by Zoe Forward
Get out of the river. Between him and shore rested at least ten feet of water and rocks. His best option was to propel off this rock in the direction of the muddy bank. A few deep preparatory breaths shot pain through his bruised ribs. What he was about to do might hurt far worse than a few bruises.
He pushed into a giant leap-jump, landing with one hand on the bank. His stomach and hips bounced off sharp rocky edges. Pain fired through every cell in his body. The agony blindsided him. He remained frozen in stunned pain until his single-fisted clutch on the muddy shore slipped. With both hands he grasped at the muddy bank, sliding several yards in a losing fight against the current until he hooked a root.
After long minutes of dragging himself up the steep embankment and out of the water, he lay still in the soupy mud. Rain pelted him. He longed to lie there, cheek to mud, for maybe an hour or two, but he couldn’t rest now. Jen. Had to get to Jen.
With his head spinning, he kicked his ass into gear. He rose on shaky legs and stumbled against a tree. Time to take inventory. Machete still in place. Backpack long gone. Nothing bleeding. Ribs…in bad shape.
He backtracked, hacking through dense foliage in the upstream direction along the riverbank.
After what felt like hours, but probably represented far less time, he spied a green-and-khaki lump perched on a rock fifty yards away. Jen. Thank the gods. The tightness in his shoulders lessened. He hacked through the dense foliage separating him from her.
He yelled, “How was your ride?”
Jen scooted around to face him. He’d expected she’d run his way, not just stare at him. He squinted through the low light and leaves. A dark bruise covered the left side of her forehead with a central laceration. Shit. “What happened?” He took a few steps, searching for the best path to get to her.
Her mouth opened, and he thought she tried to yell something, but her voice barely reached him. She held her hands up as if warning him to stop.
He wished he had the ability to transport himself as he whacked at a thorny bush in his way. Acid burned the back of his throat. He had to get to her, see the extent of her injuries.
The noxious chill of evil washed over him. Powerful magic.
Scanning the area, he finally saw why she hadn’t run to him. He hacked through a few more leaves until he had a clear path to her.
An adult crocodile poked its snout out of the brush near Jen’s rock. Its eyes glittered with an intelligence uncharacteristic for the species.
Instinct roared to life. He oriented himself to his immediate surroundings. The river. The dampness and humidity. The trees. The rocks. The two women. He cataloged his injuries to know his weaknesses.
“Did it do that to your head?” he yelled.
“No. The river. The croc won’t let me off this rock,” she shouted. At least this time he could hear her.
Gripping the machete, he assessed the crocodile—distance to target, angles, percentages. He could ask Shannon to keep the camera off and tell Jen to pop away. But that risked being filmed if there were hidden cameras. Bad plan.
If he attacked the croc, he’d probably die. Still, attack remained the only workable plan. He had the subtle reassurance that he lived until the vision of his and Jen’s threat played out. That didn’t mean he wasn’t fatally injured before the event in his vision happened.
Before he took that trip to the other side, he’d ensure Jen’s safety. Once he died then she’d be off the show, and back in the protective care of her druids. The necromancer wouldn’t care about her then. No potential for a child.
He wondered if this was all part of the necromancer’s sick plan to keep them doing what she wanted.
Time to die.
The risk of death wasn’t new to him. And didn’t frighten him.
He’d get one chance. His aim had to be perfect.
“Don’t,” Jen yelled.
For an instant his gaze flickered to hers. Sorrow for missed future moments pained him. But emotion had no place in what he needed to do. “One of us is going to die. I’d prefer it be the croc. Stay still.”
He signaled for Shannon to remain well out of the crocodile’s range in the tree.
All his focus centered onto the animal. He felt the stillness in him take over—the trained operative. No emotion. Fully trained to attack and kill, when required. His vision tunneled until he only saw his target. There could be no mistakes, no mess-ups, not with Jen’s life at stake.
