by Jaime Rush
He extracted a knife from under his long shirt in one quick movement and handed it to her, handle out. She grabbed the smooth black handle, watching the two dogs moving closer. Panic warred with adrenaline, twisting her insides tight. But something else surged through her: anger. That’s where you’ll find your strength. Draw from that.
“What have I ever done to deserve being a target? Nothing. I’m sick and tired of these sons of bitches.” She held the knife out, facing what she thought was the real dog. All she had to do was fend him off until Cheveyo could get rid of Yurek. “I’ve got this one. I do know what I’m dealing with now, so go, do your thing. You can fight a lot better as a cat.”
She felt his heat and vibration as he morphed to jaguar. He leaped at Yurek, and the two creatures rolled into the cover of underbrush. She narrowed her eyes at the dog, her expression in a snarl. She swore it smiled, lifting its lips a little more, a long string of drool spilling to the ground. Fear stirred deep in her bones. It wanted to kill her. Hungered for it. It took a step closer. She fought the urge to step back. Show it you’re not afraid. She gripped the knife harder, feeling it slip with her sweat.
Sounds of clacking teeth and growls tore through the air. A cat flew out from the brush toward her. She froze. It’s only Cheveyo. Except its claws were extended, its enormous paw lifting as though to take a swipe of her.
Another black jaguar launched. Yurek had taken the jaguar form. She thrust the knife forward. Cheveyo slammed into Yurek a second before he’d reach her, and the two tumbled to the side with a thud.
The hell dog took advantage of her distraction and leaped at her. She couldn’t bring the knife around fast enough. It knocked her to the ground and landed on top of her. The knife slipped from her hand. The beast had to weigh at least a hundred fifty pounds. It crushed her against the hard ground, dripping saliva onto her throat, blunt claws jammed into her chest.
The smell of moldering leaves and earth filled her nostrils. And the smell Cheveyo had mentioned, an oily musk. The Glouk’s eyes fired a brighter red as it lowered its mouth to her. Teeth, that’s all she saw, sharp tips gleaming.
Wild cat growls behind her scrabbled up her spine.
Her fingers blindly groped for the knife. Can’t reach it.
No!
She rammed her knee up into Baal’s rear end, pushing it forward and off balance. It fell to the side as she rolled to her behind. Before it could regain its balance, she kicked it in the fleshy area beneath the rib cage. She kept kicking, her leg seemingly stuck in the pattern. Baal made a gurgling sound. Just when she thought she’d disabled it, it grabbed her foot and jerked her forward. She pitched forward as it reached for her with its paw, rolling out of its grasp.
She grabbed the knife, feeling dirt jam beneath her nails. The Glouk was the center of her focus, all she could see. It crept closer and she swiped; it backed up just far enough to avoid the blade and then lunged at her. She stumbled back a step and lashed at it. Missed. It was quick, a natural predator. She was a former Hooters waitress-turned-facial technician in training. Yeah, even odds.
It doesn’t matter. You’re going to fight and fight.
The river roared behind her, cool air washing across her back. Her shoes sank into the dampened ground, making it harder to keep her balance. She didn’t dare a glance to see exactly how close she was.
Behind the Glouk, one jaguar slammed another into the trunk of a tree. It leaped toward her, no, toward the dog. Cheveyo. His claws were extended, catching the dog’s ear as the other cat, Yurek, hit him mid-leap. That threw Cheveyo into her, and she fell backward. For one second she whirled her arms, trying to right herself. She fell back anyway.
Ice cold water rushed up around her, sucking away her breath. She was rolling, spinning. No, she was rocketing downstream. A jaguar, a few feet from her, morphed back to man. Cheveyo reached for her hand, crushing her fingers with his grip. He pulled her toward him, against the current.
“Dammit,” he muttered as they hit a rock just beneath the surface. He nearly lost his hold on her. She grabbed at him, clutching his arm as they rammed into another rock. It sent them spinning. He fastened his hand on her even tighter and looked back. Just a glimpse of dog and jaguar running along the river’s edge.
“Glouks don’t like water,” he said just before a spray of water hit him in the face.
“Yurek’s not coming in either.”
“He’s not going to take a chance of getting in this without knowing what his cat body can do.”
He pulled them out of the path of a boulder that jutted out of the river. Eddies swirled around them, water spraying over rocks, getting in her eyes. With effort, they could steer clear of the visible rocks; the ones beneath the water were brutal on her body. The numbing cold helped, though.
“W-We have to g-get out of here. It’s c-c-cold!” It was getting harder to hold onto him with her numb fingers.
“We’ll swim to the other side and climb out over there.”
Fat chance of that. The current took them where it would, following where the water was squeezed into one fast stream between the rocks.
The dog was keeping pace with them. Suddenly it sprinted ahead. She saw where it was headed: an outcropping of rock that would put it near where they would flow by. It studied the rocks, probably searching for a path closer to them. One flat rock put it even closer. Its haunches tightened, ready to lunge. She and Cheveyo tried to swim to the other side, fighting the current. Fighting fatigue and pain. God, her body ached.
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.
&n
bsp; 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.”
Yurek 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
She would be the death of him. Of them. Even though Cheveyo had taken the blame, his words prickled across Petra’s skin.
