A breath of air sighs from his mouth. He tips his head to the sky. I get the feeling an internal debate is going on, or he’s praying.
At last, he speaks. “I’m using a place nearby if you guys want to crash. It’s hidden away from the road; plenty of food and supplies, lots of extra room.” His head tilts to stare at me and he shrugs. “I think I’ve even got some canned dog food for Kodiak.”
For some reason, the concern he shows for Kodiak thaws my heart a little. Would someone shady care about the wellbeing of a dog? There’s also a hint of eagerness in his words at having company, even though I can tell he’s trying to hide it.
How long has he been alone? At least I’ve had Kodiak over the past several weeks.
I nod, even though he can’t see the movement. My body needs rest, and my head is an overripe melon. The prospect of sleep is enticing.
If my instincts are wrong about this guy, Kodiak will be there to protect me. He wouldn’t let anyone try to take advantage of the situation during the night.
“I guess we could do that if it’s not going to put you out too much.”
“Well, not too much.” The tease comes back in his voice. “Besides, how much can a scrawny girl like you eat, anyway?”
Even though it’s meant to lighten the mood, the joke makes me self-conscious. I forgot he’s already seen me in broad daylight, spread out on the pavement and dead to the world.
Not taking the bait, I slip a hand under the alien’s armpit and help Jareth wrestle the body to an upright position. The clothing reminds me of a wool sponge, rough and grabby. The thought of being close to this murderer makes my skin crawl. Taking Jareth’s lead, we begin to half-drag, half-carry the deadweight toward camp.
When we pull the body past the ditch and into the trees, the alien’s boots clatter over rocks and stumps.
I hope he wasn’t kidding when he said camp wasn’t far away, because the thick oaks above block the soft rays of moonlight. Blind, my free hand stretches forward to feel through the trees. My face receives several smacks from wayward branches and briar thorns. Please don’t let there be any spider webs.
Even though I’m glad to have help with the body, my stomach flutters at the thought of staying the night at this guy’s camp.
I amend my prayer. Also, don’t let this guy be a serial killer. I have something I didn’t have before, though; Kodiak, my protector and talisman.
The steady thumping of the alien’s boots dragging across rocks and branches causes my nerves to fray. It’s the one sound that rises above the soft rustle of leaves. “Jesus, this guy weighs a ton.” My lungs gulp air. “What’s he made out of? Stone and steel?”
Jareth grunts in response.
The exertion adds to the steady, painful beat of my head. Five minutes into the forest, my shaking arm muscles beg for a break. But, not wanting to appear spoiled, I persist.
Kodiak trails behind, nose sniffing every twig and branch he passes. He’s trying to find something to mark.
My boots stumble over an unseen tree root sticking up from the ground.
“Son of a bitch. Fucking tree roots everywhere.” The curse pours through my lips before I can clamp them shut.
“Well, it is the woods. Such a potty mouth. You kiss your mother with that thing?” His breath is steady, with no hint of exertion on his part.
The wheezing from my own chest sounds like a dying cat trying to claw its way out.
Jerk.
“Used to”—deep breath in—“before these assholes”—long breath out—“arrived.”
Several more minutes of groping through the dark, and he stops at the bottom of a small hill.
Dropping an alien arm, I sigh in relief. My lungs, greedy for air, take their fill of oxygen.
His voice, now inches away, sounds loud in my ear. “Here we are: home sweet home.”
The slope curves upward in a gentle arc. Tree branches above thin and light filters through.
“The camp’s a limestone cave?” If guessing, it’s several hundred feet from where the sphere attacked.
“Yep.”
The cavern, concealed by trees and shrubs, would be impossible to spot if one didn’t know its exact location beforehand.
Moonbeams peek through a few high clouds to shine on dark green foliage and dry clumps of grass.
Feeling better from the rest, I shove my hands under the alien’s arm, the rough cloth scouring my fingertips, and then continue the trek.
Tall oak trees line either side of the upraised ground, gnarled branches reaching toward one another to create a canopy. They remind me of tall sentries tasked with guarding the pathway of a wizard’s tower.