Then he began a cautious tread toward the crocodile. These animals were faster than most people suspected. It lunged toward him, quick and directed. He rocked away and jumped. With a midair twist he landed full-body on top of the creature, lodging his machete deep into its neck behind its head. His cheek kissed the smelly brown hide.
The croc tensed. It planned to run for the water and roll him.
Shit.
He wrapped his arms around its thick neck. The croc sprang off its hind limbs, plunging them into the murky depths of the river.
…
He attacked the crocodile?
Jen jumped off the rock and searched the turbulent water. No sign of anything. He didn’t bob to the surface, but neither did the crocodile.
“Holy shit,” Shannon muttered as she shuffled next to her, camera on the water.
Her mind replayed the unreal images of Nikolai attacking the crocodile.
She stared, transfixed, at the rushing water. Nothing. No blood. Of course, the water’s current moved fast, and based on experience, he’d probably been swept downstream. Not that she could stop staring at the spot he’d disappeared.
Screaming his name, she wanted to vomit. The roar of the rapids drowned out her voice.
What kind of man attacked a crocodile? To save her? She’d never conceived he could actually die during the show. Until now.
He seemed superhuman. Invincible. But now…she desperately evaluated every rock in the river for him.
Maybe she would run downstream and see if he needed help. She whirled around, but her head spun and throbbed. Whoa. No running for her right now.
She needed him, and not just for the show. This feeling was bigger than the game. She liked arguing with him, and how he retaliated when she pushed him a bit too far. That didn’t mean she checked the long-term destined-guy box next to his name. She just…
And that’s when she knew. She’d fallen for him.
Chapter Fifteen
“Goddamn it, I hate the jungle,” Nikolai boomed as he reentered the clearing. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been gone, but it felt like hours. Each breath shuttled pain through his body, now battered and bleeding from one too many rock hits. He closed his mind to the pain and fixated on the bruising and crusted blood covering Jen’s forehead.
She ran for him, jumped up, and wrapped her arms around his neck. Her thigh compressed against his injured side, almost knocking him over. He concentrated on not caving to the agony. He wanted her in his arms, needing the assurance she was okay. She buried her face in the hollow of his neck.
“It’s all right, Angel.” He carried her to a rock near the shore and sat, not wanting to release her, but he had to get her weight off his side.
“That was amazing…you jumped a freaking croc. I was so worried.” She punched his arm. “Why did you do that?”
He closed his eyes for a moment, allowing her voice to wash over his skin like the touch of her soft fingers. He was in bad shape to let her voice have such an effect on him.
“The croc’s gone.” Shannon moved around them with the camera. “This will be great for ratings.”
Jen pushed back from him but didn’t move out of his embrace. The brilliance of her smile shot his oh-shit meter to maximum.
Jennifer Marcos was in love with him. For real. He wanted it. So much. But not now, damn it. Not when he was slated to die, and with her in danger.
Jen’s soft look, now broadcast to the world in full high def, would fuel Anaïs’s drive to capture her. To kill her. But only after they played
out whatever game she’d concocted.
This was his fault, dangling her like a lamb in front of the wolf.
“I’m just so unbelievably happy you’re back.” She smiled.
“That croc had no chance.” Images of the night before flashed through his mind. In the shower. In the kitchen. Against her bedroom wall. His body moving into hers as he took her without holding anything back. And what she’d wrung from him about his past. Something he’d never bared to anyone. Ever.
She’d given him everything last night. The brilliance of that smile and the glaze in her eyes…shit. The terrible knowledge of the meaning of that look and the assurance that the rest of the world saw her giving him that look, including one psychotic necromancer bitch, made his head hammer with instinct to hide her.
Maybe her look was just leftover adrenaline, the natural result of a near-death experience. Or maybe this was a surplus of lust after last night. They didn’t lack for an abundance of that.
“Nick?” she said, her voice soft. “I can’t believe you attacked it. What took you so long to get back here?”
