Falcon: A Dark Romance (Blood for Blood Book 1)

by Logan Fox

  More yells. The violent patter of automatic gunfire. Screams.

  * * *

  Finn heard a splash, but before he could leap after Cora, a hand caught hold of his collar and jerked him back. He landed on his back, sliding a foot down the incline before coming to rest against someone’s legs.

  He stared into the muzzle of an AK-47 pointed unceremoniously at his head.

  “Don’t move,” the man said.

  “Like fuck.” Finn jerked up, slapped the AK away, and drove his fist into the man’s groin. He went down like a felled tree. Finn managed to grab the AK before they both slid away down the hill. Someone shot at him, but the shot went wild, and the bullet lodged in a nearby tree.

  Finn got the AK up. He squeezed the trigger and took out one of the men following. The second took cover behind a tree. Finn held down the trigger, walking backward until the weapon stopped roaring.

  He tossed down the useless weapon and scrambled up the last few feet to the ridge. Paused for the second it took him to scan the length of the Rio Grande. Cora bobbed, fighting the current from her position in the middle of the wide river.

  Fighting, but not winning.

  * * *

  Cora swam hard and fast as she could. Battling against the current. Trying to make it to the river bank. It was so close — two yards, maybe less — but it could have been a mile away.

  The river sucked at her, as inexorable as gravity.

  It felt like trying to swim in a leaden scuba suit. The water became thick soup. Then wet concrete. Fire in her shoulders and legs. It was good, that fire, despite how much it burned. It told her she was still alive. As long as her muscles burned and ached, she knew she could still feel.

  The urge to just stop swimming, to just let it take her and be done, was strong.

  Then she heard Finn calling her name.

  But she had nothing left. She’d given everything. She kept waiting for another surge of adrenalin. Another push from her desperate body.

  Waiting on a miracle.

  She wasn’t surprised when it didn’t come. Her life lacked miracles and second chances. She got only one chance at anything, ever. There were no more cards in her deck. It was fold or call, and her opponent didn’t have a face. There was no way to tell if it was bluffing or not. She had precious few chips left, and this game had just gone on too long. She swung her arm out, stretching for the shore, grasping for it.

  Her hand slithered over a dome of smooth rock. Instinctively, she tried to grab it. She scrabbled for purchase, found none. The rock disappeared, leaving her in dirty brown water that tasted too sweet.

  Movement caught her eye. A shadow, plummeting from the ridge. Long and thin, too small to be anything significant.

  Finn.

  Her heart squeezed. They’d killed him. They’d shot him and tossed him over the side so they wouldn’t have to bother with disposing his body.

  But that wasn’t a free fall. Finn had his arms out in front of him.

  A dive.

  He was coming after her.

  A flicker of pain from her shoulders and thighs.

  And she was still alive.

  She was alive.

  Cora gritted her teeth and forced her legs to start kicking. Dragged at the water with cupped hands cramping with the demand.

  Holding her own against the inexorable flow of water, but barely. Perhaps Santa Muerte had become impatient for her payment, and she’d decided Cora’s drowned body would do nicely as recompense for the help she’d offered.

  “Cora!”

  She kicked, but feebly now. It took everything she had to keep her head above the water. And still it would lick her face and shoot up her nose, trying to drown her as hard as she fought it.

  “Cora!”

  Finn. She couldn’t hear the word, despite how she yelled it in her head.

  Her legs gave out. Then her arms. The water grabbed her with greedy, invisible hands and pulled her down. Wet, noisy darkness filled with bubbles and tentacled monsters caressing her feet and arms. A light, flickering, fading. Her body burned with an internal fire.

  Not because she was alive.

  But because she was dying.

  The Rio Grande barely moved down here. It was calm and silent and almost cathedral-like in its beauty.

  She sank to the bottom of the river. Furry weeds brushed her hips. Slimy. Soft. Dancing gracefully for her as they closed over her. An air bubble shimmered up to the surface.