The slope leads to the cave, and I stop.
Something misshapen, like it can’t decide if it’s a rectangle or a polygon, seals the entrance shut. Knobby, twisted sticks and branches line the recta-poly shape, and dry leaves and old vines fill the gaps. It’s six foot tall or so—or would be—if it weren’t so malformed.
I try not to snicker. “What’s that supposed to be?”
Jareth stops pulling his side of the deadweight and follows the direction of my gaze. “A door. Why?”
“Oh.” I pause and try to see it with a fresh perspective. Nope, still ugly, and ridiculous. “It looks like something that should’ve stayed buried at the bottom of a dump ground.”
The index finger on my free hand pushes the rough surface, but not with too much force. I don’t want the damn thing to fall. “Sure looks kind of flimsy. Does it actually work?”
Air huffs through his lips. “Of course, it works. I made it myself.”
A laugh creeps out of me before I choke it back down. “Good God Almighty.” I take a moment to swallow. “One puff of air and it’ll collapse.”
He drops his side of the load and steps in front of the crazy door. His fingers work to untie an old, stiff string of leather holding the frame to a rusted nail jutting from the rock.
Another snort sneaks out. “Oh, nice lock. Let me guess—you made it, too?”
His head pivots to me. In the dark, I can’t tell if he’s smiling or frowning.
My face splits into a grin, and I don’t care if he sees it or not.
“It works well enough, and it’s strong.” He shakes the frame and a few sticks fall to the ground. I clamp my lips together for a moment. Sweet baby Jesus, if the rest of his camp is like this, Kodiak and I’ll be better off sleeping on the road, in the open, near a den of hungry coyotes.
“It’s like a craft project gone horribly wrong, or something a bunch of kindergarteners would put together.”
Wordless, Jareth swings the “door” open, grabs the body with a quick, rough gesture, and hauls his half of the bundle across the dirt.
Score.
Inside, a small fire lends a warm glow to the room.
Tugging on the shoulders of the body, the heels of the feet leave two lines in the dirt floor. Together, we toss him to the ground and lean his torso on a smooth wall inside, near the entrance.
Close to fainting, skin soaking with sweat and lungs burning from exertion, I fall to my knees. The steady, painful beat of a hammer pounds in the back of my skull.
“Man, what I’d give for some ibuprofen right now.”
Kodiak sniffs his way inside, content to inspect every item found, unperturbed we’re in a cave with a possible murderer. Please don’t get the urge to pee on the guy’s stuff. On second thought, would that really be such a bad thing?
My quick spurt of humor from throwing a few jibes at our new acquaintance’s crafting skill disappears. Feeling a bit nauseous, my eyes close, and I lean my weight against a stone wall. The pain thumping in my head keeps time with my pulse, as well as the drumming of Jareth’s footsteps. Shutting out the light of the fire helps.
Something cold and wet presses my hand. I open my eyes to find one blue and one brown orb, along with a nose ripe for sniffing, in my personal space. “Hey, boy. I’m okay.”
“Here.” Jareth kn
eels and offers a glass of water. “These are part of my secret stash.” He palms two caplets of acetaminophen.
Too tired and sick to be annoyed or question his motives, I accept the offering with a nod and swallow them. It may not be ibuprofen, but they’ll still make the headache more manageable.
Draining the entire glass of water in several gulps, I take a moment to sate my curiosity and study his features.
He’s a little older than me, twenty-five or twenty-six. Black, curly locks spill from the crown of his head, past his ears to reach his jawline. His eyes are warm pools of molasses. Short, trimmed whiskers, closer to scruff than a formal beard, cover his jaw and chin.
A blue flannel shirt and black leather jacket adorn his upper body. Lanky legs, clad in blue jeans, leading to thick, brown hiking boots complete the ensemble.
I’m not sure how I expected him to appear, but certainly not as this rugged, handsome man. With his snarky attitude, for some reason I was expecting him to resemble Shrek, or Donkey.
His dark eyes are intense and force me to avert my gaze elsewhere.
It figures. Someone this gorgeous would have to be a complete ass. Otherwise, they’d be too perfect.
