by Wolf (lit)
“Will you be pissed off if I say I’m not?”
She thought about it. “You’re right. If I hadn’t done it y’all wouldn’t have had any way to escape, would you?”
He shrugged. “We would’ve figured something out. It’s for damned sure we weren’t going to hang around once we heard them talking about how they were going to dispose of us.”
Sylvie tensed, lifting her head to look up at him in horror even though she discovered she couldn’t see his face well enough to read his expression. “They were going to ….” She couldn’t even bring herself to say it aloud. “Oh god, Hawk!”
“Shhh! Don’t worry about it. Didn’t happen and it isn’t going to—not if we can take them out first and I’m betting we can.”
“What happened to you?” she asked, settling her cheek on his chest again.
“Like Mac said—we don’t know. We thought those bastards was trying to come up with a treatment or a cure. Of course, it didn’t actually take very long to figure out that wasn’t what they had in mind when they were so much more interested in discovering just how much punishment we could take and still heal. I haven’t decided, yet, if that’s a good side effect or not—the healing. It still hurts like a son-of-a-bitch to get shot, stabbed, or pummeled senseless.”
As horrified as she’d been when he’d told her they’d been scheduled for ‘termination’ that paled beside the discovery that they’d been systematically tortured, and she knew that was what he meant. The urge to cuddle him smote her. “I’m so sorry, Hawk! It must have been awful.”
He dragged in a shuddering breath. After a moment, he squeezed her. “I didn’t come out here looking for sympathy, you know.”
“No?”
He chuckled. “Maybe I did. You feel sorry enough for me yet to give me a pity fuck?”
Sylvie burst out laughing. “No, and don’t try any of your bullshit on me, Texan! I know you don’t have to mooch for pity fucks!”
“Is that a fact? And how do you know that, ma’am?”
“I’m not blind,” she said wryly, “at least not in the daylight.”
He settled an arm along her waist, guiding her back toward camp. “Ah! You’ve noticed I’m god’s gift to womankind, huh? Two hundred twenty pounds of rompin’ stompin’ romance! Well, I ain’t easy, ma’am, but I can be had!”
Sylvie chuckled. “You’re a terrible flirt, but I suppose you know that.”
“Say it ain’t so! I’m tryin’ my best!”
“You know what I mean!” Sylvie said a little testily at his willful misunderstanding.
He drew her to a halt, turning to face her. “You mean to say I’m terribly good at it?”
Sylvie tipped her head back to look at him—not that she could actually see him. “I think you know you are.”
He shifted closer. “I can’t be that good at it,” he murmured wryly, slipping an arm around her and drawing her up against him. “You haven’t thrown me down and had your wicked way with me yet.”
She caught her breath as he dipped his head towards hers, holding it as he nipped lightly at her lips, instantly captivated by the feel of his firm mouth and the tingling awareness that jolted through her. It was salve for the hurt she’d felt when Mac had looked her over and found her lacking, made her feel undesirable when he’d left her with self-doubt.
And yet, uncertainty flickered through her.
He was big and strong, towering over her in a way that made her feel soft and womanly and yet he was so young, she was torn between desire she didn’t think she should feel and the undeniable pull he exerted on her with no more than that light, teasing touch.
He hesitated, as if he sensed her turmoil, brushing his lips lightly along hers several times before he began to draw away. She swallowed with an effort, struggled with her conscience, and followed him as he began to withdraw, seeking more of the pleasurable sensations he’d ignited.
He smiled against her lips, clearly pleased she’d fallen for his ruse, and covered her mouth with his before she could accuse him of teasing. His mouth commanded her full attention the moment he did. There was no hesitancy, no trace of the awkwardness of inexperience. His touch was as confident as he was, making it evident that he’d mastered the skills of seduction long since and was as competent in the bedroom as he was on the battlefield. Beyond that, he pleased every sense. His taste and scent were a heady wine that went right to her head.
