She hated to give up. He was forcing her to abandon finding the cure for Ben, at least temporarily.
“When are we going to turn north?” Daria asked.
“Tomorrow we’ll head that way gradually, and make our way toward the rendezvous point at an angle. If we push hard, we can still reach the team before August intercepts us.”
“How long will it take us, at this rate?”
“By the afternoon, maybe sooner. Provided you don’t lead me on any more wild-goose chases.”
A soft groan sounded at his back. They’d have to haul ass to stay one step ahead of August and reach the Pack that fast. Still, she offered no complaint.
Ryon had to admire her courage, and he understood her need to bring down August all too well. Yeah, he’d get the sonofabitch even if he had to come back here alone to do it. The last few years had been about healing, then starting his new job with the Pack.
He’d tried to keep his mind off the nightmare of his past by diving into one dangerous assignment after another. Rebuilding his life, securing his future. Then disaster had blindsided him yet again when his team had been ambushed months ago, and he’d driven himself even harder.
“When will we make camp?”
“As soon as I find a good spot. It’ll be dark shortly.”
She muttered, “About time.” He couldn’t help smiling to himself. That his mate allowed the smallest gripe to pass her lips testified to how wiped out she must be.
He wasted no time finding a secluded area similar to where he’d pitched the tent last night. Working to beat the coming darkness, he quickly erected the shelter, making certain the material couldn’t be seen easily.
“Looks good,” Daria approved. “I don’t think anyone passing by could spot it.”
“Let’s hope we don’t have to find out.”
“Yeah. Hungry?” She waved a hand at the ground behind her. The two metal bowls had been placed on a blanket, along with a strip of jerky for each of them. “Instant beef stew. I’m starving and somehow getting less picky by the hour.”
“Me, too,” he admitted. His stomach grumbled as he joined her. “I appreciate it.”
They sat cross-legged on the blanket facing each other. Daria picked up her bowl, sniffed, and wrinkled her nose.
“You know, this stuff isn’t that bad and I’m used to it, but there’s something mildly disturbing about food that poofs out when you add water. How do they do that?”
Ryon laughed, and she smiled back. His heart did a funny leap in his chest. “One of life’s great mysteries, I suppose.”
“I’d say you’re one of those mysteries,” she retorted, waggling her spoon at him. “Every bit as interesting as old, dried up beef, and twice as tough.”
He barked another laugh, nearly choking on his stew. “Gee, you’d better stop with the compliments before my ego explodes my brain.”
“Sorry. Guess I’m getting punchy.” She hesitated, then observed him thoughtfully. “Tell me about you, or your family.”
“What’s to know?” He stared, admiring the way the corners of her eyes crinkled with tiny crow’s-feet when she smiled. Her full lips, the graceful curve of her jaw.
“Where did you grow up?”
“Atlanta, Georgia, armpit of the South.” He didn’t offer more, and she put down her bowl, throwing him an exasperated look.
“You’re not going to make this easy, are you?”
“Nope. You compared me to dehydrated meat. I’m still recovering.”
“Jeez, we’re touchy.” She leaned forward, peering intently into his face. As she did, Ryon tried not to stare at the perfect roundness of her breasts pushing against her T-shirt.
“What?”
“You told me some about your mom and sister. What about your father?”
His throat tightened. “He was a Marine lieutenant. He was killed in action in Operation Desert Storm when I was a boy.”
Daria laid a hand over his. “I’m sorry,” she said softly.
“It was a long time ago. And I had Mom to put up with me, bless her.” He smiled. “Lisa came along later, from her marriage to my stepdad.”
Daria cocked her head, an odd look on her face. “Do you ever see him?”
“Not often. We call once in a while, send Christmas cards. I really should make more of an effort since the man helped raise me, but we were never all that close. What about your dad? Your father must be a special man.”
“He’s the best. When he retired from studying wolves, I couldn’t wait to take over where he left off. We’re very close, but we don’t get to see each other as much as we’d like.”
“After we’ve put Ben to rights, we’ll visit him.” If we aren’t forced to destroy Ben first went unsaid.
Daria gave him a wan smile. “I’d like that, and so would Dad.”
Neither of them felt much like talking after that. In silence, they cleaned their bowls and utensils with leaves, which they buried to avoid attracting unwanted nighttime guests. With nothing else to do, they readied themselves to bed down. Daria changed into a pair of shorts, muttering that it was too hot to sleep in her pants.
Ryon tried not to stare as she emerged, and failed. Her long legs were slender, toned, and tanned. He could imagine them wrapped around his waist while he pounded into her with precision. He never tired of fucking her. Not tonight, though. They needed rest.
“God, I wish I could risk even one ounce of our water supply to wash off.” She spared a longing glance for the canteen next to her pack.
“I’ll try to find us a safe place tomorrow. With any luck, we’ll run into one of the tributaries branching off of the river.”
“Ohh, that would be fantastic.”
Idiot! Had he lost his mind? Facing a firing squad would be less torture than guarding Daria while she bathed. They’d never reach his team if he banged her all the way across the forest.
They settled into the shelter, lying on their backs, neither one speaking. The quiet between them was companionable.
If only he could silence the chaos in his mind so easily. If he had to kill Ben, she would hate him forever.
You don’t know for sure! She’d forgive you. Right?
Ryon couldn’t handle the truth. Not now. He shoved it away, but it loomed. As deadly as the coral snake, waiting to strike, to poison his blood. His soul.
Damn you, Ben Cantrell. He slid into fitful dreams, the echo of Cantrell’s screams winging him into the darkness.
Ryon surfaced by slow degrees. He couldn’t move. Pressure on his legs, his chest. The waking dream collided with his nightmare. He called out.
Daria? No!
But the cry reverberated only in his mind. His lips wouldn’t move.
Where was his mate? Trapped. Blood. Soaking his clothes, his hair. Drowning in a crimson river.
Ryon!
Forgive me, forgive me . . .
“Ryon!”
He came awake with a jolt and the nightmare broke apart, the tendrils of unspeakable terror receding into the gloom. The pressure on his body remained, and he realized that someone was half draped across him. A hand was clamped over his mouth.
“Shh,” Daria whispered, urgent.
Ryon tensed, listening. Nothing at first, and then . . . The distant call of a night bird to the north, and an answering call to the west. The rest of the forest had gone unnaturally still. A chill of fear zinged down his spine. Christ, August had his goons searching for them before dawn!
They were so close his wolf could practically smell them. Waiting. Footsteps crept through the brush around them, so furtive the slight movements might never have awakened him. Sweat streamed down the sides of his face. Daria removed her hand from his mouth but remained motionless on top of him, breasts crushed against his chest through the fabric of their T-shirts. The thundering of her heart matched his own.