could fix him. Before it was too late.
Chapter 13
THERE WAS SOMETHING odd about Micah Caine. Rain hadn’t missed the faint tremor in his hands as he took the mug from her. She couldn’t blame him. If what Clara said was true, he didn’t remember much of anything.
Rain was quiet for a while, letting him drink his soup in peace. Letting him get used to her presence. She wondered if he was as aware of her as she was of him. The scent of him, that slight musk of man, teased her nose. It wasn’t at all unpleasant.
“So, you don’t remember who you are.”
“I’m a Warrior.” He said it with finality as if that were the only thing worth knowing. “One of a handful of those chosen.” There was pride in his voice.
So, there were definitely more Warriors out there. Good to know.
“Yeah, you’re a Dragon Warrior all right. But you’re more than that.” She took a photograph out of her pocket. The same photo she’d spent countless nights mooning over. The photo of a man who should be dead.
She laid the photo in front of him. “You are Lieutenant Micah Caine. United States Army. You’re a hero.”
She watched his eyes flick over the photo, not an ounce of recognition in his face. “Not possible. This picture is decades old. If I were Caine, I’d be an old man now. Or dead. Obviously, I’m neither.”
“True,” she agreed. She handed him a small mirror and watched as his eyes widened, darting from the photo to the mirror and back.
He swallowed hard. “Perhaps...” He cleared his throat. “Perhaps he is a relative. My father or uncle.” His earliest memories were of training to be a Warrior. He had no memory of family, so anything was possible.
Rain nodded. “That could be, yes. Except for one thing.”
His eyes flew to her face. “What’s that?”
She took the mirror from him. Then she tugged the sheet away from his body, exposing one long length of leg. Using the mirror, she showed him the scar on
