Beyond the Darkness (8 page)

Got to keep going. Can’t let them win. Can’t put Cheveyo in a position to have to save me.

Baal stuck out his neck, teeth gnashing inches away. Cheveyo pulled a rock from below and threw it. It hit the dog in the snout and made it jerk back just as they passed, only inches out of reach. Anger glowed in its eyes as it watched them tumble past. It jumped several boulders farther up, searching the fast moving water and rocks. Its body tightened. It was going to jump in! She tensed, ready to defend herself. Baal got into launch position, still searching for the best place to attack, and then its body sagged. It was smart enough to assess its chances of survival. It turned and continued to follow them on land.

An eddy spun her sideways. She saw Yurek some ways back, the cat contorted as though it were made of black clay, a child stretching it into something else entirely. He was changing back to a man, she guessed.

The bank on Baal’s side was getting steeper. Unfortunately, so was the other side, which meant having a bigger climb to get to shore. Her body wilted at the thought.

A change in sound farther down the river struck dread in her. “I hear something! The sound of the river is different.” Her eyes widened. “Waterfall?”

“Probably rapids.”

“Probably. Which means it could be a waterfall?”

He yanked her out of the way of a slab of rock jutting out of the middle of the river. “We need to get to the other side.”

“See, you
do
think it’s a waterfall!”

“Rapids aren’t good either.”

The current, however, had other ideas. And all along, Baal followed, climbing over the rocky shore above them, like a ravenous wolf tracking a mountain goat. The river was widening, though, which meant it was farther away. The rocks got bigger, too, making its trek harder. Small favors. It slipped, its foot getting caught between two rocks.

“I don’t see Yurek,” she said just before getting a mouthful of water. She coughed violently, feeling her stomach strain.

“Some beings have a harder time morphing. Let’s hope he’s one of them.”

He struggled to latch onto something solid. She grabbed onto a smaller rock, but it was too slippery to hold. The shoreline was all rock now, cut steep by the river. Her hair clung to her face like octopus tentacles, and she couldn’t spare a hand to push them out of the way. His hair, too, was plastered to his cheeks.

Baal had gotten free but was having a hard time picking its way across the rocks.

The sun reflected off the ripples of the water, blinding in its intensity. But warm. More small favors. Her body was chilled through.

“The water’s flowing faster!” she said. “The fall’s getting closer!” She imagined it plunging hundreds of feet down over treacherous rocks. “We’ll escape those two but be crushed!”

They hit an underwater rock so hard their hands were wrenched apart. Panic roared inside her as loud as the coming waterfall. A large rock split the river, taking her in one direction, him in another. He lunged for her, and she gripped his hand.

“Calm down,” he said, breathless. “Ahead, see those rocks that make an island? We’re heading there. Hold your breath.”

She could hardly see the dog now, though Yurek had caught up with it. The current sucked her down, dousing her in the cold water. No, not the current—Cheveyo. His hand on her arm, he’d pulled her under. She opened her eyes, seeing his hair floating wildly in the water. He pointed ahead, tugging her as he swam. She pushed through the water beside him and a few minutes later saw a large rock come into view. He pointed again. She kicked and flailed toward it.

He grabbed onto the edge and pulled them closer. Her fingers kept slipping on the slimy rocks, but she wedged them in a crack and was able to haul herself out of the current. She came to the surface when she had to breathe or else her lungs would burst. They were behind the lowest part of the formation. He put his finger over his mouth.
Shhh
.

The rocks formed a small cove on the back side of the island. She followed him behind the taller part of the formation and draped herself against the rocks, her body collapsing in relief. No fighting, no waves splashing into her face. Only a gentle swirl, and she could touch the ground. They were completely hidden from the shoreline now. Yurek and Baal would think they were still barreling along, maybe even drowned in the undertow.

He stripped out of his jeans, down to white briefs that clung to his tight derriere and, uh, other parts of his body. Wasn’t cold water supposed to shrivel the male apparatus?

With a flick of his wrist Cheveyo pulled his toothlike knife out of his pocket. He cut the legs of the jeans, which had to weigh a ton now that they were wet. His shirt came off next, and the sun glistened off his wet chest.

Could she really be turned on? Really? When her body was battered and worn-out? But she had felt something like this when they fought Baal back at her place.