“He wanted to take my machete with him to his grave.” His chest jerked at the softness in her eyes. Remorse rose up in him, bitter and powerful. He was stupid to have allowed her to put them at risk being on the show. Based on his vision, he would die, leaving her alone. When he did, he’d hurt her, possibly forever. That he regretted. He needed to put distance between them. Perhaps that would save her from too much heartache later.
She wiggled, unfortunately shuttling every bit of nonessential blood to his groin.
“Did you get the machete back?”
“Yes.” He smoothed the hair away from her head, desperate to clean the blood. And stared into her beautiful eyes, wishing he could articulate how sorry he was he couldn’t give her what she wanted right now. He wanted to tell her if he survived the next few days, he’d give her everything.
But they were on camera. That kind of dialogue about not getting too attached to him wouldn’t go over well with the audience.
He leaned in and whispered, “There’s only now. I’ll get you through this. Just focus on now. That look…shit, Angel. Just don’t go there.”
Shock skittered through her gaze. Her brilliance shattered. His chest hurt, and he wanted to yank the words back. Couldn’t stand that he’d put that look on her face.
He stroked her face with his knuckles and focused on the bloody bruise covering a large part of her forehead. “Does it hurt?”
“A bit.” Now there was an edge to her voice. Fury bloomed in her eyes.
There was little point in reassuring her about a future together, when in the end he expected to die very soon.
Shannon grunted loudly behind them.
Jen shifted to look around him and check on Shannon, who had tripped on a rock. He winced when Jen leaned hard against his injured side.
“Did you get hurt, Nick?” She scooted out of his arms. “Oh my God. You’re bleeding.”
He waved a hand over his bloody side. “It tried to make me into lunch. I avoided getting chomped, but I landed against something sharp underwater.” He pressed around the edges of the bleeding area. “I don’t think I broke a rib. Who knows?”
“Let’s see.” She unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it off him. A long laceration ran vertically down his side, weeping blood. “That looks bad…really bad.”
“It is what it is.” He yanked the shirt closed and hastily jabbed buttons through the holes. “We need to get you cleaned up. The blood is bothering me.” He wiped blood off her forehead.
She brushed his hand away from her head. “Mine is a flesh wound. It’s nothing, while you’re bleeding out.”
“I’m fine. Can you please clean away the blood?”
“Really? You might have broken something important, or you’re bleeding internally, and you want me to clean up?”
He nodded. “Humor me.”
She slid off the rock and used river water to clean her face. Then turned back to him. “Let’s get you bandaged with…well, I have no clue what with.”
“We’ve got to get moving if we have any hope of making it to wherever the hell we’re going. I suppose it’s too much to assume you saved your backpack.” Exhaustion washed over him. He desperately needed sleep, not slashing through rain forest for another five or six hours.
“No. I’m sorry.”
“Then we’ll go by memory.”
Chapter Sixteen
Sweat dribbled into Jen’s eyes for the bajillionth time. She swiped her forehead and tucked sticky hair behind her ears. “Are you sure this is the right way? Feels like we’re walking circles.” She hadn’t meant for that to come out as bitchy as it sounded.
Nikolai turned back, his face etched with concentration. “We’re going toward the mountains. The right way. You doing okay?” His voice came out a husky rumble that made her ache to be held by him again, even if she was pissed he planned short-term only for them.
His thumb brushed her cheek. Her body reacted instantly with a flurry of tingles. Then as if he realized he’d done something he hadn’t intended, he dropped his hand. His small touch indicated a deeper connection, something he obviously didn’t want. And would fight to deny.He has feelings for you. He wants you as much as you want him. Her heart turned over. But it fluttered with uncertainty. He might walk away after this. She couldn’t. She had to fight for them or have no future. How ironic she’d started this game under the same precept.
She looked down at her toes. “I don’t know how much farther I can go in these busted shoes. My feet are a mess.”
