Wolf

Of Unknown Origins:

Wolf By

Madelaine Montague

WOLF

Madelaine Montague

© Copyright by Madelaine Montague, Aug 2009 Cover art by Alex DeShanks, Aug 2009 ISBN 978-1-60394-336-9 New Concepts Publishing Lake Park, GA 31636 www.newconceptspublishing.com

This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author’s imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.

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Chapter One Cole surveyed the jungle below them through his night-vision glasses, searching the terrain for any sign that they might have company. He wasn’t completely satisfied when he saw nothing. His gut was telling him that it had been way too easy and that was always a bad sign. Particularly when he knew from their first fly over that there was an encampment of guerrillas less than ten clicks from the site where the spy sat had gone down. It had to have sounded like a 747 coming down considering the amount of jungle the damned thing had cleared. It bothered the shit out of him that they hadn’t seen any sign that the racket had stirred up the guerrillas. Shaking his uneasiness, he patted the pilot on the back and signaled for him to drop the stealth chopper lower. They had a hell of a job ahead of them. The quicker they could clean up and hump it to the coast with the debris, the better. Signaling his best men—Maurice ‘Beau’ Beauregard, Remy Cavanaugh, and Gabriel ‘Hawk’ Hawkins to take point—he killed the light and checked his harness one last time as they bailed from the chopper and repelled to the ground. The minute they passed the halfway mark, the next wave bailed from the chopper. Sergeant Cole MacIntyre, Mac to his men, surveyed the perimeter one last time before he hooked up and leapt from the chopper, noting that the other chopper had already dropped its load on the other side of the clearing and begun to peel away. “See ya when ya get back to base,” the co-pilot said. Nodding, Mac gave him a thumbs-up and leapt out. As many times as he’d repelled from a chopper, it still gave him a rush. He welcomed it, scanning the jungle with his heightened senses as he dropped. The men had already begun laying out a grid when he hit the ground. Issuing a low, warbling whistle, he signaled to the men designated to keep watch to take their positions and then moved to the other men, urging them to form small groups and begin scouring the broken brush for pieces. It wasn’t his job to question his orders, but he sure as shit couldn’t figure out why the hell it made any difference if they left a little debris as long as they made sure they got everything important. That was the order, though, and he had the men search each grid in pairs for the tiniest scraps of what was left of the spy satellite that had mysteriously dropped from orbit and crashed in the jungle. They started at all four sides of the grid, worked their way to the center and then crossed, working outward again. Mac checked his watch when they reached the halfway point, cursed under his breath, and surveyed the jungle around them, listening intently. He doubted there was a fucking piece of the son-of-a-bitch more than an inch square. It had still been smoldering when it hit the ground and churned up the jungle floor. Catching a glint in the forest out of the corner of his eye, Mac whipped his head in that direction. Through his night-vision goggles, he spotted a pack of wolves just in

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the edge of the jungle, watching them intently. Uneasiness slithered through him, but it was a small pack. Despite their intense focus on the men in the clearing, he doubted they would attempt an attack. It almost made him more uneasy, though, when he glanced around the second time and discovered the wolves had vanished as silently as they had approached. Twenty minutes passed. The men finally reached the outer edge across from where they’d begun. He strode to check their discoveries. Garbage! Shit! He couldn’t tell from looking at it whether it looked like it might’ve once been an entire satellite or not. Just to be on the safe side, he had men fan out and walk a line on either side of the grid that had been laid out. A half dozen of the men returned carrying bits of the satellite that had been thrown from the main impact site into the jungle. It didn’t make him feel any better, but they’d already spent nearly an hour searching. If the guerrillas weren’t dead, or stone deaf and blind besides, they could be breathing down their necks any minute. He uttered another warble, the signal to recall the men, and checked his map and compass heading as they formed up. Disgust settled in his gut when he saw the awkward bundles that had been gathered up. Trust command to overlook the fact that they were going to be slogging through heavy jungle! He hesitated, but they were going to have problems lugging such awkward bundles at best. At worst, they were going to be sitting ducks if they got into a firefight. Striding to the two squads that had formed up, he told the men to remove anything non-essential from their packs and divide the debris between them. The men gaped at him, no surprise since they hadn’t actually brought anything non-essential with them, but they fell to emptying their packs when he set his own down, tossed out his emergency supplies—everything but his weapons and ammunition—and began stuffing as much of the debris as he could into his pack. His pack was heavy as a son-of-a-bitch when he slung it on his back again, but he still felt better for having divided the load. He signaled for the men to move out, designating Rider, Mullins, and Mercer to take point and ordering Beau, Hawk, and Cavanaugh to guard their rear. They hadn’t been humping it to the coast more than ten or fifteen minutes where their pickup awaited them, he hoped, when the men guarding the rear passed the word up that they had company moving in from the east. He didn’t have to encourage the men to move faster. Nobody wanted to tangle with guerrillas in such an indefensible position. Waiting until most of the two squads had passed, he tapped the last three on the shoulder. They dropped back, joining him, Beau, Hawk, and Cavanaugh. “Want me to get around them and get a head count, Sarg?” Hawk volunteered. Mac considered it and dismissed it. “The orders are to get this shit out of here— no matter what—and that means every scrap of it. We stick together. No shooting unless they get too close. We’re still a good ten clicks from the pickup.” Nodding, the men paced themselves, trailing the rest of the two squads. Sweat, from the humidity, the rough terrain, and nerves began to trickle between Mac’s shoulder blades, from his brow and into his eyes, and down his belly and into his crotch, adding to the misery of biting insects. The itch and sting was maddening. He felt as if fire ants were crawling over him, but he was so tense with expectation of a barrage of bullets that it wasn’t nearly as hard keeping his focus, despite the irritants, as it would

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have been otherwise. By his reckoning, they were still five clicks from the pickup when a shot cracked through the jungle like thunder. He hit the dirt and scrambled on his belly across the ground and over a fallen tree. The other men with him rolled over it in a tide, searching the jungle around them. “Anybody catch the direction that came from?” Beau pointed. “I caught a flash just to the left of that palm.” There was another flash and bark splintered from the tree beside the group. They raised their rifles, peppering the site and directly to either side of it. A cry pinpointed at least one hit even as a barrage of bullets zinged back in their direction. It was no part of Mac’s plan to get surrounded or pinned down and left. They traded gunfire with the guerrillas for a few more minutes and then he signaled half the men to fall back and take a new position. They rotated. When the first group found positions and began returning fire, he and the remaining men fell back, passing the first group and finding positions to their rear. Mac lost track of the time and that worried him. Their pickup could wait just so long without endangering the entire mission. As valuable as what they were carrying was, they were still liable to arrive at the beach and discover their ride was gone and they were trapped. They began moving a little faster, picking off as many of the enemy as they could before dropping back each time but, with the best will in the world, Mac couldn’t convince himself that the numbers were dwindling as fast as reinforcements were coming from the rear. He finally ordered a full retreat when he thought they must be within a click of their pickup point. He could hear the crash of the surf on the shoreline. Reloading, they switched from sporadic fire to fully automatic, cutting a swath through the jungle growth and then ducking and running at a half crouch before the guerrillas had a chance to return fire. They burst from the jungle and onto the beach, whipped a quick look around for the boat and charged toward it. Bullets kicked up sand all over them before they’d covered half the distance and he, Beau, Hawk, and Cavanaugh hit the beach while the others made a run for it, laying down a heavy fire to hold the guerrillas back. Mac felt as if he’d taken cover in an ant bed. Something was sure as fuck crawling all over him and stinging the shit out of him! The moment he heard friendly fire behind him, he rolled and began crawling frantically for the boat, which had already been shoved from the beach. The gunfire from both directions was nearly deafening when he and the other men scrambled into the water to swim for it and the night air was filled with unholy screams of pain and fear—and roars of fury that had lost any semblance of humanity. Rage surged through him. The weariness that had been dragging at him vanished. He had to fight the urge to turn and attack. Struggling against it, he plowed through the water toward the boat, almost surprised when he actually managed to catch up with it and grab a handhold on the side. Instead of the helping hand he’d expected, a hand clamped onto his arm, nearly wrenching it out of the socket as he was jerked from the water like a ragdoll. The breath was punched from him as he hit the deck. Before he could recover, something slammed into him bodily.