Cheveyo was fully focused on his task, in survival mode. He yanked his shorts back on and surveyed their surroundings while squeezing the water from his shirt. Instead of putting it on, he tucked one end into the waistband of his shorts, letting it dangle at his side.

“Can you maneuver in those pants now that they’re wet?”

She lifted her leg out of the water. “Not really.”

He crooked his fingers at her.
Strip.

Well, if he could do it without being self-conscious, so could she. It took some wriggling, but she managed to get out of her pants. He wasn’t watching her, but he hadn’t turned away either. He sliced and diced her pants and handed a pair of shorts back to her.

She slid them up and zipped them. “Much better.”

He nodded toward the woods behind him. “No rest.”

“For the wicked, I know. Except I’m not wicked,” she added, hearing a little whine in her voice. “I’m a nice person.”

“A very nice person.” His eyes focused on her as she stepped up beside him, and she saw the fire of lust as his gaze swept down the length of her. “And still wicked all the same.”

White shirt, now wet, thin bra beneath it . . . she didn’t look but could well imagine. He pulled her hard enough that she fell against him. Her hands went to his bare shoulders to catch herself. His hands gripped her waist to steady her. The heat that blazed between their bodies, she’d felt it before when he held her.

He took a quick breath and set her away from him, yanking his gaze away to check for their enemies again. He flattened himself against the side of the rock and peered over the edge, his back stretching with his movement. Drops of water slid down his spine.

Even though the rushing water should cover their voices, he leaned close before saying, “They must have kept going forward, hoping to catch up with us. Which means we go back.”

The river was narrower on this side of the island but ran harder. He took off his black boots and sent them flying toward the rocks at the shoreline. Socks went into a crevice between rocks. He probably didn’t want them to tip off their pursuers down the river.

He took her hand and started walking across. “Follow my footsteps.”

He positioned his feet in front of rocks so the current wouldn’t knock him off balance, motioning for her to do the same. In bare feet, his balance was better. He’d obviously spent a lot of time barefooted, and probably in the wild. She stumbled, her legs as rubbery as blush-brush bristles. He pulled her back in balance and they reached the boulders at the edge. He took a big step up, turned, and pulled her up, too.

There wasn’t much cover here. She scanned the area. Boulders interspersed with trees for as far as she could see. Miles of climbing, slipping, crevices. No,
hundreds
of miles. Millions! Her knees buckled, and his hands tightened on her waist.

“I can’t do this,” she said, still gulping air.

“You don’t have a choice.”

She nodded.
Not a liability. Not a burden.

He grabbed his shoes and laced the strings together, looping them over his finger. He took her hand with his other hand and they headed back the way they’d come. He steered them away from the river, around a huge mound of boulders, finally out of sight of being spotted. She was dying.
Dying.
On top of the river beating her up, she’d been thrown from a motorcycle!

Finally they reached some fairly level ground, and wouldn’t you know, that’s where she stumbled again. He caught her, dropping the shoes in the process. She fell against him, her body plastered against his, looking at the hollow of his throat and the jaguar pendant. She couldn’t move. Beneath her fingers, where she flattened her hands on his chest, his skin was hot. He wasn’t helping her regain her footing. Her gaze met his. And her body wasn’t dying anymore. It was more alive than it had ever felt.

The roar of lust consumed her like a fire out of control, licking at her senses—and her common sense. The answering lust in his eyes energized her body. His hands were on her shoulders and they slid down her back at the same time he covered her mouth with his.

“We have to get back to the Tank,” he said between devouring kisses. He squeezed her butt in long, sensuous strokes.

“Tank? You have one of those hidden away, too?”

He chuckled. “No, that’s just what I call the RV.”

Her fingers threaded through his wet hair.

He stopped, blinked. “I must be crazy,” he muttered, his eyes still simmering with heat.

She could only nod, her fingers tightening on his shoulders. “Definitely crazy.”

“Not only should I not be doing this at all, I sure as hell shouldn’t be doing it
now
.”

She took a step back, steadying herself. “I know. So why do I want to keep doing it?”

“Beats the hell out of me.” He turned to her. “You felt it, too?”

She nodded. “Even back at my place, when we fought Baal. I thought it was my imagination, because no way do I get
turned on
by fighting for my life. Why is it happening?”

“Adrenaline.”

“You feel like this every time you fight?”

“No, not the lust part. Sometimes I want to puke or even cry. It’s just an outgrowth of the overwhelming surge of adrenaline.” He snagged his shoes, taking a look around while he did so. “We have to get out of here. And I’ve got to get rid of you.”