Wonder filled her, chasing her doubts far to the back of her mind. His mouth felt so good on hers, so very right that she forgot everything beyond the feel of him as he held her close and the way he made her feel just in the way he held her and touched her—beautiful, desirable, prized.
“Let her go,” Mac growled.
Jolted back to reality abruptly, Sylvie broke from Hawk’s kiss guiltily. He didn’t release her, however. “I don’t think so, Mac,” he replied, his own voice a low, threatening growl.
He was little more than a darker shadow in the deep shadows, and yet she sensed Mac’s surprise when Hawk challenged him. “If you gave a shit about her, you’ll keep your hands to yourself.”
“If you gave a shit about her you wouldn’t have made her cry,” Hawk shot back at him, bringing his right arm up in a blur of motion and punching Mac in the face.
Sylvie sucked in a sharp breath, too shocked to react otherwise.
Hawk released her, stepping away from her. The moment he did, Mac retaliated, slamming his fist into Hawk so hard he stumbled back several steps. Anxiety flashed through Sylvie in a cold tide, but she was too paralyzed to move or duck. Someone grabbed her around the waist and jerked her off her feet, carrying her away as Hawk and Mac settled to pummeling each other with their fists. She didn’t know who it was, or where he was taking her until he plunked her down by the campfire. “Stay put,” Beau said brusquely.
The paralysis left her. “You have to stop them!”
Beau snorted. “Sorry, Baby. This is between them … and Mac needs his ass kicked.”
Sylvie gaped at him, discomfited that everyone seemed aware of what had passed between her and Mac—vaguely angered, as well, that they seemed intent on fighting her battles for her. “But … they’ll hurt each other!”
“I think that’s what they’ve got in mind,” Cavanaugh remarked dryly.
She stared at the two of them as they settled on either side of the campfire. Beau pulled one of the spits off and checked the meat. “Supper’s done whenever you two get tired of whaling on each other,” he called out.
Sylvie strained to pierce the darkness to see if it had had any effect on them, but she could see less now than she’d been able to see before and she hadn’t been able to see much then. She could still hear meaty thuds, though, and grunts of exertion and the rattle of bushes as they flung each other around.
“You might as well sit down and eat,” Cavanaugh said. “They’re probably going to be at it for a while. Hawk’s stubborn and Mac’s as pigheaded as they come.”
Sylvie sank down weakly, struggling with her emotions. “I don’t see how you can be so … calm about it!” she said accusingly.
Beau shrugged. “It ain’t me getting’ the shit kicked out of me. Anyway, they can’t do enough damage to make it permanent even if they want to.” He lifted his voice a notch. “They sure as hell are trampling down the jungle all over the place, though, besides making enough noise to be heard all over creation and back. Dumb shits!”
He winked at Sylvie when the thrashing stopped abruptly. After a few minutes, she thought she heard them moving away. It struck her then that they had an almost unnatural ability to move swiftly and silently. She’d certainly noticed before. They startled her regularly by simply ‘appearing’ without warning. Put together with their ability to see far better at night, though, than could possibly just be put down to ‘great night vision’ she realized abruptly that it was more than their training as she’d assumed before. That might contribute to it, but it indicated abilities far above the norm—for a
human.
She supposed she’d been too distraught to actually take in what Mac had told her before. She hadn’t really believed him when he’d told her that they were the monsters she’d seen. She’d decided that her mind had been so terrorized that it had been playing tricks on her. She knew it was a well known medical fact that, in such situations, people’s sight failed them and their minds were prone to fail them, as well, shielding them from as much as possible for protection.
She had accepted what he’d said about them ‘catching’ something, but she’d been thinking in terms of the ordinary sort of things they might have caught. That was why she’d dismissed it. She’d assumed she’d already been exposed and would either catch it from them or not and that it was already out of her hands—but she’d still been thinking along the lines of flu or something of that nature.
She still didn’t see how they could possibly have caught anything that could change their physical appearance. If there was anything like that, wouldn’t someone have run across it before?
Of course, he’d suggested it had happened in a South American jungle and there were places no man, or damned few, had ever been.