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The rage that had gripped him before exploded. He heaved the man off of him, tearing at him with teeth and nails. In some distant corner of his mind, he was aware of horror at his own actions, but he had no control. It was as if someone else, or some thing, had invaded his body and taken control. The pickup craft had become a seething mass of heaving, struggling bodies. Animalistic growls, grunts, and roars filled the air in a cacophony of deafening sound that made his blood surge in his veins. “Mayday! Mayday! We’re under attack! The men! Oh my god! Things! Things! Mayday!” The voice of the man screaming for help over the radio cut off abruptly. Mac flared his nostrils as the smell of fresh blood filled his lungs. Sucking in a deep breath, he launched a final blow at his opponent and looked around for another. His ears pricked at the sound of a chopper overhead, swooping low, and he tipped his head back, uttering a bellowed challenge at the men he could smell on it, the fear he could smell. Crouching low, maddened by the smells, he sprang upward, launching himself into the air. He managed to catch a hold on a runner and lifted his head to glare at the white-faced man staring down at him. Even as he heaved his body up to launch himself inside, however, the man shook his paralysis and fired. He grunted as the slugs slammed into his chest and shoulder, trying to ignore the fire running through him and grasp the runner with his other hand. The man fired again. The bullet slamming into him broke Mac’s hold and he felt himself falling. He blacked out when he hit the water below him. **** Sylvie’s stomach was cramping with nerves and she had to focus to keep from hyperventilating. She’d told herself that she could play it cool. She thought she’d done well considering she’d never done anything illegal in her life and certainly nothing of this magnitude—which might be construed as treason. Although why the government might view it that way was beyond her! So they had a longstanding grudge against Cuba! She didn’t see why that had to apply to everybody, especially when the Cuban government had offered medical treatment to the people her friends had brought down. She completely agreed with the views of the group she’d joined. It had actually sounded like a very noble cause, potentially exciting and daring, especially to someone like her who’d never taken any kind of risks before in her life. Talk was cheap. It was the people who took a stand and took action that made a difference and she’d wanted to be one of those people. She’d been flattered when they’d approached her about borrowing her stepfather’s boat and making the pickup—gung ho to do her part. It wasn’t as if she had to take any real risks like the others were doing. All she had to do was anchor the boat outside Cuban waters and wait. She’d waited all day. She’d slathered enough suntan lotion on her skin to float the boat to keep from turning into crispy critters Sylvie while she pretended to sunbathe … and waited, and waited some more until the sun had dipped toward the horizon and she’d realized she was going to be moon bathing before much longer. She could still play it cool. She was just going to have to think of another reason for her prolonged stay at anchor so close to Cuba. She’d almost convinced herself she

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was going to carry this off …until she heard the blare of the klaxons. Cold terror swept over her like a rogue wave the moment the damned thing cut loose and she nearly jumped out of her skin. She settled back on the towel she’d spread on the forward deck of her stepfather’s tiny yacht, squeezing her eyes closed and willing herself to relax. “Keep your head, Sylvie! And keep your cool! You aren’t doing anything wrong. You’re just down in the Caribbean with some friends who are down below scuba diving! “And why the fuck they aren’t back yet when the damned sun is already setting is a mystery to me!” The music she’d been playing, partly as a ‘prop’ and partly in the hope that it would help her focus on anything except what she was actually doing anchored less than a mile beyond Cuban waters wasn’t loud enough to completely drown out the sounds of mad activity that accompanied the alarm, unfortunately. After lying for several moments with her ears pricked to pick up the escalating sounds around her, she finally decided to try for a casual roll onto her belly. She nearly swallowed her tongue when she saw what was coming toward her. Military boats, bristling with guns and soldiers from Guantanamo! “Oh shit! Oh fuck! Ohmigod! Breathe, Sylvie! Deep breath in, slowly release.” She was so paralyzed with sheer terror that her brain was sluggish but eventually it occurred to her that there was nothing ‘natural’ about continuing to sunbathe when it looked like half the base was coming straight toward her. She sat up then and glanced around her at the sea, hoping against hope that she’d see another ship or ships that was the focus of the military vessels steaming toward her. She didn’t see a ship but as she completed the circuit of her search, she saw what looked like dozens of men plowing through the water—swimming and trying to outrun the boats! She leapt to her feet in a blind panic when her shocked brain finally connected three little words—Klaxons —Escapees—Military. She forgot all about trying to play the cool, unconcerned vacationer minding her own business. Leaping from the deck, she charged toward the pilot deck, slammed her hand down on the anchor retractor button, and started the engine. The wet smack of bodies tumbling onto the deck made her hair stand on end. She threw a panicked glance behind her and saw that she hadn’t imagined it. Men, mostly naked and with the setting sun gleaming on their water slickened skin, were pouring over her bows. She slapped a hand over her mouth to muffle the scream that rose in her throat. Despite her efforts, though, the men who’d bounded onto her deck swiveled their heads in her direction instantly like pointers. Throwing her hands out, she screamed in earnest, looking wildly around for a weapon or some place to run. There was no place and the urge to hide, she realized dimly, was probably useless. Just as it finally dawned on her that her only option was to bail out of the boat and let them have it, the men, who’d seemed almost as frozen with indecision as she was, charged toward her. There was only one way on or off the pilot deck. She had to charge straight toward the men coming at her. The hope that she could outrun them, reach the side of the boat, and leap off was dashed when the man in the lead, a wild-eyed black haired devil built like a tank, slammed into her, manacling his hands around her arms like titanium

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cuffs. Gunfire exploded around them in almost the same instant. Splinters of wood flew from the deck in every direction. The man who’d grabbed her hit the deck in response, on top of her. Shock prevented her from feeling any pain at all for several seconds but nothing shielded her from the collapse of her lungs beneath his weight. A grunt was forced from her. “Get us the fuck out of here, Hawk!” the man on top of her bellowed, deafening her. They rolled over as the boat shot forward in a wide arc. The man who’d tackled her leapt to his feet anyway, scanned the deck in an all encompassing glance, and scooped her up, running at a half crouch across the deck and leaping through the open hatch. Dangling from one of his arms like a ragdoll, Sylvie grunted again when they landed, still too stunned to focus on anything but trying to catch her breath. After quickly scanning the tiny main cabin, he released her. She promptly landed with a thump on the floor. “You hurt?” Sylvie looked up at his face owl-eyed. “Are you hurt?” he demanded impatiently. She was beginning to feel like every bone in her body had been crushed or mangled. Before she could summon speech, though, he ran his hands over her. Apparently satisfied when he didn’t see any blood or find any holes, he surged upright. “Stay put if you don’t want your head blown off.” Sylvie managed a shaky nod, but he didn’t even wait to see it. He threw the warning at her as he turned away and bounded up the ladder to the deck. Sylvie managed a squeak of terror as another barrage of bullets cut through the side of the boat. A shiver skated through her. Within a few moments, she was shaking so badly her teeth were chattering. She drew up into a tight ball, trying to conserve what little warmth she had, but it wasn’t nearly enough when she wasn’t wearing anything but a bikini that wasn’t much more than a couple of postage stamps joined together with strings. She’d figured it might be a good distraction if anyone happened to get nosey enough to investigate what she was doing. There were at least two dozen hard-faced, mostly naked men on the boat with her at the moment, though, and drawing their attention was the last thing she wanted. Easing up cautiously, she glanced around to get her bearings in the darkening cabin. The bedding was stored beneath the benches that formed a dining booth during the day and made up into a queen-sized bed at night. She slithered across the floor on her belly, her ears pricked for any sound that might indicate they could hear her. When she reached the bench, she eased the seat up and levered herself up high enough to peer inside. It was too dark by now to really see anything, but she remembered that the bedding only took up a little over half the space. After darting a quick glance toward the stairs, she climbed in, burrowed as deeply under the folded covers and linens as she could and slowly lowered the seat again. It was a snug fit with her body mass added to the contents, but it wouldn’t make much of a hiding place if she dumped the covers on the floor. In any case, she was freezing. Thankfully, she began to warm up by degrees until the shivering finally stopped. Her mind seemed completely detached from everything, however. Disconnected

