by Nya Rawlyns
Caitlin ran her hands down the muscled chest, her fingers nesting briefly in the sprinkling of soft hair, and gently trailed over ribs and belly. She followed the line of hair leading to his now flaccid penis. His right hip was sticky with blood but she found no 61
open wounds or bullet holes that could account for the blood loss on the ledge, or on his hard body. Puzzled she gently moved his cock aside, shifting her body to allow light to flow over his lower body. The sight of the deep gash across the head and smaller nicks and cuts down its length made her gag. The main wound oozed pus and blood and even in the dim light it seemed angry and inflamed. She was no medic but surely the wound had to be infected.
She could not imagine a predator doing this kind of damage. This wound looked
like it had been inflicted by a psychopath in a blind rage. She had little knowledge of the male anatomy and had no clue if it were even possible to have the kind of blood loss indicated by the pool congealing on the ledge. However, it would account for him being unconscious and unresponsive.
She felt his brow and confirmed her suspicion. He was burning up. With no water
and no medical supplies, she was clueless how to deal with the situation. He trembled and shifted position. Caitlin carefully drew the blanket over his body then crawled over to the saddle pads and dragged them back to add to the thin wool cover. She made sure nothing heavy pressed on his cock.
Out of options, she made for the cave opening. The thought that someone else
might have caught the man unawares was almost incomprehensible. The man had
demonstrated such superior skills that she’d gone so far as to call him supernatural, a demon in truth, no matter how far-fetched that idea seemed. Nothing stretched her credulity anymore. But if it were another assailant, then what or who had it been?
Caitlin eased around the corner of the cave, listening for wing beats but nothing moved, the silence almost deafening in the absolute absence of sound. She could make out where the ground had been disturbed with scuffmarks clustered near the cave
mouth, then more marks in a line leading to the edge of the outcrop. A glint to her left caught her interest. She leaned down to examine the ground. His glasses lay next to a granite boulder, still intact. She picked them up and examined them, relieved to see they were undamaged.
She crept along the boulder’s face, following the line of displaced gravel, past the pool of blood, to the very lip of the ledge. Jagged bits of rock indicated a recent spalling away, leaving a freshly fractured surface that glinted in the cool moonlight. She looked over the ledge, pretty sure she knew what had occurred. The base of the rock fall lay cast in shadows. She would see nothing from that vantage point and there was no way she would risk slip-sliding down the mountainside to satisfy idle curiosity. She was quite sure it made no difference. Whoever it was, he, or it, was long since dead. She backed away, mesmerized by the possibilities and stepped on something that caused her bare foot to roll. She bent to pick it up; it was his stiletto, coated with a dark sticky substance—blood.
Caitlin admired the heft of the blade and wondered again who had dared to
follow them into this unforgiving wilderness. The indigenous peoples were supposedly too frightened to trespass on the predators’ nesting areas, and in any case, they had yet to make their own presence known to the local population. Stealth had been the name of the game since they’d arrived. The other option was a pursuer from her own world, and that thought had her gut clenching in fear. The man had told her little about the Portal but she’d gotten the impression that he, or his organization, had some sort of exclusive control over the access points. Someone may have changed the rules of the conflict.
Caitlin hustled back into the cave. The man still lay unconscious, his breathing 62
raspy and laboured. He looked younger somehow, vulnerable. She knelt beside him and brushed his matted hair away from his face. Her finger traced a path along the ridge of his prominent cheekbone, brushing the long lashes with a feather stroke. She hadn’t noticed before but his nose had a ridge, as if it had been broken at some time in the distant past. He had faint scar lines radiating out from his left eye socket. Strange, she’d not noticed that in the light. His full lips were dry and crusted like hers but she longed to taste him, to sample the salt and ease the cracked flesh with her own moisture. She ran her palm over the rough stubble, loving the prickly feel.
The nameless stranger shivered again and groaned. Caitlin slipped under the
blanket and pads and cradled his muscular body with her own thin frame. It was all she could do for him until daylight reappeared.
She had made a deal with the devil. She hoped to hell she’d made the right
decision.
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Chapter Ten
Trey cracked his eyelids. Daylight flooded the cave and the animals stirred
restlessly, snuffling the ground in search of morsels of grain. He felt like he’d been cocooned in a blast furnace. Sweat dripped into his eyes and off his nose. He couldn’t move his shoulders and his lower torso still ached.
He’d gone into stasis, a healing process he and a few others of his clan had
learned from their shaman. Only the ‘sensitives’ had entrée to the proper sequencing.
When others tried it, they merely slipped into hallucinogenic inner space. Trey
appreciated both aspects of that ride but recognized the dangers inherent in unrestricted access so he’d had blocks coded into the mantra. Only when no other routes for healing were available could he bypass the encoding. Apparently his body had chosen for him, as he had no recollection of how he’d ended up back in the cave, flat on his back on unforgiving ground.
He glanced over at the sleeping figure pinning him to the floor. Her tangled locks and his own matted hair intertwined in a sea of pinkish-tan polyps, waving in slow undulations every time he took a deep breath. The woman still breathed with shallow gasps through parched lips. He regretted he could do no more to ease the pain of her damaged ribcage.