He pointed to a nearby rock. “Sit. Let me take a look.”
She didn’t move to do as he directed. “I’ll be fine, if it’s not much longer.” She whispered to him, “What about the meeting? Do we make it there?”
“We’ll make it to the meeting.”
His confidence washed relief over her. She wanted him to tell her not to worry. That whatever threat hovered over them would pass without harming either of them. That they’d both survive. She wanted details. The longer she trudged in this jungle, the more she realized her blind trust extended only so far. He knew more than he shared about the people who tried to capture them. Why didn’t he trust her enough to tell her?
“What about after the meeting?” She held her breath, waiting for his assertion everything would be fine.
His lips thinned. The danger would come after the meeting.
She squared her shoulders and swallowed the heartache and fear in her throat. “Great. How are you doing with your side?”
“Fine. If you need a break, then let me look at your feet. I’m sure we can find some way to bandage them, or you can make a poultice or something.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll live, apparently.”
Concern wrinkles creased his forehead. “I don’t want you having any sort of long-term damage.”
“Now you’re worried about the long-term?” Hours of frustration crested.
“We’re not doing this right now,” he warned.
“Yes. We are. I’m hot. I’m filthy. And I’m tired of these frigging insects.” She batted at the flying irritations around her head. “My feet feel like megablisters that someone poured alcohol on. And I’m wearing an outfit that not only makes my style sense cringe, but it’s rubbing me raw. This is the best time to discuss our future because right now, I need certainty on something.”
Nikolai’s gaze darted meaningfully toward Shannon and the camera. He wanted to put distance between them using the camera. She needed to close that distance at a sprint or she might just lose him and any chance at a life together.
He threw her a fake smile, his camera smile. Cold trailed down her spine.
He asked, “Feeling a little neglected, are you, Angel? It has been far too long since we…I agree.”
Red hazed her vision. She gritted her teeth and stepped close to him. “You know what, Mr. Commitment-phobe, at the end of this show I will find
someone else for that. Someone who doesn’t run like a little girl with his hands waving in the air screaming like a three-year old whenever I mention the future.”
…
Over his dead body some other man would be touching her. Nikolai’s hands trembled at the thought of another man so much as looking at her naked body. White-hot fury rolled through him, threatening a supernova explosion. He could withstand some pretty rough shit and keep coolheaded. Nothing shook his calm, the detachment that kept him alive, except for this infuriating witch.
Emotions and attachment—two words that would get her killed. Right now he had both writing a homicidal symphony in his brain. “You will not be finding someone else,” he ground out, teeth gritted.
“Oh? So now long-term matters to you? Now you care?” She cocked her head in pissed-off, calculated challenge.
He smacked his hand against the trunk of a tree as if that could jolt the emotional volcano in his brain back under control. His gaze shifted to glance down her body, processing the far-too-erotic way her breasts heaved up and down. The perfect flare of her hips and the graceful line of her neck to her chin. She couldn’t help the way she was put together, or the way his body came alive any time he allowed himself to actually see her.
He wished all he wanted was one more night, and then they’d be done. It’d be safer for her to not be involved in his life. But what simmered between them had been destined to progress far beyond sex from the second they touched. He wanted to make love to her—hard, fast, slow, easy, complicated—now and every day. He wanted to know every intimate detail of her body and how she’d respond to the ways he planned to touch her. He needed to figure out her likes, to learn what made her laugh. And he planned to tie her to him to ensure she’d never let go.
Oh, hell. He was in love with her. So much for not bonding. It was a done deal.
She was his. Period.
“I’m not going to kiss you,” he said, shattering the tension between them. “You’re pushing me into making an ass of myself by losing it again and almost fucking you on camera. If you want to be an exhibitionist and get it on, then give me the green light. They can edit out what’s too far for television. It would replay forever as a show top-ten moment. On the upside, it might get us kicked off.”