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thoughts drifted through her mind between mental inventories that catalogued everything on her that hurt. All things considered, the pain was minimal. She felt bruised all over, ached from being body slammed on the deck, but nothing hurt enough to suggest she was actually injured. The gunfire continued sporadically for a while and finally died altogether. Since the boat was still moving through the water at its top speed, bucking like a wild bronco, she decided that didn’t mean everybody up top was dead. In any case, she could hear them moving around, could hear snatches of conversation. They were speaking English—with American accents. That didn’t make any sense to her at all, but she couldn’t decide whether it really didn’t or if the terror she’d experienced had totally screwed her mind up. It didn’t seem to matter much. As frightened as she still was, as unreliable as her thought processes were, there were facts about her situation that were unavoidable and indisputable. The men had to be escaped prisoners from Guantanamo. The alarm had sounded and not only had boats been dispatched to recapture them, but they’d wanted the men back dead or alive and hadn’t cared which. **** Hawk settled heavily on the deck beside Mac, trying to ignore the burn of the wound in his left arm. “We’ve managed to put some distance between us and them, Sarg, but we’re pretty much out of ammo. What’s the plan?” Mac snorted with disgust. “Aside from trying to stay alive? No clue.” Hawk nodded. He hadn’t really expected Mac to have a plan, but he’d hoped he did. “Guess it’ll be a short ride.” “How’s the fuel holding up?” Hawk shrugged. “This thing’s built for speed. The good news is that it was fast enough to outrun ‘em—what they had to throw at us so far, anyway. The bad news is, fast equals fuel guzzler at this speed. It’s anybody’s guess how far we can get in it.” Mac frowned. Coming to a decision, he got to his feet wearily. “I think I’ll go have a chat with our ‘guest’ and see what she knows.” Hawk looked at him with surprise. “You think she’d know anything about the fuel consumption?” “She’ll know where she came from. I’m guessing whoever the boat belongs to, they were expecting to get it back.” “Duh,” Hawk muttered, irritated with himself. “You think, whatever this thing is we’ve got, it’s gonna turn us into mindless beasts permanently?” Mac flicked a sharp look at him. He swallowed a little sickly. “I wouldn’t worry too much about it, Hawk. You lost a lot of blood.” A flicker of relief went through Hawk. “Hadn’t thought about that.” Mac glanced around at the men on the deck. “Get some rest while you can. Everybody needs to be sharp. No telling what we’ve got ahead of us.” “It’s a fuckin’ shame it didn’t occur to those bastards that we might need to be fresh when we escaped their fuckin’ torture chambers,” Hawk said dryly. “I ain’t slept in … shit! I can’t remember. Not since ‘it’ happened, I don’t think.” Mac sent him an irritated look when he followed him down into the main cabin. He didn’t say anything, though, and Hawk decided it was a warning to cut the chitchat

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rather than irritation that he’d followed him. It was dark as shit down in the main cabin, but that was one of the few benefits they’d discovered about the parasites they’d picked up in the jungle. Their vision was a hell of a lot better than it had been before, better than the ‘perfect’ required just to get into Special Forces—because it was better than human—which they weren’t anymore. Not that any of them wanted to admit it, but they all knew it. Mac glanced around and finally moved to a light switch. It controlled a wall sconce by the couch. After studying it a moment, he decided not to worry about it. No doubt they were still on radar anyway and the bastards from Guantanamo knew exactly where they were. It was no surprise to see that their guest wasn’t where he’d left her. He scanned the room, sniffing the air. Whatever it was she had all over her—suntan lotion if he didn’t miss his guess—was strong enough to seem omnipresent, though, making it pretty well impossible to pinpoint her exact location. It was too small a craft to have many places to hide, though. Shrugging, he took a few moments to check out what they had and discovered the craft boasted a fairly luxurious captain’s cabin at the bow, two smaller guest cabins barely big enough for the beds in them, and two ‘heads’. The head, or bathroom, for the guests was barely big enough to turn around in and the one for the main cabin not much bigger. He had the impression, though, that the boat had never been intended for any sort of prolonged voyage and had probably never been used for one. It hadn’t completely lost the ‘new’ smell. The question was what was the woman doing on the boat alone? He found a couple of canvas bags when he did a more thorough search of the cabins, but those only seemed to present him with more questions. There was clothing for two or three different people in each bag—a curious packing arrangement. Shrugging, he emptied the bags and tossed them to Hawk. “These will work for supplies. Check out the mess and see what kind of stores they brought with them.” “Any sign of the woman?” “Not yet, but she didn’t go far,” Mac said dryly.

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Chapter Two Mac was disconcerted when he found the woman. For a handful of seconds, it hit him that she was dead and he felt his heart contract painfully in his chest. Then he realized she was asleep and amusement and irritation vied for dominance. Poor kid, he thought! They’d scared the ever-loving shit out of her, he didn’t doubt. Which might’ve made him wonder how she could be sleeping so peacefully now except that he was familiar enough with nervous exhaustion to know it when he saw it. There were dried tears on her cheeks. She wasn’t sleeping like a baby because she was too stupid to live, to know what danger she was in. She’d just reached the point of shut down from overload. He hated like hell to wake her, not the least because he knew she was liable to go berserk on them since they had her cornered. Not that he was particularly worried about his own skin, but she was liable to hurt herself. His hesitation redirected his mind down a road it shouldn’t have gone, allowed memories to surface of things his mind had recorded that he hadn’t even realized he’d noticed—the way she’d felt beneath him, the way she’d looked in her bikini. The terrified doe eyes she’d trained on him when he’d cornered her. Shrugging inwardly, he carefully lifted the blanket she was huddled under to see if his imagination had gone wild or if she really was as fine a specimen of female anatomy as he’d ever laid eyes on. He excused his curiosity on the grounds that it had been a hell of a while since he’d gotten the chance even to look at a woman and it was bound to be a while more before he got another chance—if ever. He swallowed a little thickly when he’d looked, struggling to keep his cock from bursting through his fatigues. If anything, he decided his imagination hadn’t done her justice. She was soft and round in all the right places, alright, her muscles toned enough to show she regularly worked out—maybe jogged to stay in shape? Or maybe she was a dancer? She had the body to rake in some kind of dough if she was a stripper. Maybe that was how she’d acquired the boat? Some rich old bastard that was drooling after her bought it for her? Reluctantly, he dragged his gaze from her body to examine her face again and decided she didn’t look young enough to be a dancer—unless she was retired? Not that she was old, but it was usually the barely legal girls that danced and there was a mature look about her face that made him think she was probably closer to thirty than twenty. Not that that mattered one way or another, he thought, feeling anger begin to build in him. He couldn’t touch her—didn’t dare. Jesus he would like to, though! All over, several times. He was struggling to banish the image of burying himself hilt deep in her, watching her face go slack in the throes of ecstasy, when Hawk, who’d been standing over him, released a ragged breath that made her stir. Her eyes opened slowly. For several moments, she stared up at the two of them

