Grave Vengeance (14 page)

Gwen retrieved her revolver from her own bag and set out to check the perimeter. To her credit, she barely made any noise as she moved through the darkened forest. She emerged from the woods about fifteen minutes later and gave a nod to signal the okay.

“I used the last of my twine to set a trip line where the path narrows,” she said as she lowered herself to the ground. With her back to his front, she leaned against him and placed her revolver on her lap. “That should give us plenty of warning if anything comes along.”

Dmitri grunted in response. Closing his eyes, he focused on the heat of her body against his chest. It struck him then, with a bit of surprise, how far their relationship had come in such a short time. A week ago, he would have rather frozen than share body heat with the likes of her. Now he welcomed her warmth, and accepted her food, and sometimes—just sometimes—he wanted a little bit more.

It’s Gwen
, he kept reminding himself. His enemy. The woman who brought about his capture and confinement. The woman who ended his mortal life.

The woman whose lips he was dying to taste.

“How much longer do you think we’ll be stuck out here?” she asked on the heels of a yawn.

“I have no idea, Gwenya.”

Shivering, she rubbed her arms for warmth. “I’m tired of being cold. And I’m tired of being tired. And if I have to eat one more freaking apple, I think I’m going to lose my mind.”

Dmitri chuckled under his breath. They’d eaten apples for lunch. Apples for dinner. And with nothing else edible left in her bag, they’d eat apples for breakfast the next morning. “For once, we’re in agreement. It’s a shame you didn’t pack more Spam.” And it was a shame they couldn’t start a fire. But smoke and flames would give away their position if Pierce and his crew were nearby. He paused. “What’s the first thing you want to do when we get out of here?”

“I want a boiling-hot shower and a fresh change of clothes,” she answered without hesitation. “Then I want a pizza with ham and pepperoni. And then I want to sleep for two days straight.” With a sigh of longing, she twisted her torso to look back at him. “How about you?”

“I want . . .” What
did
he want? He inhaled deeply, and the smell of her invaded his senses, and he thought,
I want her
. His mouth watered, and he shook his head to clear the thought. “I want a tall glass of vodka and a plate of
blinchiki
.” Just thinking about food made his stomach growl.

The soft, husky sound of her laugh washed over him like a caress. “You’re going to be hard-pressed to find
blinchiki
in the back woods of Vermont.” She moistened her lips, her tongue darting out in a way that was sensual because she probably wasn’t aware of what it did to him.

In the dim light, he met her gaze, and his hunger deepened to a craving. If he didn’t find something to distract his mind soon, he’d end up doing something monumentally stupid. “In that case, I’ll make them myself.”

Her head cocked a little to one side. “You know how to cook?”

“Don’t sound so surprised.”

“I’m not, it’s just that—okay, I am surprised.” She flashed him a sheepish grin. “I’m having a hard time imagining you puttering around the kitchen.”

“And why is that so difficult?”

She lifted one shoulder in a casual shrug. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s because you’re just so . . . so . . .” She made a vague gesture with her hands.

“So what?”

With so little light, it was impossible to see if she was blushing. He’d give anything to find out for sure.

Gwen blew out an exasperated sigh. “You seem a little . . . big for the kitchen.”

“What, tall men can’t cook?” Yes, he was jerking her chain, but he couldn’t resist the temptation.

As expected, her eyes thinned. “You damn well know what I mean.”

He laughed. “Yes, Gwenya, I do. You’re not the first to make that assumption.” Actually, most people drew the same conclusion. Maybe it was due to his size, or his former profession, or the fact he didn’t let people get close enough to know him very well. But a man had to eat, and he didn’t care for takeout, and besides, only he knew his mother’s recipe for
blinchiki
.

Because he was tired, and because he couldn’t help himself, he bent his head down and brushed his lips against her hair. “Just remember,” he whispered into her ear, “big men have big appetites, and I am
starving
.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she said, her voice sounding a little shaky. She leaned forward as she stared out into the darkness. “I should check the perimeter again.”

“You checked it less than ten minutes ago. The trip wire will alert us to intruders. Stay.” Gently, he gripped her upper arms and nudged her back against his chest. His groin tightened at the feel of her body snug against his own. “With the night so cold, we should conserve our warmth.”