  Had that been the last air in her lungs? Pain surged through her. Pounding against her lungs. But it was distant too. Her body twitched. Then jerked. Smaller bubbles rose, snatched from her hair and her clothes. She convulsed violently, instantly soothed by those reaching fronds.

  And then nothing but brown air she couldn’t breathe and a bed of weeds to cushion her dead body.

  39

  Come Back to Me

  Finn swam with the current. Then he didn’t need to swim at all; it was all he could do to keep his head up. He’d seen Cora for a brief second, black hair plastered over her head, and then she’d disappeared. He took a breath and dipped into the water. It was impossible to see anything in the brown water. He came up for air gasped like a fresh-caught fish when he broke the surface. He swung around, paddling furiously.

  Where was she?

  “Cora!” He swung around. Nothing.

  He dove down, eyes burning as they scanned the water. Finn broke the surface, hauled air into his lungs, and went down again. Water roared in his ears when he came back up. He swiped his hands over his eyes. “Cora!” his yell was furious, panicked, terrified. “Cora!”

  But there was nothing except him and the water.

  His lungs ached, but he forced another breath into them until they pained even more, and went down again. Something beckoned him from that murky abyss. A slim hand, waving at him from a forest of bristle-brush weeds. Limp and delicate, like a lily. Finn snagged her wrist and kicked hard to the surface.

  She was too light. Like she’d lost something — her soul — and it had been what kept her body on the ground when she walked.

  He didn’t look at her. He knew if he did and her eyes were closed, and her mouth hung open, that he might just lose all motor function. So he grappled with her until he had his arm around her throat and kicked for the shore.

  It took too long.

  Dragging her out was too difficult.

  She was too heavy.

  His chest too tight.

  He couldn’t breathe, looking down at her slack face as water dribbled from her nose and mouth.

  He twined his fingers and slammed the heel of his hands into her breastbone. Water spilled from her mouth. He pumped his arms, leaning into her, willing ever drop of water to ooze from her.

  “Come on, Cora.”

  She shifted as he pushed onto her breastbone, but those pale lids didn’t flicker. Those blue-tinged lips didn’t move.

  “Come on!” His heart raced a thousand miles an hour. “You don’t get to do this,” he yelled, the words burning his throat. “You don’t get to take the easy way out.” He lifted her head, tipped her head to the side.

  No more water came out.

  He dropped her again, threw a quick look around.

  Both banks of the Rio Grande were empty. No men in black. But they could be coming up through the smattering of trees, keeping behind cover until they’d come right up behind him.

  He couldn’t stay out here.

  Finn grabbed Cora’s limp body and tossed it over his shoulder. He stumbled, barely catching himself on the ground before tumbling forward. He was too weak. His legs had no strength in them.

  His jaw ached when he bared his teeth at the world.

  Fuck.You.

  The thought was a furious battle cry. He got one leg under him. Then the next. Took a staggering step forward. Then another. Another.

  One in front of the other, until the trees spread cool shadows on his wet skin and made him shiver.

 
A minute later, his legs caved in. He could go no further. Cora flopped to the ground beside him without complaint.

  Probably because she was dead.

  Why did you bring a dead girl with you? Dead body. Dead weight.

  He howled, muffling the sound in her wet hair.

  But his beast was right. He should have left her out there. He’d have been long gone without her.

  Leave her. She’s no use—

  He turned her onto her back, willing his beast’s caustic hiss from his mind. She’d never have left him behind. She’d never have given up on him. She’d be down here, giving him CPR until those black-clad men grabbed her arms and hauled her away.

  Because she was an angel. A fucking angel.

  He slammed the heels of his hands into her breastbone.

  “You come back!” he yelled, not caring if his words carried or not. “You fucking come back to me.”

  There was warmth on his cheeks. A coldness in his chest. Both spreading, as if the one was trying to cancel out the other.

  “You come back to me.” The anger had left his voice. Frustration faded, too. “Please, Cora.”

