“Caleb,” Daxon struggled to sit up from his slumped position. “Baylee?”
The lion grunted, veered onto another path where, just ahead, the graceful gray form of his mother pulled a sled with Baylee on it, bundled in blankets. She moved at a steady trot, barely jolting the precious cargo, and Dax realized they weren’t far off the entrance. Nearly free.
He could hear the sound of engines, heard chatter and vehicles drawing away. Another hundred feet and they were in the clearing, a bevy of SUVs, pick-up trucks and minivans waiting for them in the dying sun.
Caleb shifted and Daxon found himself sitting on the floor. Not his finest moment, he decided as he detangled himself from the ropes keeping him secure.
“You’ve been out for a good hour,” Cal said conversationally. “We decided we couldn’t wait for you to wake up from your nap so we moved out as soon as everyone was ready. Shax is displeased, to say the least. He has only a handful of loyal die-hards remaining.”
“Efran and the others?”
“With him. Their choice,” Caleb said grimly and Daxon knew he’d made the right one by choosing him as the leader for the new clan when he died. “Half of us are away already; we’ve assigned a designated meeting point halfway to make sure everyone catches up.”
Relief flooded him. The sooner everyone was en route, the less chance Shax would have to come after them. It didn’t mean he would never find them, that someone among the group wouldn’t spy for him, but if it came down to full-out war, the numbers at the very least fell on Caleb’s side.
“Baylee?”
Caleb’s eyes darkened. “What you did helped. It remains unseen whether it will be enough. I’m sorry, Daxon.”
“A shot in the dark,” he murmured and clambered unsteadily to his feet. He swayed for a moment, grabbed Caleb’s arm when it was offered to gain his balance. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”
They waited for the stragglers to arrive, tried to put families together into the minivans along with the odd loner. But as the last of the sun set, Zara and Caleb loaded Baylee carefully into the back seat of the last double-cab truck, laying her along the seat so Dax could cradle her head where he sat.
“We’re going home, baby,” he murmured, bending and pressing his lips to her cool forehead. “The last journey for both of us.”
The truck started, Cal at the wheel. The headlights illuminated the trees in front of them, and the dozen pairs of glowing eyes staring back at them. Shax strolled out, cocky and arrogant, his eyes as mad as the rest of him.
“Caleb, go. Go now.” Daxon said it calmly despite his mental images of the truck being ripped apart, with the four of them following shortly after. “Don’t listen to what he has to say, don’t do anything but get this fucking truck in gear and gone!”
The wheels spun in place for a split second before traction kicked in and sent the truck hurtling backwards. Caleb whipped the wheel, sending them spinning around before slamming on the brakes, shoving the truck into gear and putting his foot down on the pedal.
The vehicle rocketed along the track, bouncing, lurching.
Daxon twisted, looked behind and saw his father glaring back at him, the last of his clan forming a semi-circle around his eerie figure. And he knew they’d both—father and son—declared war. “Take it easy, Cal. He’s not coming after us; he’s letting us know that he will.”
“Soon?”
“I don’t know. He’ll need to hunt down more followers he can lead to their deaths. He’ll need to find out where we are, which may not be hard,” Dax said thoughtfully, staring down at Baylee. “There are factors on our side that won’t make it easier for him to come for us, but he’ll try.”
“Then we’ll have to be ready.” Caleb met Dax’s eyes in the rearview. “About time he was seen for what he is. Things have been...unsettled for a while.”
“I know.” And Daxon regretted not striving for change before now.
Zara turned in her seat, held out her hand.
Daxon took it, felt the vial she pressed against his palm. With a questioning look, he studied it. No bigger than the first joint of his thumb, it was securely capped. The glass seemed sturdy enough to put in his pocket without fear of it breaking.
The contents, a dark and murky green, spoke of nothing good.
“I’ve heard of bonds being broken,” she told him quietly. “When the link snaps, it’s not always a quick and painless death for the one left behind. Some die moments after their mate, a blessing really, but it has been known for the survivor to continue living for hours, days, in absolute agony. Not just from grief but from the pain of dying slowly, the vital bond broken.”