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without comprehension and then her eyes grew so wide he could see the whites all the way around the irises—hazel, he mentally noted, not brown as he’d first thought. She sat up abruptly, but to his surprise and relief, she didn’t start screaming. “Nobody’s gonna hurt you, baby,” Hawk murmured in a voice that might have been soothing if it wasn’t so rough with desire. Mac flicked an annoyed look at him but finally decided she might not have noticed that the two of them were hanging over her with raging hard-ons, drooling. “Who are you?” she asked shakily. “I’m Staff Sergeant Cole MacIntyre, US Marines, Special Forces,” he replied, nudging his head at Hawk. “He’s Corporal Gabriel Hawkins.” Sylvie studied both men, trying to assimilate what they’d told her and make sense of it. “I don’t understand,” she said finally. “Is this … some sort of military exercise?” The two men exchanged a speaking glance. “Yeah,” Hawk responded. “No,” Mac said at almost the same instant and then glared at Hawk. Hawk glared back at him. “You tryin’ the scare the shit out of her?” Mac met Sylvie’s gaze. “That what you thought that was all about?” Sylvie swallowed with an effort. “It seemed like it might be a possibility,” she hedged. “But that isn’t what you thought.” It wasn’t, but she didn’t think she wanted to bring up what she’d thought. Maybe if she pretended they weren’t convicts they wouldn’t feel any need to do anything to her? “I won’t tell anybody anything—because I can’t, you know? I didn’t really see anything and I have a really bad memory for names and … uh … faces,” she said a little hopefully. Mac studied her sardonically. “Where do you suggest we drop you? We’re miles from the coast … any coast.” “Where are you taking me?” She held up her hand before either man could answer. “No! Don’t tell me. I don’t really want to know.” Mac studied her thoughtfully. “You want to get out of there?” Sylvie smiled at him a little weakly. “Not really,” she said, her chin wobbling noticeably. “Nobody’s gonna hurt you,” Hawk said again. She sent him a wide-eyed, disbelieving look. “We just want the boat and whatever supplies you’ve got.” She seemed to relax fractionally. “Take whatever you want. You can just drop me anywhere.” Mac scanned her length, lingering a lot longer than he’d intended. She was pale when he met her gaze again. “Lady, I think that’s just about the worst idea I’ve ever heard. We drop you off anywhere dressed like that and you’ll be damned lucky to get two feet without ….” She looked for several moments as if she was going to burst into tears. To Mac’s relief, she sucked it up. He felt like pure shit, though, seeing her eyes swimming with unshed tears—like he’d been pulling the wings off a butterfly. The look Hawk bent on him pissed him off. “You should get dressed,” he said gruffly. “I’m not trying to scare you, but we’ve

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got two squads on board and none of them have been within sniffing distance of a woman in six months—let alone one like you.” Sylvie nodded jerkily, all too happy to oblige. Gripping the blanket she’d been covered with, she surged to her feet. Unable to resist the opportunity to see if she felt anything like she looked, Hawk grasped her waist and lifted her from the box where she’d been hiding. It wasn’t one of his brightest ideas. He didn’t want to let go of her once he’d set her on her feet. His hands tightened reflexively on her tiny waist. Mac punched him in his wounded arm. Rage surged through him at the sudden burning pain, but he managed to tamp the urge to punch his superior back. It still took an effort to peel his fingers off of her when he had visions dancing in his head of throwing her down on the deck and fucking her until he was exhausted. “Let go of her, Hawk!” Mac growled warningly. Swallowing a little convulsively, he ordered his fingers to loosen their grip. Flicking a frightened look at his face, the woman raced toward the cabins, struggling to cover herself with the blanket she was dragging. “I didn’t catch your name, baby.” Sending him a terrified look, she slammed the door. They heard the distinctive click of a lock. Mac sent him a look of disgust. “Jesus, Hawk! Get a fucking grip!” Hawk glared at him, but after a moment he managed to force himself to relax. He ran a shaking hand over his face. “Sorry, Mac. I don’t know what came over me.” “I do,” Mac retorted grimly. Hawk frowned, seemed to wrestle with himself. “It ain’t the parasites,” he growled. “Man, that is one beautiful woman. Don’t tell me you don’t want her so bad yourself you can taste it.” “Like hell! I’ve known you a lot of years, Hawk. Don’t tell me you don’t know you aren’t the same man you were six months ago.” Hawk swallowed a little sickly. “You think it’s starting to affect us all the time? Even when we aren’t … you know?” “I think it has been from the beginning.” Hawk glanced around and finally flung himself down on the couch. “Maybe it would’ve been better if they’d just killed us,” he muttered. “I’m not sure I want to live like this.” “Suck it up, soldier!” Mac growled. “We can deal with it.” Hawk shook his head, but he didn’t argue. He grimaced after a moment. “It ain’t safe to touch her, is it?” Mac frowned. Instead of answering immediately, he began to pace restlessly. “I don’t know. Nobody at the fucking ‘medical center’ got infected that I know anything about.” Hawk snorted. “Now who’s living in a fantasy land? We infected our pick-up, remember? Everybody in the lab was wearing hazmat suits.” Mac frowned and finally shrugged. “We didn’t infect the team they sent in to pick us up,” he pointed out. “Yeah, but we were dead—or close to it after they strafed the pick up boat. Maybe the parasites were too busy fixin’ us up to change hosts?”

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“Maybe. Maybe they just had better timing? Maybe the parasites were satisfied with the hosts they already had? Maybe, maybe … that’s all we’ve fucking got, a whole hell of a lot of maybes. Maybe she won’t catch whatever the fuck we have as long as we keep our hands off of her? I don’t know, but as much as I’d like to fuck her until I’m too exhausted to think anymore, we don’t have time for it. We need to keep our minds on escape if we want to stay alive—and I do.” A sudden thought occurred to Hawk that made him feel distinctly ill. “Shit! What if we’ve already … contaminated her? What if she passed it to everybody she meets up with?” Mac chewed his lip thoughtfully and finally shook his head. “They said it was parasites—they seemed pretty sure of it, anyway. If it was that easy to ‘catch’ it, somebody else sure as hell would’ve when they were stacking us in the morgue.” Hawk considered it and relaxed fractionally. “Well, that’s a relief, anyway. Don’t get me wrong, I hate those fuckin’ bastards, but I wouldn’t like to think we were a threat to everybody we run across.” “That might not come up. We aren’t out of the woods, yet,” Mac said dryly. He glanced toward the door of the cabin then, trying to decide whether the woman had had time to dress yet and finally decided she had. Striding to the door, he tapped on it. “You dressed?” He heard a grunt of exertion from inside the room. “Not yet! Just a minute!” Shaking his head, he stepped back and kicked the door in. As he’d suspected, her ass was framed in the porthole in the bow of the boat above the bed. Crossing the cabin in two strides, he caught her by the waistband of the shorts she was wearing and dragged her back in. She surprised him by putting up a fight. The moment he’d dragged her upper body back inside, she whirled on him. He caught both wrists as she swung at him and pitched both of them back onto the bed, pinning her beneath him and manacling her wrists on either side of her head. “Don’t piss me off, woman!” he growled. “You wouldn’t like me when I’m mad.” Sylvie stopped struggling to buck him off of her abruptly—not because of the warning in his voice or even because she’d run out of steam. She was frightened enough adrenaline was pumping through her at about ninety miles an hour. It was the change in his expression and the hard ridge rising against her mound that finally filtered into her frantic mind and set off warning bells. Gasping for breath, she went perfectly still. He studied her face for a long, long moment, breathing raggedly, but she didn’t think for a moment that it was from overexerting himself in trying to subdue her. His weight alone was enough to do that when he seemed to be solid muscle from the neck down. Almost as if he couldn’t control it, he curled his hips into hers. A faint tremor went through him. “You’re gonna hurt her,” Hawk growled from the door. Mac tensed but he didn’t glance at Hawk. “Don’t do that again. Understand? I wouldn’t mind, at all, tying you to this bunk and giving you something else to think about.” Sylvie swallowed with an effort, nodding jerkily. To her relief, he eased off of her. Instead of getting off the bed, though, he sat up,

