Authors: Lindsay and Nicola
Category: AU M/L
Rating: MATURE to ADULT
Disclaimer: The characters of Roswell belong to The WB, Melinda Metz, and UPN.
Summary: Hard to describe… just please trust us and give it a try!
Author’s note: Well, here we are... starting a new fic!
Um... I hope that you guys enjoy this, and I can't say when it will be updated because both Nic and I are pretty busy with our other stories. But I promise to write within a week of whenever she posts, so maybe she'll agree to do the same if you guys leave us enough encouraging FB. 
Also, this story is a challenge by Lynn aKa Sugarplum17. Lynn... I hope this satisfies you! <center> Banner by the wonderfully talented Anais Nin Thank you once again, Stef! It is just gorgeous!
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</center><center>Prologue</center>
“Señor Evans? El teléfono para tú.”
Max glanced up at the dusky, buxom barmaid and gave her a smile tinged with alcohol. “Gracias, Anita,” he murmured, tracing a finger down the pretty girl’s arm. She giggled and left him to serve another table.
Max stood and stretched his legs, wobbling slightly from the effects of the potent Mexican liquor. Using his hands to steady himself, he slid down the walnut bar littered with cigarette ash and peanut shells.
Picking up the cheap black telephone, he answered with a husky, “Bueno.”
Silence lingered on the other line, and he frowned. “’Lo?” he repeated in english, chewing on the end of a toothpick as he slumped a hip against the side of the bar.
The sound of raucous laughter filled his ears, and he glanced over to see a group of hearty men flirting with Anita, trying to pinch her shapely behind every time she passed by. Judging by her pouty grin and fluttering lashes, she didn’t mind.
Shrugging it off, he cleared his throat and spoke again into the phone. “Look, whoever this is, I don’t have time to-“
“Meet me outside la Parque del Sol in one hour,” a gruff voice broke in over the line.
Max’s mind swam as he struggled to comprehend the man’s disjointed english accent. “Excuse me?” he managed, cursing the tequila for making his tongue thick.
“I have answers for you,” the voice rasped, “about your sister.”
At once the drunken haze disappeared, leaving behind a cold sweat as he fell onto a seat at the bar. The atmosphere around him blurred as he gripped the phone so tightly he thought it might shatter. “Isabel?” he whispered. “How do you know-“
“One hour.” Then the sound of a dial tone.
<center>***</center>
An hour later, Max stood in the middle of the Park of the Sun, known to the locals as la Parque Del Sol, hands jammed into the pockets of his cargo shorts and head pounding with the coffee-induced sober-up as he stared out over the turquoise water of the Yucatán Peninsula.
He’d come to Mexico three years ago, driven by the need to uncover secrets from his past. That first year he’d scoured the small inland villages, looking for any sort of clue that might lead him to discover what had happened to his twin sister all those years ago. When she’d simply… vanished.
The memory still brought a stinging pain to his chest, as he recalled the way his mother had mourned the loss of her ten year-old daughter. His father had blamed himself for arranging the family trip to Cancún, and had broken down and cried when the authorities had explained that they’d most likely never find Isabel again. That most cases of abduction were rarely solved.
At the time, Max had felt a sort of strange detachment from it all. He’d always shared a close mental bond with his sister, one that often allowed them to know what the other was feeling, or even thinking. He assumed it was part and parcel of being twins, but they’d soon discovered that speaking of their bond made people nervous. So they kept it to themselves.
That day he’d known Isabel was all right. He’d felt her anxiety and trepidation… but no true fear. He’d tried to explain it to his parents, to help comfort them. But his mother had screamed at him to stop, already suffering the beginning of a nervous breakdown. Weeks later, she’d been admitted to a mental health hospital. His father had suffered a stroke two years later, and never fully recovered.
And Maxwell began to blame himself. For not staying by Isabel’s side that day, that day so long ago. He’d fallen into a deep abyss of drugs and alcohol, sex and partying. Anything that made him feel a moment free of pain.
