Hunter's Heart

He barked another laugh, nearly choking on his stew. “Gee, you’d better stop with the compliments before my ego explodes my brain.”

“Sorry. Guess I’m getting punchy.” She hesitated, then observed him thoughtfully. “Tell me about you, or your family.”

“What’s to know?” He stared, admiring the way the corners of her eyes crinkled with tiny crow’s-feet when she smiled. Her full lips, the graceful curve of her jaw.

“Where did you grow up?”

“Atlanta, Georgia, armpit of the South.” He didn’t offer more, and she put down her bowl, throwing him an exasperated look.

“You’re not going to make this easy, are you?”

“Nope. You compared me to dehydrated meat. I’m still recovering.”

“Jeez, we’re touchy.” She leaned forward, peering intently into his face. As she did, Ryon tried not to stare at the perfect roundness of her breasts pushing against her T-shirt.

“What?”

“You told me some about your mom and sister. What about your father?”

His throat tightened. “He was a Marine lieutenant. He was killed in action in Operation Desert Storm when I was a boy.”

Daria laid a hand over his. “I’m sorry,” she said softly.

“It was a long time ago. And I had Mom to put up with me, bless her.” He smiled. “Lisa came along later, from her marriage to my stepdad.”

Daria cocked her head, an odd look on her face. “Do you ever see him?”

“Not often. We call once in a while, send Christmas cards. I really should make more of an effort since the man helped raise me, but we were never all that close. What about your dad? Your father must be a special man.”

“He’s the best. When he retired from studying wolves, I couldn’t wait to take over where he left off. We’re very close, but we don’t get to see each other as much as we’d like.”

“After we’ve put Ben to rights, we’ll visit him.” If we aren’t forced to destroy Ben first went unsaid.

Daria gave him a wan smile. “I’d like that, and so would Dad.”

Neither of them felt much like talking after that. In silence, they cleaned their bowls and utensils with leaves, which they buried to avoid attracting unwanted nighttime guests. With nothing else to do, they readied themselves to bed down. Daria changed into a pair of shorts, muttering that it was too hot to sleep in her pants.

Ryon tried not to stare as she emerged, and failed. Her long legs were slender, toned, and tanned. He could imagine them wrapped around his waist while he pounded into her with precision. He never tired of fucking her. Not tonight, though. They needed rest.

“God, I wish I could risk even one ounce of our water supply to wash off.” She spared a longing glance for the canteen next to her pack.

“I’ll try to find us a safe place tomorrow. With any luck, we’ll run into one of the tributaries branching off of the river.”

“Ohh, that would be fantastic.”

Idiot! Had he lost his mind? Facing a firing squad would be less torture than guarding Daria while she bathed. They’d never reach his team if he banged her all the way across the forest.

They settled into the shelter, lying on their backs, neither one speaking. The quiet between them was companionable.

If only he could silence the chaos in his mind so easily. If he had to kill Ben, she would hate him forever.

You don’t know for sure! She’d forgive you. Right?

Ryon couldn’t handle the truth. Not now. He shoved it away, but it loomed. As deadly as the coral snake, waiting to strike, to poison his blood. His soul.

Damn you, Ben Cantrell. He slid into fitful dreams, the echo of Cantrell’s screams winging him into the darkness.

* * *

Ryon surfaced by slow degrees. He couldn’t move. Pressure on his legs, his chest. The waking dream collided with his nightmare. He called out.

Daria? No!

But the cry reverberated only in his mind. His lips wouldn’t move.

Where was his mate? Trapped. Blood. Soaking his clothes, his hair. Drowning in a crimson river.

Ryon!

Forgive me, forgive me . . .

“Ryon!”

He came awake with a jolt and the nightmare broke apart, the tendrils of unspeakable terror receding into the gloom. The pressure on his body remained, and he realized that someone was half draped across him. A hand was clamped over his mouth.

“Shh,” Daria whispered, urgent.

Ryon tensed, listening. Nothing at first, and then . . . The distant call of a night bird to the north, and an answering call to the west. The rest of the forest had gone unnaturally still. A chill of fear zinged down his spine. Christ, August had his goons searching for them before dawn!

They were so close his wolf could practically smell them. Waiting. Footsteps crept through the brush around them, so furtive the slight movements might never have awakened him. Sweat streamed down the sides of his face. Daria removed her hand from his mouth but remained motionless on top of him, breasts crushed against his chest through the fabric of their T-shirts. The thundering of her heart matched his own.

Ryon stretched out an arm and felt for his M16. His fingers found the stock and closed around it, but the weapon’s presence gave him little relief. They were sitting ducks. If their hideout was discovered, he’d take out as many of them as he could, but he’d be firing blind. No doubt, they were well equipped with night vision goggles, and his pair was stowed in his pack. He didn’t dare risk making noise by digging for them.

The footsteps receded and the calls faded, melting into the returning blurbs and shrieks of the forest’s nocturnal inhabitants. Long, agonizing minutes inched by, became an hour. Finally, Daria slid off him, slow and careful. When the first gray streaks of dawn began to lighten their view, Ryon put a finger to his lips and motioned his intent to take a look around.

Daria gave a small nod and mouthed be careful. He sent her what he hoped to be a reassuring smile, then palmed the rifle and crawled from the tent opening on his belly. Bracing the rifle against his shoulder, he half expected his appearance to draw fire.

Nothing.

Only the busy chatter of day creatures awakening all around them. The men had probably moved on. He waited several more minutes, then rose to one knee. Still nothing. He stood, then made a quick sweep around the area. Satisfied, he returned to the shelter.

“Come on out. It’s clear.”

Daria joined him, glancing around. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah. They’ve gone. The problem is, they’re fanned out, moving in a straight line in the same direction we want to go—toward our rendezvous point. And now they’re ahead of us, or at least this squad is, rather than behind.”

Her brown eyes widened. “Oh, God. That means we’re literally surrounded.”

“We can assume so. The good news is they don’t know that, or we would already be dead.”

“Somehow, honey, I don’t find that very promising.”

“We’re breathing. For now, that will have to do.” Ryon paused, considering the wisdom of his next move. “You need a weapon.”

“I’m not exactly a marksman.”

“Desperate times.” Bending, he retrieved the handgun strapped to his ankle. Straightening, he held it out to her, butt first. “Three fifty-seven SIG. Can you handle it?”