“Yeah, I know. You’re right.” She made a soft sound as she relaxed against him, and it was all he could do not to maul her like an animal. “Get some sleep, Dmitri. I’ll wake you at three.”

“You’ll wake me at two.”

A hint of mischief crept into her voice when she craned her neck to look back at him. “Are we repeating last night’s routine?”

“It sounds vaguely familiar.”

Her chest shook with silent laughter. Turning back around, she patted his knee. “All right, Red. I’ll wake you at two and you wake me at four.”

“I’ll wake you at five.”

“Deal.”

D
mitri let her sleep until six. When she checked her watch, she rolled her eyes at him but didn’t say a word. With a yawn she stretched, and he relished each shift of her body against his.

Even though they were sick of them, they both ate two apples and tossed the cores in the dense underbrush. Like it or not, they needed the calories, and they were running short of alternatives. By six fifteen they were on their way, moving briskly over the mountainous terrain. The sky was gray with thick cloud cover that rumbled with the promise of bad weather. A chilling wind blew in from the north-west, making the air feel wet and raw.

The storm finally broke a little after ten, pelting their bodies with icy rain. Within an hour it turned to sleet, then hail, and then finally snow. Temperatures plunged to well below freezing, with a wind chill of God-knows-what.

It reminded Dmitri of that bitter winter in Stalingrad when the German tanks rolled through the streets. The freezing dampness crept into his bones and made his eardrums ache. Shoving his hands into his jeans pockets, he bowed his head against the wind.

He cast a glance in Gwen’s direction and felt a twinge of pity. The woman looked absolutely miserable. Her smaller size and lower muscle mass made her more susceptible to the elements. She shook so hard her teeth chattered, and yet she never uttered a word of complaint. That earned her points in his book.

She walked close beside him, her arms wrapped around her torso in a futile attempt to ward off the cold. The strap of her bag kept slipping down her shoulder, and it was taking longer and longer for her to shove it back in place.

“Let me carry that,” Dmitri said the next time it fell. To his surprise, she didn’t object when he grabbed the strap and hoisted it over his shoulder. “How are you holding up?”

When she looked up at him, her eyes appeared glassy and unfocused. “I—I’m okay,” she said, the words coming out soft and slurred.

Each degree drop in body temperature brought her closer to hypothermia. Her breathing was shallow, her face beet red, and her coordination got worse by the minute. If they didn’t find shelter soon, her entire body would shut down.

But with no signs of civilization in sight, they had no choice but to keep moving.

“Let me rest,” Gwen said, sounding exhausted, about twenty minutes later. She dropped to her knees in the snow beside a thick pine. She’d stopped shivering a short while before, a sure sign that her body had given up all hopes of staying warm.

“No rest.” Dmitri pulled her to standing. “Not until we find shelter.”

As soon as he let her go, she crumpled back to the ground.

“Leave me here,” she mumbled, barely coherent. A fine layer of snowflakes covered her hair. Eyes closed, she shook her head. “I can’t walk anymore.”

“You can and you will.” Abandoning her wasn’t an option. He couldn’t live with himself if she fell prey to wild animals, or if Pierce discovered her helpless and alone. Teeth gritted, he pulled her back up and propped her against the tree. He checked the pulse at her neck and found it weak and slow.
Shit.
“Come on, Gwenya. Don’t give up now. Just a little farther, and I’ll build you a nice, warm fire.”

The lie was enough to get her moving. Holding on to her arm, he kept her upright and walking for a short distance before her legs gave out from under her.

This time no amount of cajoling worked. Even worse, he felt his own body slowing, his thoughts becoming muddled. Fighting the confusion, he scooped her up and carried her in his arms. She felt so small, so fragile. Instinctively, she curled against him, as if seeking out what little bit of body heat he had left.

He trudged up a hill and down the other side, desperate to find some kind of shelter. A house, a cave—at this point he didn’t fucking care. Just any place warm enough to thaw their freezing bodies.