“Better?” He retrieves the cup in a single swoop. The gesture causes his fingers to brush the back of my hand.
Nodding, I sit and stare. Hello, brain? Snap out of it. He’s just a guy, like the ones you’ve seen before. And he’s not just any guy—he’s that douchebag guy, remember?
He walks farther into the cave.
When he mentioned having extra space, he wasn’t kidding. The back of the grotto has several tables piled with boxes and coolers. An old spring mattress lies on the floor with fluffy pillows and thick blankets.
Closer to the center of the room, the campfire serves as a cooking area, ringed with stones large enough to sit on. An iron pot hangs above the flames from a metal tripod.
The creature who tried, and nearly succeeded, in killing me tonight still rests against the wall. The dark, unmoving heap causes a fresh burst of goosebumps to rise on my arms. I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep tonight, knowing that thing is an arm’s reach away.
And even if the alien’s dead, I still have to worry about the other unknown in the room. What in the hell was I thinking, staying in some stranger’s camp—with a damn killer alien?
Is that an unfair judgment of Jareth? He hasn’t tried to rob or hurt me, and he’s had plenty of chances. But still, he’s obnoxious and much too pretty for his own good—and mine.
I point over to the unconscious being. “Shouldn’t we tie it up, in case it’s not dead?” I’d be a lot more comfortable having the asshat in restraints.
Jareth’s dark eyes wander over the form before he sets my empty glass on a table.
He scratches his beard while he stares at the body. “Not a bad idea. Should’ve thought of it myself. I have some chain in here somewhere.”
“Oh, surprised the scrawny girl came up with an innovative idea?” Stop it. Don’t goad him.
I can’t help myself. When he speaks, my inner bitch shows her face. He might as well have said Not a bad idea—for a girl.
The crooked grin that forms on his lips surprises me. I was expecting a sassy retort, not a blast of sunshine.
Turning his back to me, he rummages around in a box near the wall. He pulls out several feet of rusted chain and a padlock.
Walking to the alien, he loops the chain around the hands and feet and secures it with the silver lock.
“Oh, so you do own a real lock. I was afraid you were going to use strings to tie it down.”
He kneels within arm’s reach of where I sit. His head turns and he crooks an eyebrow. “Feisty little thing, aren’t you, Red?” An impish smile reaches the corners of his eyes. “I think the chains will hold him. In case you’re scared.” He throws a quick wink my way.
One wayward front tooth juts out a fraction farther than the rest of his pearly whites. The warmth of the smile causes my heart to skip a beat.
I catch myself returning the grin and bite my inner cheek instead. I must’ve hit my head harder than I thought.
His smile lingers, and I need to do something, anything, to hide my discomfort.
“Did you just call me Red?” The warm, tingly feeling caused by his inviting expression fades, and a slow simmer of anger replaces the glow. I hate that nickname.
Either he doesn’t notice, or he doesn’t care, because he continues to smile. “Yep. You haven’t told me your name, and I need to call you something. Those little strips of red in your hair stand out like the fur on a howler monkey.” Amusement sparkles in his eyes and crinkles the corners.
“Y-you’re so rude.” The fury inside wants to burst forth like an angry bull. My fingernails dig into my palms. “You shouldn’t go around calling people names. It’s . . .” my brain stalls for a few seconds before it produces a single word. “—Rude.”
Wow, Tilly, way to highlight your intellectual vocabulary.
His crooked grin grows even wider, stretching from ear to ear. He holds his hands out. “What can I say? I call things like I see them.”
“Well, don’t ever use that shitty name again. My name’s Tilly—Tilly Morgan.” My hand shoots out in an awkward gesture.
“A handshake, now, after all that?” Slapping one of his thighs, he chuckles. Rising from his knees, he grips my outstretched hand.
The touch of his skin is warm, and he pulls me to a standing position. Long, slender fingers curl around my entire fist, swallowing me in its grip.
Ever since Abilene, the thought of human touch makes me cringe. The uncomfortable contact stirs up several emotions: fear, anger, loathing—and curiosity.
A small callus rests between his thumb and index finger, contrasting with the smooth, soft skin of his palm.