  He grabbed her jaw, held her nose closed with shaking fingers.

  Her lips were those of a dead person. Cold. Wet. Unmoving. He emptied his lungs into her. Again. Again.

  Urged her heart to start beating with his hands on her breastbone. Watching her face. Watching her eyes.

  “Please, Cora.” His voice shook as hard as his arms now. A shiver clicked his teeth together.

  “I’m here. You can touch me.” He slapped her cheek, forced air into her lungs again.

  Nothing.

  “Please, baby. Don’t go.”

  Her lips were so cold.

  “I need you.”

  Her body so still.

  “Come back to me.”

  He breathed into her, trying to will his life force through those blue lips.

  “I need you, Cora.” Whispered words even a living person wouldn’t be able to hear. “Please, baby. I need you.”

  40

  Cold as a Corpse

  Cora’s heart tapped a slow, hard drumbeat. The smell of hay and Finn filled her nose. His lips snatched her mouth, his hips pushing hard against her, urging her onto her back. She let him, twining her hands in his hair as she struggled to focus on their kiss.

  Below, a horse whinnied quietly. Moonlight or Starlight moving around in their stalls.

  Her body tingled in response to the lips moving so masterfully against hers. She moaned into Finn’s mouth, squeezing her legs together to stem the thumping pleasure spreading between them.

  He twisted open her button and tugged down her zip in one, smooth motion.

  Another sound below. This closer to the hayloft.

  She jerked, breaking off their kiss. Finn’s hand disappeared into her jeans, touching her.

  “Wait!” she whispered, grabbing hold of his wrist.

  “I’m here. You can touch me,” Finn murmured into her ear, one of his fingers sliding inside her.

  Her world shattered for a blissful moment.

  Another sound. Boots on floorboards.

  Heat flashed over Cora’s skin. She yanked Finn’s hand from her jeans, her heart squeezing painfully in her chest.

  A loud creak. Someone coming up the ladder.

  Shit, shit, shit.

  Her fingers trembled as she pushed Finn away, but it was too late.

  A shadow loomed over her, growing darker and darker as it solidified into the shape of a man. She’d expected her father or Noah…But it was him. The English man.

  Brown hair, brown eyes. As nondescript as a mouse.

  As terrifying as a lion.

  “I’m watching you, Eleodora,” the man said in his softly slurring voice. “Soon…soon I’ll have you by my side.”

  Her heart thumped, thumped, thumped against her breastbone. Finn’s hand slid into her jeans again, stroking her harder, sliding two fingers inside her. Her body clenched him, keeping him inside.

  The English man came to one knee and reached for her with his twisted hand.

  Cora wanted to scream. Tried to scream. But, sometimes, nightmares wouldn’t let you scream.

  * * *

  She woke with her heart thundering in her chest, her skin vibrating with its pulse. Hay and the smell of horses filled her nose. And Finn. She jerked, pushing herself onto her elbows.

  But the English man wasn’t looming over her. His twisted hand was no longer reaching for her, insistent on corrupting her with its plague.

  She was naked, itching with hay, warm.

  And alive. Despite having gone over a waterfall.

  Santa Muerte.

  Her heart squeezed in her chest. She fumbled around her neck, found the necklace still in place, and folded her fingers over it. Had the thumb-drive inside her pendant survived her swim?

  “Cora.”

  She turned, staring at Finn with wide eyes. He searched her face as if he was drinking in the sight of her.

  “Finn? How—”

  He drew a massive breath and reached for her. Drew her against his bare chest. Pulled her down into the hay again.

  Just another dream? She blinked furiously, trying to fill the blank her mind had become. But it was impossible, pushing past threads of the nightmare. It clung to her like a dirty spider web, tangling in her hair.

  “Where—”

  “We’re safe, for now.”

  He had her tight against him. He wore just his trunks; where their flesh met, heat blossomed. She closed her eyes and snuggled against him, letting out a deep sigh as sleep took her again.