Even if she discounted the possibility that it could not only physically change them once, but regularly, what kind of something could they possibly ‘catch’ that would account for the other changes they claimed that she’d seen?
Mac had said parasites. She knew there were some that formed a symbiotic relationship with the host, but, just as often they were harmful, and she’d never heard of one beneficial enough to enhance vision, speed, and coordination—let alone rapid healing as Hawk had suggested, or healing of wounds that would ordinarily be mortal.
She was inclined to dismiss all of it, found it hard to swallow anything she’d seen or heard, and yet the military had to have had some reason for holding them, experimenting on them, and then deciding to just terminate the ‘project’ by killing them.
That part, she had no trouble believing. They’d filled her stepfather’s boat so full of holes she was surprised it had stayed afloat. It was nothing short of amazing that they’d managed to elude them, although she knew her stepfather had specifically had the boat custom fitted for more speed. He’d wanted to take her mother around the world on it. He hadn’t wanted to chance being hijacked by pirates.
Mac and Hawk appeared out of the darkness in that unnerving way they had about them. She winced inwardly when she got a good look at them as they crouched down on either side of the fire, but she didn’t say anything. They made it a point not to look at her or each other.
Guilt and sympathy flickered through her when she saw that they both looked so badly battered, but she strove to dismiss both. She felt ill-used by both of them. She still didn’t understand why Mac had behaved the way he had—and then had the gall to order Hawk to leave her alone, but she wasn’t particularly happy about Hawk’s behavior in retrospect.
Not when the things he’d said seemed to indicate he’d been giving her ‘pity kisses’. She should’ve known there must be some reason he’d been thinking in terms of a pity fuck. He’d probably been offering, not asking for it.
They sure knew how to annihilate a woman’s self-esteem! She’d give them that!
Of course, she thought angrily, men were very good at that in general. It seemed to her that every man she’d ever been with had had the uncanny ability to zero in on every flaw, real or imagined, and optimize her self-consciousness about it. She supposed it wasn’t surprising given the fact that women in general, and her in particular, were prone toward self-analysis and stayed on the hunt for their own flaws.
Young women didn’t seem to have that problem, though. She wondered if they just had that much more confidence in themselves or if it was because youth had become the ultimate beauty product. Young was beautiful by itself—and skinny! It didn’t matter if they weren’t special in any other way, or looked like a starving Ethiopian, as long as they were young and skinny they were beautiful!
She sighed inwardly. She hadn’t noticed that she’d been particularly touchy about her age before. It was being around virile, hunky young men that was making her paranoid, she decided. When she hung around people her own age, she felt perfectly comfortable—even confident.
The meat the men had cooked—and she didn’t want to know what it was—was surprisingly good—maybe because she was starving. Unfortunately, it was finger food due to their circumstances and she was left with a greasy mouth and hands that drove her bats. If she was obsessive-compulsive about anything, it was keeping her face and hands clean!
Ignoring the disapproving look she didn’t doubt Mac sent her way, she poured a little of her water in one palm and did her best to clean with it, using her shirt as a towel. She just wished she’d been given the opportunity and the warning to grab supplies herself. She would’ve stuffed a bag with toiletries—at least soap and shampoo—and tissue paper!
There wasn’t any point in complaining about it now. It couldn’t be changed. The only thing complaining would do would be to make the men sorrier that they’d allowed her to tag along and maybe convince them to leave her somewhere!
She felt like hell when she finally lay down to try to sleep, though. As regularly as she worked out—three times a week like clockwork—she was sore in muscles she hadn’t even known she had, and just about crippled. She’d lost her shoes when she went in the water, though. There hadn’t been any chance of retrieving them. Not that she thought sneakers would’ve been all that helpful in the jungle. Military boots probably wouldn’t have been.
She’d finally gotten comfortable enough to begin drifting toward sleep when someone settled behind and in front of her. She searched with her senses to determine who it was. Surprise flickered through her when she realized it wasn’t either Mac or Hawk, which left Beau and Cavanaugh. She wondered drowsily where Mac and Hawk were but decided it was too much effort to try to figure it out.