In a desperate motion, my hand pulls away as soon as I’m on my feet.
Turning, he walks farther to the back of the cave.
Am I supposed to follow? I glance over a shoulder to make sure Kodiak’s all right, and he sees where I am.
The dog sits and licks his nether regions.
Yeah, thanks a lot. I’m so glad you’re protecting your human over here.
Curiosity wins out, and I follow Jareth.
This part of the cave opens wide, and the ceiling rises at least twenty feet. Ancient stalactites hang above like a macabre chandelier. How far does the opening reach, since the firelight doesn’t pierce through the gloom? I get the sense it goes on forever.
Cool, damp air flows out of the darkness, and I shiver.
Jareth clears his throat. “I know it’s not much, but I like the way it feels—the earthy smell, the chalky texture. Plus, it gets cooler back in the tunnels, which makes for great food storage.” His voice bounces from the walls, projecting the sound all around me.
Shadows cast by the edge of the distant firelight flicker across his face, revealing the hollow of a small dimple in his cheek. It’s a face that’s near perfection. Too bad he had to open his mouth and ruin it.
“Like what you see, Red?”
Oh, my God. I’m going to kill this man. Blood rushes to my face, but I’m not sure if it’s from embarrassment or anger.
Pressing my lips together, I try to focus on anything that’s not him. The earthen smell he mentioned isn’t unpleasant. It reminds me of mom’s garden; digging our hands into the dark, moist soil to plant seedlings for the summer season. It’s a satisfying, honest scent.
But I’m not about to let him know that. “Kind of smells like bat shit in here.”
Hazarding a glance at his face, he nods his head, the small smile still playing about his lips. “Oh, that’s what the smell is? I thought it was body odor and dog fur.”
I will kill the asshole in his sleep tonight.
Pivoting on the balls of my feet, I stalk back to Kodiak.
Dreadful. Hateful. Spiteful man. “I hope a stalactite falls on your head.”
Inside the brighter a
ntechamber, Kodiak slinks around the tables, sniffing and snuffling his way through the contents of the boxes lying underneath.
“Stop that.” With a wave of a hand, I shoo him from Jareth’s precious stock of God knows what. “Don’t get too comfy. We’re not staying any longer than necessary. This guy’s a real louse.” A snort sneaks out. “Do you know what he said?”
The hound’s eyes meet mine, and he watches my face with interest.
I keep my voice low, so only Kodiak can hear the conversation. “He said we stink. Can you believe the nerve?”
“You’re the one who said my cave stinks. I happened to point out the flaw in your statement.”
At the sound of his deep voice, I jump and grab onto the edge of a table to avoid losing my balance. This damn cave projects sound like a megaphone.
A dark, mischievous mask covers his face, and he beams with laughter.
Warmth heats my cheeks, and my attention turns to Kodiak, who whines.
One single word forms on my lips—louse.
An old pile of yellowed newspapers sits near the entrance, by the wall and opposite the alien who lies in repose. Their mildew adds to the musty, damp, moldy aroma.
Kodiak moves to the pile, plods around in several tight circles, and beds down on top of the stack. Fantastic. It’s not as if his coat didn’t stink enough already. Curling his body, he tucks his front paws toward his chest. Eyelids drooping, he licks the rest of his fur clean. Not at all concerned about sleeping in a foreign cave with a chauvinistic, rude ogre, he lowers his head and starts to snore.
There’s a spot next to the pile, and I follow the dog’s lead. Dropping down onto my butt, I sit a foot away from my best friend. Jareth and I stare at one another. The sound of the crackling fire echoes.
“So, Tilly, huh? Is that a nickname?”
I could choose not to answer his question. But the need to speak to another human being is overpowering. Even though this guy is a first-class jerk, my hungry mind yearns for real conversation, a real connection. Since my parents died, I’ve met a smattering of people, and never chatted long. Well, except that one time, and he wanted to do more than chat.
Dreading where this conversation is about to go, I’m unable to keep the coldness from my voice. “Yes.”
The Descendant: Baltin Trilogy (Book 1) Page 8