“Me? This is
my
fault?”

“No, it’s my fault. The fact that I want to throw you on the ground and tear off your clothes is obviously a volatile chemical reaction when mixing you and adrenaline. My weakness. And if I keep fighting with you around, we’ll both end up dead.”

Y
urek caught up with the Glouk farther upstream. He had to learn to morph back to his previous form faster. It took longer to come back, and it felt damned uncomfortable being in animal form. Turning into the jaguar, though, had put him on even ground with the mysterious human who had even stronger Callorian DNA than the woman. She called him Cheveyo. The Glouks who came here were afraid of him. Some, like Baal, wanted to be heroes and slay him.

Yurek was beginning to feel the same way. He would be a hero to the Collaborate if he found and killed two people of unknown Callorian origin as well as extracting Pope back to Surfacia. Unfortunately, it was proving difficult.

Baal transformed to his human form so he could communicate. “You lost them?”

“It was your job to track them. I was busy.”

“I can’t track good if they’re in water.” His nostrils flared and his head jerked to the left. “They went back that way. Faint scent, coming off the breeze.”

“Then we go. We don’t want to lose their trail.”

The Glouk lifted his chin. “I can track prey that’s miles away.” He transformed back to dog and bounded through the woods. The creature looked hideous, but it ran with speed and grace.

Yurek walked back along the river’s edge until he came to the spot where they’d had the altercation. The underbrush was tamped down in places, broken in others. The dagger lay on the ground. He picked it up, running his finger along the edge, feeling it slice into his skin like a razor. Sharp. Deadly point. He had never met anyone like Cheveyo, who could transform into a beast but was not a Glouk. He’d only heard of them. He liked being a jaguar better than the dog; made him feel powerful.

He ingested the energy imprint of the person he mimicked. Now that he possessed it, he could use it again. He would practice being the jaguar. The next time he encountered Cheveyo and the woman, he would be much better. Next time, he would kill them.

Chapter 7

S
he would be the death of him. Of them. Even though Cheveyo had taken the blame, his words prickled across Petra’s skin.

They trudged through the woods back to the bike, which, thank goodness, started. It bore scrapes and dents, but landing in the grassy shoulder helped it, just as it made their tumble a little better.

A little.

Every muscle, bone, and hair on her body thrummed with pain, but it didn’t feel as though anything was broken. She sucked in her groan of pain when she climbed on behind him. “I need chocolate. Like a mountain of it.”

He flicked her an amused glance before heading onto the road. They went back to the RV—Tank— pulled the bike into the garage, and within minutes were back on the highway.

“They didn’t see the Tank,” she said, realizing that’s why he’d stashed it right away. She pulled a Dove chocolate out the bag but paused and offered it to him. When he shook his head, she ripped into it.

“They’ll be looking for a bike. It’ll help, but eventually they’ll track us down. How the hell did they come to work together? Glouks stick to themselves and don’t generally trust anyone, not even their own kind.”

“Isn’t there a saying about common enemies making good allies?”

“The enemy of my enemy is my friend.”

“Yeah, that worked with Eric and Fonda.”

She changed into dry clothes and returned to the front. He’d jumped right into the driver’s seat wearing his wet jean shorts and nothing else. She braced her hand on the back of his seat, remaining standing. She had to fight the urge to pull at the long string of denim that lay against his thigh.

“Want me to drive for a few minutes so you can change?” Not that she wanted him to change, because he looked juicy, but he had to be uncomfortable. “I know cats hate being wet.” She gave him a smile to let him know she wasn’t being mean.

He raised an eyebrow at her. “Do you, now?”

“And they love their chin scratched.” She crooked her fingers.

“They also mount females from behind.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. So much for light flirting. He was trying to cut her off. “I rescind my offer. Your behind can stay wet.”

A smile tugged at his mouth, but he kept his gaze focused ahead. His hair was still damp, curling his waves. “Jags and tigers actually enjoy swimming. But not like what we just did.”

She could imagine him, as jag, frolicking in a lake.

He was watching her expression, and she wiped the emerging grin from her face, still stung.

He nodded. “You did well back there.”

“Something came over me, like I became someone else.”

“Adrenaline and your survival instinct.”

