Dark Predator

them.

Lea staggered to her feet at the exact moment DS sat abruptly. He looked up at both of them with shock on his face. Marguarita realized she still held the knife and nearly opened her hand to drop it.

Keep it. You may need it. As Esteban shovels in the dirt, step up. You can help each other out of the hole.

She wanted out desperately. DS was dying in front of her. Spiders streamed up his body, covering every inch of him until she couldn’t see his face. It was like a scene from a horror movie. She couldn’t look at him—or the spiders. She looked up at Esteban. Maybe Lea could get through to him.

Esteban seemed intent on burying them alive, burying the spiders. Looking up at him, she didn’t think there was much hope. He had a strange slack-jawed expression and his movements had become mechanical. Lea opened her mouth to call out, coughed and grabbed her throat.

Marguarita shook her head, warning her to stay silent. Something was terribly wrong with Esteban. He didn’t look as if he even knew what he was doing any longer. As long as he pushed the dirt back into the pit, she found if they stood to one side and allowed the dirt to pile higher, he created a way out for them. She feared if Lea distracted him, he might try to find another way to kill them.

Eventually some of the spiders made their way to the surface. Instead of dispersing, they crawled to Esteban. He didn’t seem to notice even that. He filled his shovel and threw the dirt and returned for more like a robot. The spiders moved over his boots and up his legs, a steady stream of them, silent and stealthy, the numbers growing. Beside her, Lea held her breath and gripped Marguarita’s shoulder.

“I have to warn him,” she whispered, the words barely audible. She sounded hoarse and immediately went into another coughing fit.

Marguarita shook her head, fearing Esteban would try bashing them over the head with his shovel. She couldn’t imagine trying to stab him. DS’s body toppled over, a slow-motion action that drew her attention in spite of her resolve not to look. The spiders appeared to be a moving blanket with a second stream steadily climbing out of the pit to swarm up Esteban. Her stomach lurched and she turned away from the hideous sight.

Esteban suddenly frowned and looked down at himself. The spiders were already moving up his neck and face. Every part of his body was covered, weighed down with the sheer mass of small bodies. Hundreds turned to thousands. He dropped the shovel and screamed. The moment he opened his mouth, spiders poured in, rushing down his throat, cramming themselves inside, filling his eyes and nose. Esteban fell backward, his boot heels drumming in dirt.

Stop it. You have to stop. You’re killing him.

Of course I am. Zacarias was still so calm. Did you think I would ever allow such a man to live?

He’s Lea’s brother.

She is better off without him. I must rest. Alert Cesaro.

He had already dismissed Esteban from his mind. She knew there was no use in arguing, but she tried anyway. We don’t have the right to take his life. It’s murder.

He attempted to kill you both. He allowed his friend to beat both you and his sister and he would have stood by and allowed his sister—and possibly you—to be raped before you were murdered. I will not argue with you.

He was gone. She felt the loss instantly. After being filled with him, the isolation, the complete sense of being alone was overwhelming. Thankfully, Esteban rolled out of sight and the continuous drumming of his boots faded into silence. The spiders had abandoned both Lea and Marguarita for the two men, leaving the women a little dazed and confused and slightly ill.

“We have to get out of here,” Lea said in her hoarse voice. Tears streamed down her swollen face. “We have to help him.”

Marguarita wiped DS’s blood from the blade and slipped the knife back in the sheath, pushing it down into her pocket just in case. She spat to make certain no spiders were in her mouth and flipped her head upside down and shook it, running her hands through the thick mass to ensure they were gone from her hair, as well.

She climbed onto the pile of dirt Esteban had made. There was a small root looped just above her head and she tugged experimentally. It seemed to hold. She gripped it and pulled hard. Lea moved over and laced her fingers to give Marguarita a foothold. Marguarita raised her head over the edge cautiously. Esteban’s body, much like DS’s, had a moving blanket swarming over him.

She swallowed rising bile and found a place at the edge of the hole to grab. It took effort to pull up. She hadn’t realized how weak she was after the adrenaline had drained away. She felt exhausted, her body almost too heavy to move. She flopped onto her stomach and crawled away from the edge, fighting not to cry. She and Lea had a long day ahead of them and a lot of questions to answer. She’d killed a man. All she wanted to do was weep.

Crawling back to the edge, she leaned down to help Lea out. Again, it was a struggle. Lea was as weak as she was. The moment Lea reached the surface she crawled to her brother, trying to get the spiders off his face. It was obvious he wasn’t breathing, but Marguarita didn’t stop her. She sat on the bottom stair and allowed the tears to stream down her dirty face.

Lea finally sank back on her heels, lifted her face to the ceiling and screamed, a helpless, hopeless sound. She buried her face in her hands and sobbed. Marguarita joined her, but there was no sound and deep inside, she added her own helpless scream.

Neither had any idea of how long they sat in the dimly lit room crying, but eventually, it was Lea who forced herself up and went to Marguarita. They stood, holding one another in an attempt to comfort each other before Lea pulled back and wiped her dirt-streaked face.

“We have to call the authorities.”

Marguarita pulled her notepad out. Zacarias is the authority here. He will return soon. Another hour or so. We have to get Cesaro.

Lea nodded. Both women went up the stairs, neither looking back, both still with tears streaming down their faces. Marguarita hit the alarm to call the men in and opened the door wide. Fresh air streamed in along with the sunlight. Although it hurt her eyes and seemed to sear her skin, she lifted her face toward the sky and held out her arms. She wasn’t certain she’d ever be able to go inside again. She’d killed a man.

Horses swept into the yard on a dead run. Julio beat Cesaro by a few inches, leaping from his horse, rifle in hand, taking in both women. Tears and dirt streaked both faces. They were covered in bruises, eyes swelling, lips split and bruises marring skin. Lea’s blouse was ripped right down the front. There was a bruise over her left breast. Julio peeled off his jacket as he took the stairs two at a time to gain the porch, his body blocking hers from the other men sweeping into the yard.

“Marguarita, you all right?” he demanded as he wrapped Lea in his jacket.

She shook her head and stepped into his arms, weeping. Lea took the other shoulder, wrapping her arms around his waist, sobbing in unison with Marguarita all over again. Cesaro pushed past him, signaling his men into the house. He touched Marguarita’s shoulder. It was Lea who answered.

“Down in the root cellar.” She choked on the words. “They’re dead.”

Julio pulled back to examine her swollen, bruised throat. “Who did this?”

Marguarita was very glad she couldn’t speak, leaving Lea to tell the story. Regaining her composure she seated herself in the shade on the porch, grateful for the dark glasses Cesaro brought to her. She drew up her legs and rocked herself as Lea told the men everything that had happened. Lea, of course, thought Zacarias was away from the ranch and both Cesaro and Julio nodded approvingly at the way they had saved themselves—and Zacarias—even though Lea didn’t know they had done so.

“We will have to bring the authorities out here to speak with Senor De La Cruz. He will take care of everything,” Cesaro reassured Lea. “He will make all the arrangements necessary.”

Marguarita shivered. She couldn’t imagine Zacarias talking to the authorities. More than likely he would speak and they would be mesmerized by his voice into doing exactly what he wished. He would have no compunction about manipulating minds to believe what he wished them to believe. Right then, it didn’t matter to her. She waited there until the sun set, the men milling around and the commander himself had come to the De La Cruz hacienda at the urgent call.

She knew the exact moment that Zacarias rose. He didn’t touch her mind, didn’t come into her to relieve the