Until the day he’d come off a forty-eight hour high to find himself naked in a bed with six women.
In the harsh light of day, every man’s fantasy of an all-night orgy didn’t seem so pleasurable. It had made him sick to his stomach, and he’d spent an hour heaving his guts up before leaving the littered hotel.
That was the day he’d had the vision.
He glanced around the park, becoming impatient as he wondered what the hell he was doing. Why had he stayed, when he hadn’t found anything remotely close to telling him he was on the right track?
Except for a strange phone call from a stranger.
Snorting to himself, he bit back the disappointment and turned to leave when he saw the figure beneath the shade of a tree, watching him with dark eyes. He blinked in surprise, knowing there had been no one there moments ago.
Taking a cautious step forward, he called out, “Are you waiting for someone?”
The man didn’t answer, and Maxwell frowned as he neared enough to glimpse his tanned, weathered face. “¿Hablas inglés?” The man still did not answer. Max’s frown deepened. The man who’d called him had spoken in english, but perhaps this man was simply a villager out enjoying the early afternoon weather.
He turned to leave and a thin, reedy voice spoke behind him. “You look like her.”
Freezing in mid-step, Max closed his eyes and swallowed. Slowly turning around, he pierced the man with his eyes. “I look like whom?” he asked in a clear tone.
The man grunted, and stood to his feet. He leaned heavily on a cane, but that didn’t detract from his towering stature. He stood well over six feet, and had a body that had obviously once been muscled and capable. His hands, though now knobby and aged with wrinkles, were wide of palm and spoke of great power. He took a step towards Max, his craggy features intent. “They called her Vilondra.”
Once again, Max tasted the bitter flavor of disappointment. “I’m sorry… you have the wrong man,” he said not unkindly.
“However, she wore a gold bracelet,” the man continued as if Max had never spoken. “It had an emerald in the center, and was inscribed with the name Isabel.”
Max’s heart stopped. He knew the bracelet he meant. It had been given to Isabel as a birthday gift from their grandfather, before the man had passed away months later. “Who is they?” he referred to the man’s previous statement. “You said they called her Vilondra…?”
But the man was still staring into Max’s eyes, an almost dreamy quality in his dark orbs. “You have the same eyes. Golden and piercing… almost like you can see right through a person.”
Okay, this was getting creepy. Max cleared his throat and took a step back. “How did you know to find me?” he suddenly thought to ask, cursing himself once again for his drunken haze.
The first time in years he gets plastered, and look what happens.
“It was the right time,” the man merely said. He didn’t offer to elucidate, and Max bit down his frustration.
“You said you had answers,” he prodded intensely. “What are they?”
The man studied him for another moment. “To find what you’re looking for, you must look beyond what you can understand.”
With that cryptic statement, Max pulled at the hair at his temples. “What are you, the monkey from the Lion King?” he spat, beyond irritated and still fighting a pulsing hangover. He took a deep breath. “Please… if you know anything-“
“Have you ever heard the tales of the Amazons?”
Max stared at the man, then laughed shortly and threw his hands up. “All right, what the hell. Yes, yes I’ve heard of the Amazons. They were a dominant female species of ancient times, and they used men as their slaves, or something along those lines.”
“You do not believe.” It wasn’t a question.
“Believe?” Max shook his head. “It’s just a myth. Like all those Greek legends… just passed down for fun and to prove a point. In this case, I think it was just a way for the ancient chicks to start a feminist uprising.”
The man ignored his sarcasm, and reached into his pocket. He pulled out a tightly bound document, the paper yellowed with age.
“What’s that?” Max asked, curious as he noted the paper was made from some sort of coarse fiber. It was densely woven and crinkled in certain places. He could barely make out a dark red ink scrawled across the inside. His pulse kicked. “Is it a map?”