  * * *

  Finn woke when dawn crept inside the barn and painted gold over everything. He ran his fingertips down Cora’s face. He probably shouldn’t wake her again, but they couldn’t stay here much longer. Someone would be coming to the barn to take their cows out to pasture.

  Thank God her skin had warmed. Every time he’d touched her since dragging her into this barn, her skin had seemed just as cold as before. It was like her body still drifted in icy water.

  How long he’d given her CPR, he didn’t know. It had felt like hours — logically, couldn’t have been more than a few minutes — but when he’d crashed down over her, too tired to carry on, too weak to try to get himself to safety… she’d coughed.

  He’d bundled her up and carried her away. Walked until he couldn’t feel his legs anymore, and then walked some more.

  Eventually, he’d seen the peaked roof a barn. Full night had fallen by then — no one had seen them slip inside.

  He wouldn’t have been able to do anything if they had.

  Exhausted, he’d barely had enough energy to get them both up the ladder into the hayloft, strip them of their wet clothes, and bundle hay around them before falling into a deep, dreamless sleep.

  Now he couldn’t stop touching her.

  Her eyes flickered open. There was life in them, but faint. Nothing like the enthusiastic gleam he’d been expecting. She didn’t look like she’d drowned and been resurrected. More as if she’d just woken up from a too-long nap — eyes a little shadowed, a crease embedded in her cheek.

  He reached for her, smoothed a thumb over the crease. She started at the touch, eyes wide.

  Of course; she hadn’t heard the things he’d told her the forest. She’d been dead at the time. He drew away his hand, feeling like he’d invaded her personal space. Realized he was holding her against him, and shifted back.

  “What happened?” she asked, her voice rough.

  “You went under. Almost drowned.”

  It was better than telling someone they had drowned. Who wanted to know shit like that? It would mean there was nothing else but this world. People preferred living in denial.

  “I don’t remember…” she trailed off, scanning their hayloft as the morning sun painted it yellow. “Just the farmhouse.”

  Pity. It would have been better if she hadn’t remembered anything.
The man. What he’d done. What he’d wanted to do.

  Finn had tried to forget it. He couldn’t.

  “How do you feel?”

  She bowed her head, considering. Her eyes flickered over the hay that barely covered her. Finn reached behind him, taking down her clothes from where he’d hung it over the hayloft’s edge to dry. They were still damp in some places. Cora sat up, bundling the clothes to her chest.

  “I had to…” he broke off, cleared his throat. “You were soaked through. We both were. This was the only thing—”

  “Thank you.” Her quiet voice did a surprisingly good job of cutting him off.

  He nodded, cleared his throat again. “Can you stand? We have to leave—”

  “Finn.” She caught hold of his arm, urged his arm down.

  He looked up at her, gaze snagging on her eyes. Her fingertips were still cold. He wrapped her hand in his, squeezing it, willing warmth into her flesh like he had air into her lungs. She closed her eyes, swallowed, looked at him again.

  “You’re so warm.” A smile arrived, but it was fleeting and never touched her eyes.

  Nothing touched those eyes. He wanted to see them shine with laughter. Even tears. Anything but this. This dullness that spoke of recurring memories flashing through her mind.

  She remembers what the man in the farmhouse did to her.

  No. He didn’t deserve another second of Cora’s life. He’d already stolen so much.

  She made a soft sound when he grabbed her hips and pulled her close. Soft, but not in protest. She was stiff at first, but then melted against him, wrapped her legs around his, latched on like a barnacle.

  He closed his eyes and held her against him, breathing in the sweet smell of her with his nose against her hair.

  It was almost enough.

  41

  His Mistake

  Cora writhed against Finn, trying to press every inch of her cold body against him. It was delicious, the heat he radiated. She wanted more, all of it, for him to envelop her. For long seconds, he just held her. Tight, but as if he would never move again. And her eyes became heavy. Her breathing long. She nearly slipped away again. But then he began stroking her hair.