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propped his back against the wall and causally adjusted the raging erection tenting his military fatigues. Drawn by the motion of his hand, Sylvie watched him, staring at the bulge until it suddenly dawned on her what she was doing. She flicked a quick glance at his face then, feeling her face heat. To her surprise, he was staring stonily at the other man standing in the doorway. Relieved that he didn’t seem to have noticed her fascination with his ‘problem’, Sylvie sat up and put a little distance between them. “What were you doing out here?” Sylvie blinked at him. Fortunately, she’d gone over and over her lie all day. It spilled out before she considered changing it. “I’m on vacation with some friends. They were scuba diving, but I decided to wait for them on the boat.” He sent her a sardonic look. “That’s the story you cooked up to serve if anybody asked you what you were doing there?” Sylvie reddened. “It’s the truth,” she said without conviction. “No scuba gear on board,” Hawk said. Sylvie sent him a resentful look. “I told you they were diving. They took it with them.” “You haven’t been diving before, have you?” Mac said, amusement threading his voice. She gaped at him. “No,” she said cautiously. “Well, thing is, there’d be extra tanks—all sorts of spare gear. There’d be a large tank to refill the swim tanks.” “There would?” “So, how many friends were diving?” Sylvie blinked at him, trying to remember how many people she was supposed to pick up. “Uh … six.” “Wrong. I found clothes for nine different people.” Sylvie folded her lips together. This wasn’t going well at all. She thought, maybe, it would be better to plead the fifth. He shook his head dismissively. “Never mind. I don’t particularly give a fuck what you were doing there. What I need to know is where you were going after the pickup?” Sylvie had a bad feeling that telling him their destination wouldn’t be a good idea. “Why?” “We want to know how much fuel we have.” Sylvie glanced at the man who’d introduced himself as Hawk when he spoke. “There’s a fuel gauge.” He stared at her a moment and chuckled. “Why didn’t I think of that?” Sylvie reddened. “It was fully fueled when I left Fort Lauderdale ….” The two men exchanged a glance. “And that was where you were planning to return to?” Sylvie stared at him in dismay. The problem with being scared shitless, she reflected, was that one was also scared brainless. She cleared her throat. “All we need to know is the range,” Mac said almost gently. “Nobody’s trying to trip you up for information. Is there enough fuel to reach … say … Mexico?” She really didn’t want to go to Mexico. “I don’t know. I’ve never taken the

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yacht out before. Actually, dad never has. He bought it for my mother. They’d planned to sail around the world together, but then they discovered she had cancer ….” Sylvie bit her lip, realizing she was babbling. She saw sympathy in their eyes but skepticism, as well. It brought forth a spark of reviving anger even though she could see their point, could see why they might think she was making a bid for sympathy. She swallowed against the lump of misery that rose in her throat with the memory of her mother. “There’s a manual.” “Where?” “It’s with the charts in the cabin beneath the wheel.” Hawk turned and strode from the room as Mac slid off the bed. Instead of immediately following Hawk, however, he moved to the pile of clothing on the floor and sorted through it, tossing her a man’s shirt that looked big enough to swallow her whole and a pair of sweat pants. Sylvie stared at him blankly when she’d caught them. His lips tightened. “When I suggested you get dressed, a halter top and short shorts wasn’t what I had in mind,” he said dryly. “Which part of two squads of horny soldiers cooped up too long didn’t you catch?” Sylvie felt her face heat for a split second before all the blood drained away. “This was all I brought.” His eyes narrowed. “You like to flaunt that stuff, huh?” Sylvie gaped at him in disbelief before indignation swept through her. “I was told to provide a distract ….” Something flickered in his eyes when she stopped abruptly. “Well, you are that, baby, but I don’t think you’re going to be too happy with the results of distracting my men.” “But … you’re their commanding officer …?” “I’m not an officer. I’m a grunt, just like they are. I just happen to be the highest-ranking grunt here. We need to focus on staying alive—not watching the sway of those beautiful tits and that fine ass of yours. They’re less likely to break ranks and do something you’ll regret if you keep all that temptation under wraps and stay out of sight as much as possible.” Sylvie clutched the clothing he’d thrown at her more tightly. Struggling with the fear he’d instilled in her, she nodded a little jerkily. Despite her fear, though, her discomfort swam to the forefront of her mind when he turned to leave. “Can I …? Will it be alright if I take a quick shower?” He sent her a look that made the color fluctuate in her face again and sparked a touch of resentment that he so obviously thought she couldn’t resist the urge to primp. “I just wanted to wash off the tanning lotion.” “Make it quick,” he said tightly. “If you’re not out and dressed in five minutes, I’m going to consider it an invitation.” He strode from the room as her jaw slid to half-mast in stunned surprise. The sound of the men on the deck above galvanized her after a moment. Leaping from the bed, she dashed into the bathroom with the clothes he’d given her, locked the door behind her even though that hadn’t proven to be much of a deterrent before, and skimmed out of her clothes. She’d didn’t wait for the warm water to kick in. Wetting herself down, she slathered soap all over, worked shampoo into her hair, and then rinsed as

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quickly as she could. The wind had damaged her hair and skin almost as much as the sun, and she took a couple of minutes to put cream rinse in her hair and lotion her skin. Contrary to what the asshole thought, it hadn’t occurred to her, once, to primp to incite lust! As scared as she was, she was still uncomfortable enough not to be able to dismiss it. Her scalp itched and every inch of skin that had been exposed—which was most of it—stung in spite of her efforts to keep from getting burnt up. The shower and lotion soothed a lot of her discomfort. She didn’t doubt that she was going to be miserable for a while, until her skin healed from the abuse, but at least she didn’t feel like she was still baking. When she’d dried off the best she could, she jerked the clothes on as quickly as she could, combed the tangles out of her hair and left the bathroom. To her relief, she didn’t meet up with Mac. After standing uncertainly in the doorway of the bathroom for a moment, scanning the room and then studying the open porthole she’d tried to climb out, she moved to a corner where she wasn’t in view of the bedroom door—which Mac had shattered—and curled into a tight ball. Truthfully, she was grateful now that Mac had saved her from her terror-spawned insanity. Death by drowning or shark wasn’t any more appealing than facing a boatload of horny, extremely dangerous soldiers. Being gang raped didn’t have any more appeal, but Mac’s behavior, oddly enough, had reassured her that she wasn’t on a boat with pure animals whether she was right and they were escapees from prison or not. That assumption bothered her once she’d had a little time to calm down and think. There was something about it that just didn’t ring true. From what she’d noticed, it seemed to her that all of the men were Americans, and soldiers. She didn’t know anything about the military, granted, but how odd was it that they’d have so many American prisoners—soldiers—in Guantanamo? They had Federal prisons on American soil for military men that had been convicted of serious crimes, didn’t they? **** Hawk had found the manual and dragged it out along with a stack of charts by the time Mac arrived. He sent Mac a questioning look, which he ignored. “Find what we need in the manual?” “Not yet. I was looking at the charts.” “You focus on the manual. I’ll study the charts.” Shrugging, Hawk glanced around for a perch and finally settled on the deck with his back against the wall surrounding the pilot deck. Mac flipped through the charts until he found the Caribbean and the coast of South America. The one thing that had firmed up in his mind about a destination was that they couldn’t head home. Aside from the possibility of infecting others with whatever they had, they didn’t stand a chance of being free long if they headed for the US. The military would have a nationwide manhunt going on the minute they landed and there were just so many places one could hide. He wasn’t in favor of merely hiding any damned way! There had to be somebody somewhere that could treat them, maybe cure them. If that had been the objective of the fucking assholes at Guantanamo, like they’d believed at first, they might’ve already been cured. It pissed him off to think of what all he’d fucking endured, believing they were honestly looking for a treatment or a cure, before it had finally been drilled into him that they didn’t give a shit about a cure. They wanted to know if they could replicate it, make more monsters like the ones they already had.