“I could be in for a fun ride then,” he said flatly.
“I wouldn’t allow that to happen, not to you. The toxin in that vial will render you unconscious within seconds. Within two minutes, your heart begins to slow, to falter, and your internal organs will shut down. By the end of five minutes, you’ll be with Baylee again. No pain,” Zara managed on a choked sob. “You won’t know anything about your passing.”
Daxon slipped the vial into his pocket. He daren’t tell her he felt as though he’d need the pain, the suffering, in order for his death to mean something. It was a ceremony of sorts, he mused, celebrating the life of two people bonded together for eternity, and mourning the loss of them both.
The bond might break on this plane, he knew instinctively, but the threads of it wove through space and time. Baylee was tied to him, and he to her, until space disappeared into a black hole and time shattered like a fragile watch.
“Thanks, Zara.” Touched by her thoughtfulness, Daxon offered her a smile. “I’ve always been able to count on you.”
She turned away quickly, but not fast enough for him to miss the tears in her eyes. “Of all the ways I wanted you to count on me, Daxon, this wasn’t one of them.”
Guilt ate at him. “Zara.”
She looked back at him, her eyes dropping briefly to Baylee’s face. “I was never for you, was I? And you were never meant for me. Somehow, all along, she’s been the one for you.”
Daxon gazed down at the love of his life. He stroked fingertips over the pale skin, caressed the shape of her cheekbone, the line of her nose, the curve of her mouth. Remembered how active that mouth had been, how eager and innocent against his.
He wished she’d just open her damn eyes. Talk to him.
“All along,” he agreed. She’d been his since before they met, for God knew how long before that. Someone, something, in the vast expanse of the universe had plucked Daxon up in one hand, Baylee in the other, and drawn a complex map between the two of them.
They’d followed their individual paths to the giant X and now the universe seemed intent on wiping them out.
“How long before you can give her another transfusion?” he demanded suddenly. “If we can keep pumping blood into her, that’ll buy her more time, right? Time for things to heal, for her to find her way back.”
“We can’t give her another transfusion. It was risky enough with the first; we could have just as easily drained you dry, Dax, and sacrificing yourself for her isn’t going to work this time. For Baylee to live, you both have to survive this.”
“Then find someone else willing to donate a pint or three,” he said desperately, fisting his hand in the silken black tresses of Baylee’s hair. “All I’m asking is that you try, Zara.”
“I’ve done all I can for her for right now, Dax. If the blood and the coma don’t give her body a kickstart, I don’t think much will. The coma meds should wear off within the next twelve hours—we’ll know how things stand a lot better after that.”
Frustrated, he turned to look out the window, at the scenery flashing past in the dark. The wrongness inside him strengthened, sapped his strength a little at a time. They didn’t have twelve hours, he knew that much. Just as he was aware they wouldn’t make it back to Montana alive.
“Caleb.” He sighed his brother’s name.
“Daxon?”
He blinked and shook his head to rid himself of the fog creeping over his mind. “Mother knows all the details for where we’re going if she hasn’t told you yet. Find Brenna, she’ll help you. The clearing will offer protection but it won’t fit everyone. You need to be careful.”
“We will, Dax. We know what we’re up against.”
“No, you don’t. Not just Shax. We’re outside the valley now; too many of us have lived our lives sheltered from the outside world and its potential threats. Hunters, poachers, tourists. Be smart, Cal.”
Something gave way inside him with a sickening lurch, a small pop followed by a torrent of white-hot agony. He grunted, grimaced, holding back against its pull. “I don’t know how Baylee wants to be...disposed of. Brenna will know. Burial or cremation, you make sure we’re together. Do you understand me?” He arched away from the seat, teeth gritted. “Into the ground, into the fire...we stay together.”