With a grunt, he hoisted himself away from Caitlin’s thin form. He ran his tongue over his lips, perplexed at the sticky consistency and slightly sweet taste. With a start he realized she must have been moistening his mouth with the liquid from their last can of canned fruit. He scanned the cave floor and spied the open can near the saddles, well away from their bedding and any chance of knocking it over. The taste sent waves of hunger through his belly. He crawled over to the can, hoping to sample any dregs. His eyes widened in surprise as he saw all the fruit still present and only a small amount of liquid missing. She could have eaten the contents—he would have, had their roles been reversed.
Trey stared back at Caitlin. How in the worlds could anyone show such kindness?
Especially not after the way he’d belittled and punished, inflicting pain at every opportunity, tearing down her self-esteem to keep her off balance and completely dependent on him for their survival. He was not unaware of her attraction to him. Her eyes gave her away, softening when the lust and longing over-rode good sense. It was those times he needed to slap or pinch, to grapple and hurl her to the ground and drive the air from her lungs, anything to smash the conduit of energy that threatened to swamp him. Only when the bile and the sweet tang of hatred rose like a red haze in her eyes could he relax and deal with his tottering monument to self-control.
Even now, with his manhood only partially healed, the bruising ugly and sore to
the touch, he could barely restrain the rush of hot blood and desire. There was no understanding the link between them. She could not possibly comprehend how bizarre their situation was. He had no other word for it. She would only understand it as an attraction, and mercifully her ability to toggle from one emotion to another would save her from the crystalline-sharp ache that had become his every waking moment. He knew the inexplicable bond to be so much more than simple feelings.
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The woman moaned and turned over, leav
ing the thin blankets and saddle pads
bunched behind her back. Though the air rapidly warmed, there was enough of a chill that she shivered. Trey grabbed the can of fruit and stood unsteadily. The stasis demanded every ounce of energy for the healing process to succeed. He felt weak and disoriented, partially from his damnable eyesight putting everything into soft, fuzzy focus. He wondered where his glasses had gotten to and if they were still intact. If he lost them, they would be in deep shit for he’d not be able to see any danger until it was directly under his nose—and that would be far too late.
He wanted nothing more than to cradle her thin body and will her better, but his own needs to answer nature’s call dictated otherwise. Besides, he needed to scout the ledge and confirm that his brother’s body still rested at the bottom of the cliff. He set the can of fruit aside and drew the blanket over the woman. His hand encountered the worn denim of his jeans. He’d forgotten he wore no clothes, so high had his temperature soared. He gathered the pants and his cotton shirt and staggered outside.
It promised to be another searing hot day. This world oscillated between blast furnace temps when the sky cleared or dull chill when the frequent inversions cloaked air and lungs with stinging particulates. The only benefit to daylight was that you could see the predators coming when it was clear—and they didn’t fly when it wasn’t. The pterodactyl-like reptiles therefore preferred the extended moonrises for hunting prey.
That they had successfully avoided becoming meals was due mostly to vigilance and not a small amount of dumb luck. Last night he’d feared their luck had finally run out.
Trey gingerly pulled the jeans over his still-swollen cock. He would need to gather what few energy reserves remained and deal with the achiness. There was no way he’d parade naked in front of the woman and risk having lust kick-start her Seid powers.
Even skinny as a rail, weak and debilitated, if she wanted to, she could knock him into next moonrise. That thought made him smile. For some reason, a grappling match with a woman who could take him, mano-a-mano, appealed immensely.
Trey wondered why he thought of her as “the woman” now? Why couldn’t he use
her given name? At first, he’d rolled it on his tongue, savouring the click in the back of the throat, allowing the ‘aaay’ sound to vibrate and massage the roof of his mouth. It had been strangely sensual—it still was.
He slipped his shirt on but left it unbuttoned with the sleeves rolled up, all the while scanning the ground as best he could. The glasses seemed to have gone walkabout, probably over the side of the cliff. He paced to the edge and peered over, then cursed profusely as it occurred to him that he’d never be able to see that far without the spectacles.
For the briefest second, he thought about his brother, Bryn. They had been
inseparable, despite the difference in their ages, Bryn being nearly ten years older. Bryn changed once the rite of passage forever altered their relationship. From his defender and confidant, Bryn became his severest critic and harshest disciplinarian. Even their father had puzzled over the changes; but, as was the way with the warriors, everyone eventually accepted or ignored the new reality. What it did was, finally and forever, isolate him from the rest of his family. When the final break came, and he made the fateful decision to follow his uncle, the choice was easy and uncomplicated. He’d not looked back since.
“Hello?”
Trey tensed and spun, annoyed that he’d been caught out in his reverie, not
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paying attention. That could, and would, get them both killed.
He snarled, “Don’t ever do that.”
“I-I’m sorry. I thought you might need these.” She held out his glasses.
He grabbed for them but missed by inches, his vision so badly compromised from
the bright sunlight, he might as well have kept his eyes closed. He held out his hand, relief flooding his face when the woman carefully laid the wire frames on his palm. He settled them on his nose with satisfaction.