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What pissed him off the most was that it had taken him so long to figure it out and the fact that he’d felt downright stupid for not figuring it out sooner when he should’ve known better! His memories of that first transition weren’t clear. He’d realized after a while that, once the change was upon them, they hadn’t just physically turned monster, though, they’d had the mentality of animals, turning on each other, tearing at each other with their teeth and claws. The smell of blood and the rage burning through him were his clearest memories, but he’d had nightmarish flashes of the results—torn and bloody bodies lying all over the place. He could remember the absolute horror of the men sent to ‘rescue’ them. He could remember the way the bullets had felt slamming into him when their ‘rescuers’ had drawn down on them and filled them all full of holes. He’d come to from his fall into the water and had just managed to pull himself back up on the boat when the men on the rescue craft had decided it would be better to shoot first and figure out what they were later. Semi-conscious, he could remember being moved from the boat to the ship, being carried, being dropped on the cold metal deck among the bodies of his squad members. He could remember thinking he was dying, the fear, and then nothing until he’d woken up and discovered he wasn’t dead and none of the others were either. Relief had been fleeting. When he’d had time to examine himself and found all the holes—already closed and healing—he’d been too shocked to think for a while, but his shock was nothing compared to the shock of the men who’d been detailed to remove the ‘bodies’ for autopsy. He should’ve realized right then that the military would think they’d stumbled on something with tremendous potential—soldiers that turned into hideous monsters capable of amazing ferocity, who healed miraculously. He’d been too shocked and horrified by his memories, too relieved to find himself alive after all, and too terrified of what was happening to him, had happened, to think past a treatment to make him normal again. He supposed everyone else had been in the same shape as he was—scared shitless. Shrugging his thoughts off, he focused on the maps, trying to figure out the best possibility for survival to give them time to figure out what to do next. He’d circled a couple of possibilities for refueling and was studying the map of South America when Hawk got up and headed down to the engine room. “We aren’t goin’ home?” Beau, who’d taken the wheel, asked him. Mac lifted his head, stared at him for a moment, and finally shook his head. “I’m not sure we can ever go home again.”

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Chapter Three They gathered on the deck, partly because Mac didn’t want the woman to hear the plans and partly because he wanted to keep the men as far away from her as he could. Ordinarily, he wouldn’t have worried about keeping the men in line. They were the Marine’s finest, as well disciplined and trained as they came. Moreover, he knew most of them personally, had worked with them on a number of missions. They weren’t the men they had been, though, any more than he was. Aside from that unknown, dangerous side to them now, there was the simple fact that they weren’t actually in the military anymore. Technically, they were. In actuality, they were just fugitives with prices on their heads. He didn’t know how many of them, if any, had already digested that, but if they hadn’t yet, they would begin to realize soon enough that military ranking didn’t mean shit anymore. “Assuming we can get here—and Hawk’s assured me we have the fuel for it— we’re going to head for the coast here. They may or may not still be tracking us on radar—I’m guessing we slipped them, but I’m not going to bet on it. Fortunately, our heading when we left them behind had us was on a course for the U.S. gulf coastline. It isn’t going to take them long to figure out we changed course regardless, so this is our best bet for now. We’re going to have to split up if we don’t want to make it easy for them. We’ll drop the first group here, the next here, the next here, and the final group will ditch the boat and come ashore here. “There isn’t much in the way of supplies on the boat. We’ll divide them up, but we’re going to need to scavenge. Just be damned careful how you go about it. We don’t want to leave a trail and that means taking a little here and there that won’t be noticed, which also means it’ll take a while.” “What’ll we do about witnesses?” Mac stared at the man, trying to remember his name. “Leaving bodies to be found isn’t my idea of keeping a low profile,” he responded tartly. “Make sure nobody sees you—none of us, with the possible exception of Hernandez and Gomez, are likely to pass for natives—and neither one of them can speak Spanish worth a shit. If you screw up and have to take any witnesses out, just make damned sure it looks like a local crime—not a military hit.” Several of the men chuckled at his remark about Hernandez and Gomez, who both grinned and shrugged good-naturedly, but they turned serious again with the next question. “What if … what if the change comes over us?” Cooper asked uneasily. Mac felt his belly tighten. “Control it,” he responded tightly. “But …. Never mind,” Sawyer muttered. “We can’t afford to linger in a populated area long,” Mac said pointedly. “Grab what you can as quickly as you can and head into the jungle. If you pick up a tail, make damned sure you put them down again before you head for the rendezvous. We’ll meet here,” he pointed to a spot on the map, “in, say, ten days. We’ll wait one day for any late

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arrivals. If, for any reason, any of you can’t make it, we’ll rendezvous here ten days from the first.” “What then?” Cavanaugh growled. “We just gonna ramble around in the fucking jungle forever?” Mac fixed him with a hard look. “I don’t have the answers. Once we’ve thrown off the hunters and have a little breathing room, we’ll see what we can come up with.” “What about those fuckers that have been torturing the fuck out of us?” Hawk said. “If anybody knows anything about this, it would be them.” Mac shrugged despite his irritation with Hawk’s suggestion. “Maybe. And maybe they weren’t focused on curing it any of the time? Still, it’s a possibility. When we rendezvous, we’ll discuss whether we want to break back in to the fucking prison we just broke out of.” “Why not just head home? We can hide in the swamp as easily as the jungle and at least we might have a chance of seeing some of our families.” Mac pinned the man with a hard, uncompromising look. “Mostly because of those families,” he growled. “You want to expose them to this? Risk passing it to them and god knows how many others? And say we can’t pass it, just how good are you at controlling the change? You want to risk a transition where you could be a threat to your family? You want to take the chance that you’ll have enough awareness to refrain from tearing them apart if you should change?” He waited until that sank in, studying the faces of each of the men to be sure they were on the same page, looking for any sign that there were any among them willing to risk everybody else just to get what they wanted. He was slightly reassured when he saw they seemed to have taken it to heart, but not much. If they continued to slide toward monsters, none of them were going to be able to count on retaining enough humanity to consider the rest of humanity—even their loved ones. “Aside from that, we’ve got a better chance in the jungles down here—way more territory that isn’t inhabited, way more places to hide. For now, it’s our best bet. I’m no crazier about it than any of the rest of you, but I’ve considered it long and hard. Is everybody with me?” Again, he waited until they’d agreed to a man. “Alright, then I suggest you group up into teams, study the maps and commit them to memory, scour this tub for supplies and deposit them on deck so we can split it up, and then get whatever rest you can while we can. Once we hit the beach, we’re going to have to move fast and cover our tracks thoroughly. My team will ditch the boat. We can draw straws for which group hits the beach first, etc.” Hawk, Beau, and Cavanaugh lingered after the others had spread out to search for anything useable. “Unless you have an objection, Sarg, we figured we’d tag along with you,” Beau said. Mac considered it. They were his best men. If it had been an ‘ordinary’ operation, he would’ve preferred to split them up to lead the other teams. There was nothing ordinary about it, though, and that was saying something considering the shit they’d been through together. He managed a tired smile. “I can’t think of anybody I’d rather have watching my back.” The men relaxed, making it clear they’d expected him to object. “What about the woman?” Hawk asked.