Bracing her hands on the arms of the chair, she slowly and painfully lowered herself into the chair. “Please tell me that you’re hurting like you were trampled by a herd of water buffalo.”

“I’m sore.”

She rolled her eyes. Men. But he wasn’t just any man.

A short while later he pulled into a home improvement store’s parking lot, driving around to the far side. He put the RV into park and, engine running, walked to the back. She pushed to her feet and hobbled to the fridge to get a bottle of water. He hadn’t bothered to close the door to the bathroom, so when he shucked out of his shorts, she saw just about everything in the mirror’s reflection.

Of course, he glanced up while she was gaping. Without a blink, he dragged on a pair of jeans, replaced his belt, and then wriggled into a shirt as he walked to the front. The shirt was cool, red at the shoulders, beige at an angle at his midsection, and white on the bottom. He rested his fingertips on her shoulders as he eased by her.

He didn’t seem the least bit bothered that she’d watched him, but
she
was. To cover her embarrassment, she said, “Don’t you close doors?”

He dropped back into his seat and put the Tank back into gear. “I’m not used to having a woman in here. And when I do, I don’t have to be modest.”

“I see.”

And she did, getting a mental picture of some sexy woman sprawled out on that bed with him. Not lying next to him as she had but wrapped around him, their bodies intimately joined.

Stop that!

She unwrapped another piece of chocolate and jammed it in her mouth.

He pulled out of the parking lot. “In a couple of hours we’ll find a campground, dump the tanks, and fill the water tank. We can also grab a shower.”

A hot shower sounded heavenly. She eased back into the chair, leaned her cheek against the back of the seat and drifted off, exhausted. In her disjointed dreams the river tumbled her and a jaguar ate her. She woke an hour later when she felt the Tank slow to a stop. A sign welcomed them to
THE COZY PINES CAMPGROUND
.

He obviously didn’t know she was awake yet, because he winced when he got to his feet. He’d never give that away otherwise. He stretched, arching his back, then stepped out the door. She watched him walk to the office, noticing his gait was a bit stiffer than usual. That didn’t detract from the view at all. His jeans weren’t tight, yet they fit him just snug enough to show the solid body wearing them. They were unusual, with two waistbands and various zippers and pockets sewn on in places you wouldn’t expect, like down the side of the legs.

A few minutes later he walked back, the stiffness gone. He had the confident gait of a soldier on a mission, his stride long, his movements economical. Two young boys raced across his path, so caught up in whatever game they were playing they didn’t see Cheveyo. Instead of looking annoyed, though, he watched them run off, a wistful look on his face. Was he remembering himself at that age? Had he been able to play like that, free and fearless?

His expression turned grim again as he took in their surroundings, always checking. That was how he lived his life. Just like domestic cats she’d seen, never really relaxing or sleeping, always ready for either predator or prey. Sadness overwhelmed her, the need to heal his soul, to make him happy.

She wiped the expression from her face when he stepped inside, which was a good thing since his gaze went right to her. “One hot shower, coming up,” he said.

She twined her fingers and sighed. “You know just what to say to a girl.”

He dropped into the driver’s seat. “Yeah, I’m a real charmer. Things like ‘I’ve got to get rid of you’ and calling you wicked.” His mouth was quirked in a wry grin even as he maneuvered the Tank into the campground. He’d probably asked for a spot near the entrance, because he aimed for the second spot after the gate.

“You can sleep in the bedroom, you know,” he said, tracing a line across her cheek. “You’ve got seat crease.” He paused, his gaze holding hers for a breathless moment. He dropped his hand.

She rubbed at her cheek, checking the rearview mirror. Oh, jeez, it looked like a Frankenstein scar, with stitches and everything. “I like being up front. That way I don’t miss anything.” She honestly hadn’t even thought about lying down on the bed, as much sense as that made.

Because you want to be near him.

He backed into the space and then went outside to hook up the water or whatever one did to these things. She got out, too, watching him move like he’d done this a lot. The word
OUTLAW
was painted on the side of the Tank. Appropriate model for Cheveyo. “Need any help?”

“Got it, thanks,” he said absently.

He did, too, and she found herself following him back into the Tank. “How much of your life do you spend hunting?”

He walked to a small closet in the hallway and pulled out towels. “There’s always something that needs to be taken care of. There are portals—what Pope calls finestras—all over the world.” He held out a towel to her. “We’ll use the common showers.”

“Can I take longer than a ten minute shower?”