“Warm enough, Chère?” Beau asked in a low murmur, apparently realizing she wasn’t completely asleep.
Unwilling to stir herself to talk, she nodded, but realized she wasn’t particularly comfortable in that sense. Wiggling toward the sound of his voice, she burrowed against his warmth as if he’d invited her. He tensed slightly, but settled an arm along her waist, holding her. After a moment, Cavanaugh also shifted closer, planting his back against hers. Being sandwiched between them was like having an electric blanket, she thought dreamily.
* * * *
“Time to rise and shine, sweetheart,” Hawk murmured in her ear, his voice rough and husky from sleep.
Sylvie drew in a deep breath, inhaling essence of Hawk, and opened her eyes to discover her nose burrowed against his chest. Instantly disoriented when she vaguely remembered cuddling up against Beau when she’d fallen asleep, she struggled to resolve the confusion and finally gave up. Rolling onto her back, she stretched all over and finally opened her eyes.
Mac, she discovered, feeling even more confusion, was directly beside her, which meant his was the warmth she’d felt at her back. After studying her face a long moment, he flicked a gaze down to her breasts and rolled into a sitting position.
Sylvie pushed herself up with an effort, looking around. It was still night—mostly. The shadows had lifted enough to discern everything close by fairly clearly but the jungle was still dark with shadows.
She felt like a decrepit old woman when she struggled to get up, clumsy, stiff, and every muscle and joint protesting loud. She wavered a little drunkenly when she’d gained her feet, looking around blankly. Hawk caught her shoulders, turned her in a half circle and gave a little push. “River’s that way, Baby,” he murmured with a chuckle, and then swatted her ass with the palm of one hand to give her a little extra giddy-up in her step. “Make it quick.”
Rubbing her stinging cheek, she wove a path through the brush in the direction Hawk had indicated, her mind so sluggish she almost forgot to check for livestock before she squatted. She also di
dn’t think about possibly harmful microbes before she used her finger to take a stab at brushing her teeth.
Mac appeared on the riverbank beside her just as she’d finished her haphazard morning grooming ritual and pulled her sweat pants back on. She stared blankly at the toothbrush he held out, wondering what he was doing with her toothbrush, but decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth. He’d very thoughtfully squeezed a dollop of toothpaste on it, too, she discovered.
She was a little self-conscious about him being so close while she was brushing her teeth, but since he seemed focused on brushing his own she managed to pretty well ignore him.
“About last night …,” he said hesitantly when she’d finished and started to rise.
She held up her hand. “Don’t throw me in the water! I don’t feel like being playful this early in the day. Anyway, you said we were even.”
He frowned, making a sound of impatience. “I wasn’t talking about that …. It’s hard to explain.”
Sylvie stared at him in dismay, realizing abruptly what he was getting at. “Oh. Well don’t try because I have a hard enough time understanding simple things this early in the day.” She thought about it. “To tell you the truth, I don’t think I want to talk about it at all. Let’s just forget it. OK?”
His lips tightened. “If that’s the way you want to be about it,” he said angrily.
“I think I do,” she retorted, surging to her feet and stalking back toward the camp. Mac was right on her heels and she thought he might have considered pushing the issue, but since they met up with the rest of the group, he seemed to reconsider.
She might have been wrong, but she didn’t feel like taking the chance that she’d correctly assessed his mood. She supposed it was ungracious not to allow him to apologize when it would’ve made him feel better, but she rather thought that if his conscience was bothering him he deserved the discomfort. An apology, now, wasn’t going to make her feel any better.
She thought it was going to be a very long time before she got over the embarrassment of having a guy ask her to strip for him, look her over like a piece of meat, and then saying ‘nah, not interested’. She didn’t think it would’ve been as bad if she hadn’t had any interest in him. Maybe it would still have stung, but she was madly attracted to Mac, for all that she hadn’t even admitted it to herself before.