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Mac met his gaze for a long moment and finally shook his head. “We can’t take her with us where we’re going.” Hawk’s lips tightened. “We can’t leave her. I wouldn’t be comfortable with it if she was a marine. That little gal—well, it’s plain as day she’s way out of her depth already—and was before we took the boat. I don’t know what in the hell she thought she was doing out here, but she’s got lamb written all over her.” Mac’s lips tightened. “You think I like it? You want to see her turn into— whatever the fuck it is we turn into? You really want to take that chance?” All three men looked a little sick. “Ain’t none of us want to see nuthin’ happen to that sweet little piece, mon ami,” Maurice ‘Beau’ Beauregard said finally. “And that includes lettin’ those bastards get their hands on her. And you know that’s what’s gonna happen if we doan take care of her.” Mac shook his head. “I don’t know. I’ll try to think of something. In the meantime, Beau, I want you to get below and keep an eye on her … just in case any of the guys forget they’re supposed to be gentlemen.” Beau snorted. “I doan got no bars on my shoulders.” “You’re still a marine—duty and honor,” Mac retorted tightly. Beau shrugged uncomfortably. “No problem, Sarg. It was just a little wishful thinkin’.” “Well, don’t be thinking about it.” “I’ll watch her,” Hawk volunteered. Mac snorted that time. “I don’t think so. I’ve already seen how you’re handling keeping your hands to yourself.” “You should talk!” Hawk muttered indignantly. “Which is why I’m not watching her.” He nudged his head at Beau. “Get down there.” **** Fear, Sylvie reflected, was a lot more exhausting than she’d ever realized. Then again, it wasn’t something she was really familiar with. She was sorry she’d done something so stupid as to get her mixed up in whatever it was she was mixed up in. Not that it did any good to tell herself she should’ve known better. Adventure wasn’t for the faint of heart anymore than ‘taking a stand and doing something’ was. Deep down, she was a born coward and she knew it, knew her limitations. She’d tried to find her backbone and look where it had gotten her! She decided after a few minutes that she wasn’t really sorry she’d let Carl talk her into joining his little group or that she’d caved when they’d begun pestering her to be the pickup. It just wasn’t right that people needed medical help they couldn’t get in their country because they couldn’t afford it. Maybe she was just that much more susceptible to their plight because of her mother’s illness, but she thought she would’ve empathized regardless. She might not have willingly fallen in with Carl’s plans, but she would’ve been outraged. She would’ve been willing to stand up and demand that somebody do something! She was too old to do such stupid things, she thought glumly. Bravery was for the young and stupid who believed they were invincible,

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untouchable, and immortal! Like the kids that had captured her and were currently trying to make up their minds whether they most wanted to play soldier or rapists. She didn’t suppose they were that much younger than her, but she knew if she’d met up with them anywhere else under any other circumstance, she would’ve thought of them as kids. It was hard to think of a 200-pound gorilla as a kid, she reflected, even if he did look like one in the face. She seriously doubted there was a single one of them over the age of twenty-five, and most of the ones she’d gotten a glimpse of looked to be closer to twenty—with hard bodies, hard faces, and hard eyes that had seen way more than most twenty-year-old kids saw, or should see. Handsome, all American boys—men. They’d gone in as boys. They weren’t boys anymore, regardless of their youth. She needed to remember that. She needed to keep firmly focused on the fact that—in experience, if not age—she was dealing with some seriously dangerous men. Special Forces, Mac had said. Were they all Special Forces? And if so, what the hell happened? Why was half the base out chasing them? Try though she might, she couldn’t come up with a single theory that sounded plausible for an entire group of Special Forces soldiers to end up imprisoned and considered dangerous enough by the Armed Forces to launch such a full-scale search for them. Well, the dangerous part she didn’t have trouble with. She might not know a damned thing about the military, but everybody had heard about Special Forces. An image of Mac’s face formed in her mind. There’d been a wildness in his eyes when she’d first encountered him that had scared the piss out of her, but she didn’t think he was insane. He’d scared her with his threats, too, but he hadn’t made any attempt to reinforce those threats. Not that she had any desire to test him! “You ok?” Sylvie jerked at the sudden question, lifting her head to stare at the stranger now standing in the doorway to the cabin. She nodded numbly instead of pointing out that she wasn’t ok with being a prisoner. He nodded. “I’m Beau—actually Maurice Beauregard, but everybody just calls me Beau. Sarg sent me to look after you, so if you need anything …?” Sylvie felt her heart skip a beat, but she wasn’t sure if it was hopefulness that his consideration meant they weren’t a threat to her or if was simply because he’d mentioned Mac—and she wasn’t sure why the mention of him was enough to set her heart to hammering in overtime. Actually, she suspected why, but she didn’t have any intention of acknowledging it, even to herself. “Sarg? The one you all call Mac?” she asked hesitantly, not even certain herself why she was pretending she didn’t know exactly who he was referring to. “Yeah, Mac. He’s the Sarg. Good man! I’d give my right nut … uh … sorry ‘bout that. Ain’t been in mixed company in a while.” His friendliness didn’t particularly make her less uneasy. In point of fact, it unnerved her more, but she realized it might be her only chance to learn something. “You’ve … uh … worked with him a lot?”

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“Sure! Done ….” He paused, obviously jogging his memory. “Six missions with him. He’s gotten us out of a lot of tight spots.” “Really?” Sylvie asked, interested in spite of herself. “Six? He doesn’t look … uh ….” Beau chuckled. “Experience is what counts.” Sylvie felt her face heating in spite of every effort to curb it, because the minute he mentioned experience, her mind instantly leapt to the memory of being pinned to the bed beneath him. An involuntary shiver skated through her. Beau’s eyes gleamed knowingly. “I was talkin’ about on the field, sweet pea. But I ‘spect he’s got plenty of that kind of experience, too. He’s a marine, sweety—we fight hard, work hard, and play hard.” Sylvie cleared her throat. “My name’s Sylvie—Sylvie Stone. Actually, Sylvia, but I never really liked that.” “Sylvie,” he repeated in his thick Cajun accent. It was amazing how much prettier it sounded when he said it. He crouched in the doorway. “So, tell me, Miss Sylvie—what you wuz doin’ in a bad place like dat, eh?” Sylvie studied him. “You first.” His brows rose. All of the humor vanished from his face. “I don’t tink the sarg would like me runnin’ off at de mouth about it,” he responded finally. His accent got thicker the longer he talked—or maybe because he was agitated? Clearly, either way, it wasn’t something he was planning on telling her. But was there really any reason not to tell him what he wanted to know? She hadn’t wanted to before because she couldn’t think past her own troubles, but they had far more trouble than she did. It wasn’t likely they were going to narc on her and her friends. “I was supposed to pick up some people,” she said finally. “Carl—he’s a guy I know that has this sort of radical group—had taken some people down to Cuba for medical treatment they couldn’t get in the states. He needed somebody to pick them up and take them home. He knew my stepfather had a boat and he convinced me to sail down and wait for them.” He looked skeptical. “That’s all, really.” “Good ting for us. I doan know about the others but I shore was glad when I see dis boat just sittin’ out dere in the water. I was beginnin’ to think they was gonna catch us again ‘fore we even made it off that fuckin’ island.” “Beau!” The growl came from Mac. Sylvie recognized his voice even though she couldn’t see him. Beau surged to his feet, his expression a mixture of discomfort and resentment. “I was just talkin’ to Sylvie. You din say I wasn’t supposed to.” Mac stepped to the door and glanced around the room before his gaze settled on her. “You hungry?” “I’m about to starve stiff,” Beau responded immediately. Mac rolled his eyes. “Well get in there and find something,” he said irritably and then turned to Sylvie again. “How about you?” She discovered she was despite the tension in her belly. She nodded and surged to her feet. Mac scanned her attire and looked disgusted.