“Daxon—”
The pain focused into a tiny laser beam, drilling deep before it simply evaporated. For a moment, Daxon let himself float on the essence of nothingness. He reached out for Baylee’s still hand and the movement seemed to be agonizingly slow. “You should know how proud I am of you, Cal. My baby brother, all grown up. The best of all of us.”
Zara whipped around, panic in her eyes. “Daxon, what the hell?”
He brought Baylee’s limp hand to his lips, kissed it. Then he laid it back down on her opposite shoulder, clutching it, so his arm lay defensively over her chest. The blissful emptiness filled him, made his eyelids heavy.
When he closed them, he thought he could see his heart beating, hear it beating. Slowing. “I’m tired, Zara. So fucking tired. I just need to rest for a while, okay?”
“Daxon, please!” Zara’s voice pleaded with him. “Caleb, stop the car!”
“Keep driving, Cal.” Dax mumbled. “It’s too late now to stop any of this. Just keep driving and make sure everyone reaches the rendezvous point.”
The hand still in Baylee’s hair twitched. Ready for whatever came next, Daxon simply let go of everything holding him down—stress, fear, grief—and instantly felt...free.
“Going home, little witch.” There was no voice to his words, barely a coherent whisper. “Finally going home together.”
With Zara’s shouts and Caleb’s vehement swearing echoing through the double-cab, Dax slipped away.
SHE WAS AN IDIOT, A moron, a complete and utter joke. Who in their right mind—ha ha—got lost in their own mind and couldn’t find their way back? That had to be a rookie mistake, right? She couldn’t be the only one with the orienteering skills of a cock-eyed monkey.
She had very little energy left and no idea how long she’d been in here since she’d surrendered herself to Sheba, but it hadn’t taken long for Baylee to conclude she might have made a mistake.
She wondered if she was dead yet, if she was stuck in this lightless hellhole for the rest of eternity while Sheba partied up on the surface in Baylee’s body.
The moment she’d surrendered, she’d had the strangest sensation of sinking. Down, down, down. Beyond light and sound and life. Now she just floated in the emptiness, scared and alone, with only her memories to save her from insanity.
But how long could she stave off madness?
Frighteningly, she didn’t know what she’d become—there was no way to tell if she had hands or feet in the dark, whether she still existed as a form. She was horribly afraid she was nothing but a sentient mind swimming hopelessly in limbo.
So many questions and no way to get the answers.
If she had a rope to hand, she would happily have fashioned a noose and ended the pathetic existence she found herself in. That was, of course, providing she had a neck to swing from.
Something fluttered at the edge of her consciousness, the slightest disturbance sending ripples of anticipation through the sheer blackness. Baylee strained, reaching out for the source and finding...nothing.
She wanted to cry.
Another flutter, another ripple.
Hello? Hello, is anyone there? Please, there must be someone...
Just your imagination, she told herself. No one knows you’re here, no one can find you. Lost forever in darkness so dense not even shadows exist. Your best friend and companion will be the insanity that rots your mind.
Her shock when something tangible grabbed hold of her had the potential to turn her hair white. For the first time in what seemed like years, she felt the heat and presence of life, and reached out blindly.
She had form. Baylee closed her eyes and thanked God. She had form; her fingers brushed along the powerful line of an arm and tried to hold on.
A hand loomed out of the darkness and linked fingers with her.
I have you, Baylee. Don’t let go, baby. Don’t let go.
Frantic, she scrabbled for more purchase, more than just that unbreakable link between hands. She didn’t understand how he could be here, couldn’t comprehend why he’d be here in this hell with her, but she didn’t, couldn’t, bring herself to care. She just wanted to wrap herself around him and never let go.
Daxon. Everything she wanted to say came across in that one silent word. Love, fear, sorrow, relief. She’d give anything to hear it fall from her lips, to know he was real, to know he could hear her, and this wasn’t just a cruel trick.
You’ve been gone too long, Baylee. You need to come back now, okay? Come back before Sheba can’t hold on anymore. It’s taken too much time to find you; we have to go back now.