She stood in high relief against the dark maw of the cave, her skirt nearly falling off her hips, even with the cord drawn tight. The mule poked his head into the light, but withdrew it quickly. The woman’s eyes widened and she mouthed ‘oh my God’ and
pointed to the far horizon.
Trey grabbed the frail form and yanked her into the cave, hauling her to the
furthest reaches. The horses and mule he could do nothing about. He listened as the
‘pfut-pfut-pfut’ of the Dragonflies echoed over the hard granite outcrops as they worked a pattern over the flat. The hydrogen peroxide motors would move the lightweight machines at close to one hundred knots, fast enough that they’d complete the pattern in short order. Then they’d turn their attention to the mountainside.
“Wait here.” He shoved her against the wall and squeezed her arms, hard. She
nodded that she understood. He crept back to the entrance, shielding his eyes, and the glasses, from the direct light. If the glass or metal frame so much as caught a single ray, it would bounce out like a mirror flashing, in come-and-get-us semaphores. It was easy to follow the diminutive single-man craft as they left a water vapour trail in a bizarre skywriting fashion.
“Damn it to hell,” he cursed.
He strode to the rear of the cave and stopped in front of the woman.
“How the hell did they get those machines through the Portal? How?”
The woman cringed and held her hands, palms out, terror writ on her face. Great, she thinks I think she’s to blame. Look at her. What the sweet gods have I done?
“Not you, damn it.” It came out harsher than he intended and only served to aggravate the situation. He had to get a grip. They needed each other. He wasn’t strong enough to carry the burden alone. If they were to get out of this alive, he would need her powers to bolster his own.
“We don’t have time for this. Look, I’m sorry. Deal with it. We need to get out of here. We’re sitting ducks.” He shook her thin shoulders. “Do you understand?”
Caitlin’s head rocked back and smacked the cave wall hard. Her face slipped into a mask of red rage that said, loud and clear, I’m done taking your shit.
“Good, it’s about time, woman. Get our stuff together. I’ll saddle up.”
The woman moved to obey as he grabbed the saddle pads and flung them on her
horse and the mule.
“What…?”
“We can’t take my horse, he’s spent. We’ll send him down the mountain. They’ll
waste time trying to figure it out.” He swung a saddle onto her horse and adjusted the stirrups for his legs to accommodate his lower center of gravity.
“The panniers and camp stuff?”
“Leave it. We’re travelling light and fast. Just take the blankets. Wrap the food in them.” “There’s only a couple strips of jerky and the fruit.”
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“All right. We’ll eat it now.” He did a final wrap on the billets and turned to find her holding out the tin of fruit. He snatched it from her fingers and took a long draught of the syrup. It had a gagging sweetness and he felt his stomach roiling. He fought to keep it down, knowing it might be days before they found water—if they found water. He couldn’t think about that yet; one crisis at a time.
He handed her the tin and ordered, “Finish the fruit. There’s enough syrup in the pieces. The jerky’s too dry, I’ll eat that.”
He went back to saddling the mule but listened to be sure she ate as directed. He thought, briefly, that it was such a waste to let the horse go free. They could have used the carcass for food but that option was long gone. Besides, he doubted she’d have touched the meat.
He slipped the bosal attachment onto the halter and adjusted it so it sat
comfortably, then did the same for the horse. After gathering the blankets, he tied them onto the cantle of the mule’s saddle. He pointed to the woman and barked, “Check where they are. I can’t risk the light reflecting off
my glasses.”
She nodded and skipped to the entrance but flattened herself against the wall and bobbed her head out and back in imitation of a bad cop show on TV. He smiled as she backed with extravagant slowness, right into his waiting arms.
She ‘oofed’ and tried to move away but he held her close and whispered in her
ear, “It’s not okay, do you understand? We likely won’t make it and I’m not going down without a fight.”
She nodded and murmured, “Me either.”
He gave her a squeeze and released her.
Handing her the reins, he said with a flourish, “Saddle up, Apone.”
The woman smiled and said, “I know that one. Aliens.” She frowned and tilted
her head, bemused.
“I watch movies, you know. I’m not a Neanderthal.” Her look said otherwise, but
he was happy to see the flash of a smile. He was less happy at the heart palpitations and rush of blood to his nether regions.
He led the animals to the ledge and turned right. They would mount up slightly
lower down on the slope to avoid becoming easy targets. After that he’d have to assess the climb and see which way would afford them the most cover. At the base of the slope, he flipped the reins over the mule’s head and held the stirrup for her to mount. As before, she gathered the folds of her skirt and lifted her leg. The sight of the still angry bruises brought him up short. There was no way she’d survive a tough climb at speed without protection.
“Wait. Give me my jacket.”
She shrugged out of it and handed it over, gulping out, “I-I’m sorry,” though he didn’t understand why she felt the need to apologize. Resignation quickly masked the flicker of fear but he had no time to analyze her unpredictable moods.
Trey pulled his knife out of its holster and proceeded to slash strips off the