The man spread out the manuscript, and Max caught his breath as he stared at the images. It was indeed a map, and one that held all the quality an ancient tome. Despite its crudeness, the images were detailed and easy to detect on the legend. And the ink was a strange rust color…
“Is that blood?” he asked suddenly, a chill racing down his spine as he looked up to meet the man’s eyes.
“Yes,” he answered in a low voice, and before Max could ask he added, “it’s my blood.”
“No,” Max shook his head firmly, glancing back at the map. “Look, I’m no history buff, okay, but this thing looks really old. A hell of a lot older than you, no offense pal.”
“It is,” the man answered smoothly. “It’s thousands of years old.”
Max stared at him, a chuckle escaping. “Um… okay, well… I think you’re a little confused.”
Suddenly a sharp pain pierced his mind, and he cried out in agony, eyes closing and fingers gripping the map as the vision took over his mind.
He was being hunted.
He breathed heavily, thrashing through the dense jungle as he heard them crying out behind him. Sounds of predatory glee, followed by a strange chanting that sent chills up his spine.
He relied on his strength to maintain him as he pushed through the foliage, pain shooting through his feet as he stepped on a sharp rock. He cried out, stumbling onto his knees before using his hands to drag himself to the protection of a giant emergent tree.
Before he could slide beneath the branches that would conceal his body, a sandaled-foot landed in his vision. He followed the foot up to a shapely calf, and higher until he saw the silhouette of a woman. He couldn’t see her face, as it was hidden by the shining sun, but her hair was long and dark, flowing in the gentle breeze.
She spoke, the sound a melodic dance of seduction. “You dare to run?”
Before he could speak, he was ambushed and tied to the bark of the tree. He stared through glazed eyes as the woman stepped forward, a steely look in her dark brown eyes. “We do not allow our slaves to leave this place,” she spoke again. “You will wear our mark forever, and you will know who is your mistress.”
His lips parted as his gaze drifted to her bare stomach. A decorated sun circled her navel, its rays spreading outwardly until one wrapped around her middle and the other blended into a stylized band around her left bicep.
A woman stepped forward, a needle and a small pot in her hand. The woman began to smile as he cried out against his bonds.
“Holy shit!” Max choked out, stumbling to his feet and gasping as the flash began to subside. He glanced up, red-faced and panting as the man stared down at him. “What the hell was that?”
“You have the sight,” the man mused, scratching his jaw. “Perhaps you will be able to succeed, after all.”
Max stood shakily to his feet. “Who are you?” he demanded, still recovering from the intense vision that had taken his entire mind over moments before. “Why are you telling me of Amazons and ancient maps? What does this have to do with my sister?”
The man drew himself to his full height, leaving Max staring up at him and pronounced, “I am Elsivan Dupree. They called me Khivar. Fifty years ago I discovered a gateway from this world to a world unlike any I’d ever seen. A portal to an ancient world where men were hunted and used like animals.”
“Oh God, I think I need to sit down,” Max mumbled numbly. “What the hell was in that tequila?”
“No one has ever escaped the hands of the Ilios Queen,” he continued, “until I. I found my way back, and drew this map with the blood from a wound they inflicted upon me before I left, hoping to someday return and destroy their evil.”
“This sounds a little too Xena Warrior Princess for my taste,” Max held his hands up, backing away slowly. “I… I think I’ve made a mistake.”
And I think this guy needs to go back to his padded cell, he added inwardly.
The man lifted the hem of his shirt, and Max’s eyes widened as he caught sight of the sun tattoo, faded with time but still visible beneath the man’s wiry stomach hair. Faint scars criss-crossed his flesh, speaking of unspeakable treachery.
“Oh… fuck…” Max swallowed, bringing his gaze back to the man’s. “Oh, shit… don’t say what I just know you’re going to –“
“They have your sister.”
“That’s not what I wanted to hear,” Max groaned, somehow knowing his life had just changed. For the better or worse, that was yet to be seen.
<center>TBC...</center>
Hope you liked it, let me know what you think...
I hope you all enjoy anyway...
See you all soon...