But all he saw were more trees, and his spirits sank. The snow came down heavier as the wind lashed their bodies. Refusing to give up, Dmitri ignored the cold, and the ache in his muscles, and the relentless pull of fatigue. The weight of Gwen in his arms and the bags on his back felt heavier with each passing step. He stumbled and fought to maintain his balance because if he fell, he knew he wouldn’t get up.
Just a little farther
, he repeated in his mind.
Just a little farther and you’ll find what you’re looking for.

For a minute, he forgot what he was looking for. He shook his head to clear his thoughts.

Perhaps a break wasn’t such a bad idea. Not too long, maybe a minute or two to rest his dry, cold, tired eyes.

As he walked past the trees and into a meadow, he spotted what looked like a cabin in the distance. He blinked. Blinked again. No, the snow wasn’t playing tricks on his eyes. It was an actual wood cabin in the middle of nowhere. From where he stood he couldn’t determine its size, but for all he cared it could be as small as a refrigerator box so long as it got them out of the cold.

The promise of shelter got his legs moving faster. With the last of his strength he crossed the wide-open field, ignoring the burning pain in his lungs from inhaling too much freezing air. He cursed when he tripped on the first step of the porch and crashed to his knees. By some miracle he managed not to drop Gwen.

Gently, he placed her down on the wood planks and propped her against the wall by the front window. He peered inside and saw no signs of activity, then tried the door and found it locked. Dumping their bags on the porch, he rooted through Gwen’s duffel until he located her set of lock picks.

Fingers numb, he fumbled with the tools. After what seemed like an hour the tumblers turned and the door swung open. He smiled, and his face felt like it was going to crack.

“Gwen.” He nudged her shoulder. No reaction. Her eyes were closed, and her chest wasn’t moving. Against the brown wood siding, she looked paler than death. In a panic, he checked her wrist. Barely beating, but a pulse was still there, and a wave of relief washed over him.

With a grunt, he picked her up and carried her inside. The cabin consisted of one large living area with what looked like a bedroom and bathroom to the left. A kitchenette occupied most of the space along the back wall, while a couch and recliner were angled in front of a large brick fireplace. And, thank goodness, there was a stack of wood beside the hearth.

Carefully, he set Gwen down on the floor in front of the fireplace. The temperature inside the cabin wasn’t much warmer than outside, but at least they were shielded from the wind. He snatched the crocheted afghan off the back of the couch and laid it over her body.

Eager for warmth, he moved to the fireplace. He opened the damper and piled a small stack of wood in the hearth. Thankfully, someone had left a lighter on the mantel. He lit a few pieces of tinder, lit them again when they burned out.

After three more tries, the fire caught. Flames licked up from the kindling, sending a wave of heat into the room. Closing his eyes, he held his hands in front of the fire, relishing the warmth against his frostbitten skin. As his fingers thawed he felt a painful burning, but after a few minutes the sensation subsided.

When he reached back for Gwen to pull her closer, her skin felt colder than marble.

“Remember that fire I promised,
zaika moya
?” He brushed a hand over her silky blond hair, and she made a soft mewling sound. It touched off a wave of aching tenderness inside him, so fierce it made his chest tight.

Refusing to acknowledge the punch of emotions, he stood and walked into the bedroom. Not much to see there, just a bed and a small dresser. He whipped the comforter off the bed, carried it into the main room, and draped it over Gwen. With the combination of heat and rest, she should recover in a matter of hours.

The thought of sleep made him yawn. He wasn’t much good to either one of them if he grew too tired to function. Mindful of Ziegler and his minions, he locked the front door and pulled the curtains over all of the windows. Outside, a strong gust whipped against the walls, making him grateful to be indoors. He stood in the dark, the fire in the hearth the only source of light.

Fatigue gnawed at his bones as he sat on the recliner and removed his boots and socks. Then he peeled off his sodden shirt and jeans and laid them across the seat back.

Should he remove her soaked clothes as well? Her body would certainly warm faster that way, but when she woke she’d probably be pissed.

Aw, fuck it. She’ll get over it eventually.
Kneeling beside her in nothing but his BVDs, he pulled back the covers and began undressing her. Careful not to jostle her, he stripped off the layers, leaving her in only her panties and T-shirt. At least this way she maintained most of her modesty.

