She bit her lip as she turned to gauge how far it was to the bluff on the other side of the brush. Would it be better to keep moving and put even more distance between her and Clay? Surely she could find another place to hide—the forest was ridiculously dense—and maybe that place wouldn’t have beetles the size of her hand crawling over her bare legs and mosquitoes swarming around her bloodied knees.
And even more importantly, Clay would have no idea where to start looking for her.
Trusting her gut, she rolled back over and belly crawled slowly through the last of the dense bushes, trying not to make a sound. After only a few minutes, the small trunks began to grow farther apart again as the shrubs thinned near the edge of the grove. She came back onto her hands and knees, but kept her slower pace, not wanting Clay to see her when she emerged.
She was nearly to the wide, leaf-scattered stones at the base of the cliff, where enough sun filtered through the leaves that she was grateful that her hair was no longer sunlight-catching blond, when footfalls sounded from her left. She jerked her head to the side to see Clay sprinting straight for her.
He’d gone around the bushes, not through!
With a strangled cry, Harley lurched to her feet and turned to run only to skid to a stop when something long and dark sprung up from the ground in front of her.
She flinched then froze, eyes going wide as an ominous hissing filled the air.
Chapter Nine
Clay
The snake was a king cobra, at least twelve feet long, reared up on its belly with its hooded head even with Harley’s chest. Thankfully, she’d had the sense to stop running, but the animal clearly still felt threatened. It could strike at any second and Harley wouldn’t have time to blink, let alone dodge the attack, before the snake’s fangs were in her.
“That’s a king cobra,” he said in a soft, soothing voice. “One of the most venomous snakes in the world.”
“I know,” she whispered, summoning another long, witch’s hiss from the creature.
“Don’t talk,” he warned gently. “Just listen. I’m going to come up very slowly behind you. Don’t turn to look at me and don’t make any sudden movements until I tell you to.”
Keeping an eye on the snake, Clay slowly stripped off his white tee shirt and clenched it lightly in his hand. He eased a foot closer and then another, his steps silent on the warm stones where the cobra had been sunning itself. “Now in just a second, I’m going to throw my shirt on the ground just ahead of you to your left. As soon as you see it in your peripheral vision, turn and run toward me as fast as you can. I’ll get out of your way and follow behind you. The snake should attack the shirt and give us enough time to get away before it can recover for a second strike.”
“And if it doesn’t?” she said, so softly he could barely hear her.
“It will,” he said with more confidence than he felt. He’d read up on the wildlife of the island while he was preparing the facility for his captive, but until now, surviving an encounter with a king cobra had been purely theoretical knowledge. “Just don’t hesitate. Not even for a second. I know you may believe otherwise right now, but I don’t want you dead.”
Her shoulders stiffened, but she didn’t speak or give any other sign as to whether or not she believed him.
Clay inched closer, his gut telling him he should be prepared just in case Harley decided not to follow directions. Not following directions was one of her strong suits, and one of the things he’d loved about her once upon a time.
But this wasn’t a locked gate at a private beach; this was life and death. King cobras dispensed an insane amount of venom into the bloodstream, the quantity ensuring most people who were bitten died within minutes, long before they could reach medical help.
There was antivenin in the infirmary back at the installation, but it would take at least ten minutes to get there. They would never make it in time.
If Harley didn’t do exactly as he said, chances were she would die.
It wasn’t until right now, seeing her facing down a snake longer than the both of them put together that he realized he didn’t want her to die. He wanted his son and he wanted to never have to see this woman, who made him so aware of his own capacity for ugliness and evil, ever again, but he didn’t want her dead.
“On three, Harley,” he said, slowly drawing back his arm. “Just do exactly as I said and you’re going to be fine. One.” He stepped a little closer. “Two.” His entire arm tensed, ready to throw the shirt far enough to the left that the snake wouldn’t be able to shift directions easily. “Three!”
Everything happened at once—he threw the shirt, the snake leapt into the air, its powerful body flying at the scrap of cotton with fangs bared, and Harley made a break for the other side of the cliff, running in the opposite direction from where she’d been told to run.
But Clay was ready for her. She barely made it two steps before he grabbed her around the waist, hauling her against him as he turned and ran.
It was an awkward position—Harley dangling from one arm as he pumped hard with the other—but the knowledge of how fast cobras could move lent him the adrenaline rush to make it work. He kept running, ignoring Harley’s grunted shout to be put down and the uncomfortable strain on his muscles until he was on the other side of the grove of thorn bushes. Only then did he glance back, his grip on Harley relaxing as he saw the cobra fleeing in the opposite direction, up into the mossy stones of the cliff.
“No you don’t,” he said as Harley squirmed free and made a break for the top of the ridge. He caught up with her easily, grabbing her hips and spinning her around before bending low enough to flip her over his shoulder. “No more running away.”
“Put me down,” she panted, pummeling his lower back with her fists.
“Not a chance, now behave yourself,” he said, swatting her bottom hard enough to make her flinch and cry out. “If you bruise my kidneys on the way back, I’ll take it out on your ass later.”
She stiffened but stopped hitting him and a few moments passed in silence as he circled the brush and started back toward the trail, doing his best not to think about Harley bent over his knees with her bare ass in the air. He had never been into that sort of thing, but he liked the idea of reddening Harley’s ass as punishment for running away from him.
He could imagine the way her muscles would lock tight from a combination of shame and discomfort. He could almost see the red welts his hand would leave behind and hear the way she would cry out as he took her punishment further, sliding his fingers between her thighs, playing with her until she was wet and squirming and hating herself for responding to his touch.
“You can put me down,” Harley said, interrupting his fantasy. But it was too late. His cock was already hard, trapped at an uncomfortable angle by his boxer briefs. “I can walk. I won’t try to run away again.”
“How dumb do you think I am?” he asked, tightening his grip on the back of her legs.