Baylee screamed in frustration. Soundless screams. I don’t know how. I don’t know how I got here, why I’m still here, where the hell here is! I don’t know how to go back.
The grip on her hand tightened to the point of pain and she felt the loss of Dax’s presence keenly as he drew away. Desperate, she tried to follow him, stumbling along in the dark with only joined hands as a guide.
They seemed to climb mountains, covering the distance she fell on her way down. The higher they rose, the tighter her chest became. Her breath came in pants, panicked and heavy, as her body remembered the intensity of the pain she’d felt in her last conscious moments.
I can’t go back.
She stopped dead, almost jerking her hand free as forces ripped at them. The faintest glimmers of light broke the dark, burning her eyes as brightly as the sun, and suddenly she craved the comfort of the black. There was no pain in the dark, none of the searing agony that came when teeth and claws ripped and chewed through flesh.
I’m not going back without you, Baylee. I won’t leave you here to die; you can’t ask me to do that. Daxon yanked her forward, further into the light, despite her resistance. If I have to drag you every fucking step of the way, I’m bringing you home.
She fought, she kicked and screamed, she pleaded. She refused to return to a place where everyone hated her and wanted her dead. They’d damn near succeeded the first time—only divine intervention from the Gods had the power to save her from the mercilessness of the wolves.
Don’t fight me, Baylee. Trust me, please. In this, you need to trust me. We’re almost there. Inch by inch, he literally dragged her toward the light and she was powerless to stop him. We’re dying, baby. This is our last shot, the only chance we’re going to get to save ourselves.
We’re already dead, Dax. They tore me to pieces. Baylee shuddered.
Nearly. They came damned close but they didn’t kill you, Baylee. Sheba held on, kept fighting until we got there. And everything she’s done—everything you went through and sacrificed—will be for naught if you don’t come with me!
The light blinded her, eradicating the last of the darkness. She squinted against it, raising her hand to block the glare, and she nearly cried when she saw the vague outline of her fingers.
A shadow fell over her, easing the burn of light, and she lowered her hand to stare at it. At him. Light haloed around him, gave him an aura, made him appear as a divine angel and
Baylee wondered if he was the divine intervention from the Gods. If Daxon was her guardian angel.
Weeping silently, she threw her arms around him, shocked and relieved to feel him against her, solid and real. How, she didn’t know. Maybe it was the power of her mind, willing him to be firm to her touch, or perhaps it was some kind of magic.
Take these last steps with me, Baylee. We can walk out of here, hand in hand, and live the rest of our lives together. You fought for us in the woods, now fight for us here.
Her arms slid free of him, dropping to her sides. She turned her head, studied the black hole of a tunnel behind them leading her to eternal prison, then looked forward to the heat and hope of light. She grabbed his hand again, wrapped both of hers around his tightly, unwilling to let go again.
Side by side, they moved away from the darkness and into life.
DAXON GROANED, STRUGGLING to breathe. Some asshole must have dropped an anvil on his chest while he slept, he decided. The mixture of pain and breathlessness scrambled his brain circuits. He cried out, a guttural sound, when someone palpated his chest.
“Get the fuck off me.”
“We have a live one. Thank God for that. Reena, get me the blue bottle. He needs pain meds before he comes around fully otherwise we won’t be able to hold him down.” Zara’s voice sounded far, far away. “Daxon, can you hear me?”
“Barely.”
“That’s okay. Listen to me. The time you’ve been under, it’s cost you. I need to medicate you, give your body time to heal.”
He grunted, his back arching as pain stabbed through his chest. “How long?”
“Two days.”
He opened his eyes, wished he hadn’t when the world around him spun like a cyclone in a sick medley of color. Ever so slowly, he rolled his head to the side, tried to focus on the gray face framed with raven-black hair beside him. “Did it work? Did—did I get to her in time?”
“Shush. Just rest, Dax.”
“Tell me!” he demanded, then hissed when a needle pressed against his bicep. For a moment, the world stopped spinning so quickly and came into focus.
Wild: Hangman's Haunt Book 1 Page 28