Finished, he laid her back down, pausing for a few moments to admire her slender body. She really was quite beautiful. Full lips. High cheekbones. Long lines and lean muscles, with just enough curves to make his hands yearn to wander. Funny how he never noticed that before. Unable to resist, he brushed the backs of his knuckles across her cheek and down her throat.

She started to shiver, and it pleased him to see that her body’s heat regulation was trying to kick back into gear. With luck, she’d sleep for a good, long stretch while her body repaired the damaged caused by the elements.

When he slipped beneath the covers and stretched out beside her, the scent of her filled his lungs and invaded every pore. With her back to his chest, he wrapped an arm around her torso and nestled her close against him. Between the fire and his body heat, her core temperature would rise much faster. At least, that was how he justified it to himself.

Giving in to the pull of exhaustion, he closed his eyes and fell asleep to the sound of her breathing and the crackle of the fire.

 

A soft red glow filled Gwen’s vision when she woke.

Gradually, her eyes pulled into focus, and she recognized the glow as the flames from a fire. Her gaze darted about the room, but it was too dark to see much of anything. The last thing she remembered was freezing her ass off in the snow. Where was she? How did she get here? And when?

She didn’t need to look to know who was spooning her from behind. She knew his masculine scent all too well and had come to welcome its presence. With the fire in front of her, his strong arms around her, and his chest snug against her back, she was wrapped in a cocoon of warmth. It was bliss. What a difference a few hours made.

“Hmm,
zaika moya
,” his deep, husky voice murmured in her ear. His beard stubble scraped the side of her neck and sparked a delicious ache low in her belly.

“Dmitri?”

He said something in Russian too low for her to make out, then rubbed his lips against her throat. No way would he act like this if he were awake. But if he was dreaming, was he dreaming about her? It was the only possible explanation. Who else would he give that god-awful nickname to?

She twisted her neck so she could see him. Even in the faint flickering light of the fire, she could tell that he was out cold. Firelight glinted against his tousled black hair, his square jaw shadowed with stubble. His lips curled up—just a bit—at the corners, and in that moment he looked so ridiculously gorgeous her heart dropped down to her stomach.

Fighting against the pull of attraction, she shoved all thoughts of affection aside. This was crazy. It couldn’t work. Too much history stood between them. Besides, he’d made it perfectly clear he barely tolerated her existence. No way could he harbor those kinds of feelings for her.

Right?

But from what she remembered, he’d carried her through the blizzard when he could have easily left her behind. That had to stand for something. Perhaps he’d done it out of professional courtesy, one reaper helping another in need.

Only this didn’t feel like professional courtesy, especially with his hand against her bare belly. His fingers lightly stroked her skin. His lips went back to nuzzling her neck, and when his palm skimmed up to cup her breast, she felt a surge of hot, unrelenting need.

Oh, God.
If he kept this up, they’d both regret it in the morning. But part of her didn’t want him to stop. A big part, if she were being honest. She wanted his hands and mouth all over her body. Wanted to feel the pump of his hips as he thrust deep inside her. Wanted to know what kinds of sounds he made when he came.

No.
It wouldn’t be right if he weren’t awake and aware. If she allowed him to continue, she’d be no better than Williams.

Gwen opened her mouth to say something to rouse him, but a moan came out when his thumb brushed over her nipple.

Every muscle in his body tensed before he went perfectly still. He stayed that way for over a minute. Then slowly, his hand slipped away from her breast, and his mouth moved away from her neck.

“Dmitri?”

No answer, but the rhythm of his breathing had changed.

“Dmitri, I know you’re awake.”

He let out a pained sound. “What?”

She shifted around to face him. He stared down at her, his face giving away nothing in the dying light of the fire.

“How long have I been out?” With the curtains drawn, it was impossible to tell if it was night or day.

“Not long, about four or five hours. How do you feel?”

“I’m okay, but my nose and ears are prickly.”

“That’s the frostbite. It should go away soon.”

“Oh.” She thought about the way he’d carried her through the storm, so determined to find a safe harbor. “Thank you. For everything.”

His forehead crinkled as if puzzled by her gratitude. “Nothing to thank me for. I was just doing my job.”

“That’s not true and you know it. You could have left me to freeze like I told you to. It’s not like I would have died.”