these people defenseless for any longer than necessary.
Decided, he rushed to Vika’s side and scooped her up.
“If you want to save anything here,” the Targon called, “I’d return in nine days.”
Why nine days?
“My bag,” Vika gasped out. “Please! I need it.”
The males had finally looked past the pile of dead bodies and the pools of blood and noticed him. Shouts erupted. Solo backtracked, grabbed the bag’s strap, and fit it over his shoulder. The moment the weight settled against him, surprise filled him. Little Vika had carried this thing? On her own? It had to weigh a hundred pounds, at the very least.
Another group of men entered the tent, claiming his attention—and Jecis occupied the center. His stormy gaze locked on Solo, and the skull he always carried with him, the one that moved of its own accord, separate from his own bones, that dark presence, tilted back, stretched open its jaw, and shrieked.
Twenty-four
SOLO CARRIED VIKA AND her bag through the night, into the mountains. He had to be freezing. She was. And he was naked, and frost practically coated the air.
“I brought you clothes and shoes,” she said through chattering teeth. “They’re in the bag.”
Maybe he replied, maybe he didn’t. Either way, he kept going.
What had happened inside the tent . . . Total devastation was the only way to describe it. He had morphed into the raging red beast the others had called him. He had hurt people. He had killed.
He had protected.
She hadn’t been afraid of him, and the knowledge had stunned her. He would never hurt her, and deep down, where the knowing he’d taught her about swirled, she’d understood that. She’d been afraid
Any moment, someone could have walked into the tent with a gun and shot him. If that had happened, her father would have killed him, not just to punish him for what he’d done but because Jecis would have feared him, even behind the cage.
“I can walk,” she said, not wanting him to have to carry the entire burden of their escape.
He set her down without ever breaking stride, clasped her hand, and dragged her behind him. They maneuvered around trees—so many trees!—and over thick stumps. An eternity later, he glanced back at her.
“Questions? Concerns? Comments?”
“Where are we?” she asked. Jecis hadn’t said. All she knew was that she’d never been here.
“The New Kolyma region of the Russian Far East.”
“Siberia?”
“Yes. Don’t worry. I’ve got this.”
Up, up, faster and faster, he led her through the snow. Snow on the ground, snow on the beautiful trees. A true winter wonderland, stunning in its beauty. Harsh in its treachery. How quickly could a person freeze to death out here?
Sadly, that wasn’t the least of her troubles. Jecis would follow. Maybe not tonight. Maybe not tomorrow. He would feel no rush. After all, he could locate Solo at any time. But he
Vika would be wise to ditch Solo now and strike out on her own. It was what she’d planned to do while they were trapped in the Nolands. Now . . .
She just couldn’t bring herself to leave him.
He looked back at her, saying, “Shout if you need me to stop.”
“I will.” And she almost shouted a thousand times in the next five minutes, but somehow, she held the sound inside. She wanted as much distance between them and the circus as possible, even if she had to suffer to get it.
The higher up the mountain they went, the thicker the trees became and the rockier the terrain. Eventually, Vika lost track of time. All she knew was that she was shivering uncontrollably and her muscles were as heavy as boulders. Her lungs burned.
Solo glanced back at her a second time, slowed his pace, then stopped. “We’ll stop for the night,” he said. He wasn’t winded and didn’t seem cold.
“Because you found a safe place?” she asked hopefully.
“Because you’re tired.”
As she’d suspected. “I don’t care. Keep going until you find a safe place.” They needed every advantage they could get.
He studied her intently, pride glowing in those baby blues. “Very well.”
Was that pride directed at
She expected to leap back into motion. Instead, he dropped the bag and unzipped the top. The clothes she’d stolen from her father rested on top. Although not a single garment belonged to Jecis. Rather, Jecis had stolen them from the Targon and were the perfect size for Solo.
Size—the reason no one human had bought them. The material was as black as night, and possessed a soft, luxuriant quality.
He slipped into the shirt and the pants, then with drew the clothes she’d brought for herself and tossed them at her.
“How about we leave the bag behind?” he asked as he tugged on the socks and boots.
Solo averted his eyes, saying, “It’s excess baggage, and I mean that literally.”
“It’s my life.” The sweatshirt and pants bagged on her, but oh, they were toasty warm, having been snuggled up to Solo’s body during the entire trek.
“I heard jewelry banging around in there.”
“Exactly.”
An eager gleam that rivaled the beauty of the moonlight entered his eyes. “I’ll buy you new ones.”
When she’d gone to hell and back for these? “Give the bag to me, and I’ll carry it.”
Frowning, he once again fit the strap over his shoulder.
“Solo,” she said.
“Vika.” Without another word, he linked their fingers and urged her forward.
• • •
Solo reveled in his freedom. He still wore the cuffs, yes, but he was no longer behind bars. He was no longer strapped to a wheel, a scratch pad for anyone with an itch. He had his woman at his side, and the only danger currently stalking them was the weather.
He’d listened, he’d watched, and he knew Jecis had stayed behind. Still, Solo wanted as much distance between them as possible tonight. Tomorrow, he would drag Vika what would probably seem to be a thousand miles, and the more they ran tonight, the less they’d have to trek while she was sore and hungry, her adrenaline depleted.
No, he thought next, he wouldn’t allow her to become hungry. The moment he had her tucked into a warm little crevice, she would fall asleep and he would hunt. But wow, already she was holding up better than he’d hoped.