“As long as you want.” The hint of a smile on his face warmed her. She’d never seen him full out smile. A desire to do anything, anything at all, to bring out that smile washed over her.

She shuffled over like a ninety-year-old, taking the towel from him. He stepped into the bathroom and grabbed shampoo and soap bottles. When she took them, he pulled out a black vinyl bag from the lower cabinet and threw clothes into a larger bag.

“Wait, need to get my razor and shaving cream.” She was
not
going on the run with hairy legs.

He opened the door for her, and they walked to an old wooden building. People were friendly, nodding at them, obviously thinking they were a couple. As she headed toward the entrance marked
WOMEN
, he touched her arm.

“Uh-uh.” He nodded toward another door with a sign that read
FAMILIES
. “We stick together until we get to my place. I’m not taking any chances with you.”

With her.
As though she were precious. Then it hit her: “We’re showering together?”

“They have separate stalls. The guy was selling me on the fact that they had this family shower room so couples can bathe in the same space.”

“Oh. After what happened today, do you think that’s a good idea? I don’t want to
kill
you or anything.” She couldn’t help the snippy tone in her voice, which he obviously picked up.

“Don’t take it personally.”

“How am I
not
supposed to take it personally? Especially knowing you don’t throw words around like ‘death’ or ‘killing’ indiscriminately.”

“What we feel is a jumble of neurotransmitters and hormones, probably increased by our connection. Biological and dangerous as hell when the enemy is in the vicinity.” He opened the door. “But we’re taking showers in the same general space. No big deal.”

Easy for him to say.

He locked the door behind them, an ominous click that juxtaposed his words. She swallowed hard.

The room was softly lit and filled with the scent of soap and damp air. There were two stalls, each with a flimsy plastic curtain, and one dressing area with a sink and a bench. Perfect for shaving, since it had water and a drain around it. She turned on her shower and when it was good and hot stepped in. A long, guttural sigh escaped her throat. She let the hot water pound her back and neck, the most achy parts of her body.

Next door she heard the water hitting his body, and . . . a groan? She couldn’t be sure and fine-tuned her hearing. Yes, another soft sound, because he hurt as much as she did. So he was human after all.

His shower cut out, and through the crack where the curtain didn’t meet the wall she saw him step out and grab the towel on the hook. Steam wafted out with him like a magical mist. He dried his hair, his movements slow, languid. Or his thoughts were a million miles away, since he was staring off into space.

His back was to her, graceful lines dipping to narrow hips and a butt that was so exquisite it hurt to look at. Even his palest skin was olive, and unmarred. Elsewhere, though, she saw faint scars. He bent over and rubbed the towel down his legs, muscled thighs finely dusted with dark hair. After wiping down the mirror above the sink, he wrapped the towel around his waist and started shaving.

Of course, she wasn’t doing a bit of lathering while watching him. The sight of him and the hot water beating on her back were an alluring combination. She forced herself to turn and continue. As much as she wanted to linger, she realized he had no intention of leaving her in there by herself, which meant he would have to wait for her. That he was obviously willing to do that, well, it just warmed her heart. That he wasn’t used to being around people made it all the more meaningful.

She turned off the water and blindly reached for the towel she’d hung on a hook. She yelped when she felt a hand instead of terry cloth. He was holding the towel for her.

“Oh, thanks.”

It felt strangely intimate, him standing so close when she was wet and naked. She dried off, wrapped herself in the towel, and stepped out. He was dressed in the clothes he’d thrown on after their river dip. She grabbed her razor and cream and sat on the bench, squirting some on her legs and lathering them up.

After cutting herself badly early on, she always paid one hundred percent attention to the task. That wasn’t easy with a sexy guy leaning against the sink watching her. She tried to ignore him, but that became impossible.

“Why are you watching me?” she asked as she rinsed the razor under the faucet.

“I’ve never seen a woman shave before. I’d think the knees would be tricky.”

“Not usually.” Of course, the blade nicked her, and blood poured out of the tiny cut.

He tore several paper towels from the dispenser and knelt down in front of her, pressing them against the cut.

“Can you heal yourself?” he asked.

“No, dangit.”

“It’s normal, you know, that people with abilities can’t use them for their own benefit.”

She met his gaze. “Does that mean my mother didn’t purposely set herself on fire?” Her heart felt heavy, as it always did when she thought of that horrid scene.