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“It’s what you gave me,” she said a little defensively. He shook his head. “I don’t guess it matters what you wear,” he said a little irritably. “Come on.” Sylvie didn’t know whether to be flattered or unnerved by his comment, but she moved toward him. He settled a hand along her back at her waist, urging her out. It felt like a firebrand. She felt her skin prickle all over. The urge to outrun his touch, however, died when she discovered there were several men in the main cabin. She immediately felt a counter urge to stay as close to Mac as she could. Hawk, already seated at the table, watched her like his namesake as she crossed the room, at Mac’s urging and settled across from him. It wasn’t until a noise across the room distracted him, in fact, that he seemed to remember he had a fork in his hand. Frowning, he focused on his plate—which she saw contained one of the microwavable meals from the stores. “We’ve got chicken, chicken, chicken, and beef,” Mac said sardonically. Sylvie felt a flicker of discomfort and irritation at his sarcasm. “I’ll take another chicken if there’s enough,” Hawk said before she could answer. “Me, too! This is some good shit!” Cavanaugh said enthusiastically. “Better than the shit we’ve been gettin’, anyway.” “Enjoy it while you can,” Beau said tartly. Mac sent him a significant look and Beau shrugged. Carrying two, he moved to the table and looked down at Sylvie. After staring back at him blankly for a moment, she finally realized he was waiting for her to move over. She scooted across the seat. He settled, setting both meals down. “Beef? Or Chicken?” Considering his comment, Sylvie decided he’d probably prefer the beef. “The chicken’s fine.” He pushed it toward her. “Bring something to drink when you come, Beau.” Sylvie heard the rattle of the fridge and then the rattle of bottles. Her stomach knotted when she realized he’d grabbed the case of beer Carl had stocked. Hopefully, however, it wasn’t enough to get them drunk. “You drink beer?” Sylvie glanced at Mac. “No. I’ll take water.” Beau set the case down and headed back into the kitchen area, returning a few minutes later with a bottle of water. Hawk slid around the booth to give the others room and grabbed a bottle of the beer. “Who’s the beer for?” Sylvie stiffened. “Carl brought it.” “Carl your boyfriend?” Hawk asked. She glanced at him, realizing he was a lot closer than she’d first thought. “He’s just a friend.” “Your boyfriend don’t mind you take jaunts with old Carl?” “Why don’t you just ask her if she’s got a boyfriend, dumbass?” Cavanaugh asked with a chuckle. Hawk shot him a bird. “You got a boyfriend?” “Knock it off,” Mac said before she could answer. “Shit, Sarg. We’re just making conversation here,” Beau muttered irritably. “You’re making her nervous. Let her eat.”

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On one level, they weren’t. The easygoing conversation between them almost made her forget she was a captive. She could almost imagine herself sitting down in a club or someone’s backyard, just enjoying a little food, a little flirtation, and friendly company. On another level, they definitely were. It was impossible to ignore the fact that they were hitting on her. Whether they were actually serious or not was another matter, but it was still a little overwhelming to be hit on by so many good-looking men at the same time. And they were good-looking now that she’d settled down enough to notice. It almost went without saying that they were all built like young gods—because they were young and in peak physical condition besides. Being young and built well was enough to make them attractive by itself, but it went beyond that. They had nice faces to go with that youth and great build. She doubted any of them had ever had any trouble coaxing a woman into their bed. Even though she was inclined to think Mac the handsomest of the four, the others could give him a run for his money. Beau was a total flirt and his Cajun accent was just icing on a package that was already dangerously attractive. Cavanaugh had a hint of that same accent and she wondered if they’d known each other before they’d joined the service. That thought led her to another. Every one of them had a southern accent. Curious coincidence? Or had they all known each other before they’d joined up? “You’re all from southern states, aren’t you?” The men looked at each other a little blankly and then shrugged. “Sarg is from Wyoming,” Hawk volunteered. Sylvie glanced at him in surprise. He shrugged. “What can I say? I’m surrounded by Rebs. They kind of rub off on you.” She smiled faintly at the admission, but then frowned thoughtfully. “So it’s just a coincidence? You didn’t know each other before you went into the service?” “Nah,” Cavanaugh responded. “I’m from the mighty state of Mississippi— Hawk’s a long, tall Texas, and I figure you can guess where Beauregard’s from.” “Most of the hot spots are hot zones,” Mac responded to the question she hadn’t voiced. “It’s easier to handle the heat when it’s something you’re used to. Then, too, southern boys are just crazy enough to think crawling around on their bellies through mud and getting shot at is a hell lot of fun.” The ‘southern boys’ grinned. “Guess that goes for rednecks from Wyoming, too, huh?” Hawk quipped. Mac sobered. “I guess I thought so when I enlisted.” He nudged his head in a silent command for the others to leave. At least Sylvie thought that must have been the signal. They gathered up their empty plates and slid out of the booth. Cavanaugh strolled to the fridge, took the other case of beer and headed up top to pass them out to the other men. Hawk gathered up a roll of charts from the couch that she hadn’t noticed, and returned with them. Stacking her empty plate with his, Mac passed it off to Beau and then used his meaty forearm to wipe the table down before he spread the charts. Uncertain whether he actually expected her to look at them or not, Sylvie tried not to be too obvious about glancing at them. He pointed to a speck on the uppermost map. “We’re going to drop you here.”

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It took a moment for it to sink that he was talking to her and several moments before it dawned on her that he was telling her they were going to let her go. She was afraid to ask if he meant dead or alive. “Never been there myself, but if it’s on the map it must be a reasonable sized place. We’ll have to drop up on the coast a few miles from it, but you can follow the beach easily enough. You speak any Spanish?” Sylvie swallowed several times against the lump that had formed in her throat. “Not … not much.” He frowned. “That could be a problem, but it’s a coastal village. They probably have somebody there that could speak a little English. If not, they’ll figure out pretty quickly that you’re American and take you to somebody that can. “The cover story is that you were on a boat taken by pirates and managed to get away. That’s close enough to the truth you should be able to carry it off and it’ll explain your presence there without any paperwork.” Sylvie wasn’t certain she really believed they were just going to let her go, but relief swelled inside of her anyway, and hope strong enough to make her eyes and nose sting with tears. “You’re going to let me go?” she asked, searching for confirmation in his expression that he wasn’t just saying it to keep her calm until they could dispose of her. She couldn’t really interpret the emotions that flashed in his eyes, though, and she lifted her head to examine the other men’s faces, blinking her blurring eyes to see them more clearly. “Hell, baby,” Hawk said gruffly. “Mac told you we weren’t going to hurt you. His word’s gold. You can bank on it.” Sylvie swallowed a little convulsively. She didn’t remember Mac telling her any such thing. She remembered Hawk telling her they wouldn’t hurt her. Was his word as good as gold, too? Or did it depend on what Mac ordered him to do? They all looked uncomfortable, but she didn’t know if that was because they were lying to her and really didn’t intend to leave a witness or if it was discomfort because of her emotionalism or maybe both.

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Chapter Four Sylvie supposed it was due to the fact that he’d busted the door to the main cabin down that Mac sent her to rest in one of the small guest cabins. She didn’t know, but it did make her feel better to have a door between her and the men even though it also had more of the sense of a prison cell. He hadn’t told her when they expected to reach the coast—she wasn’t even certain of what country they were dropping her in since she hadn’t been able to really study the map. She did know it wasn’t the U.S., and that it was South America and the plan was to drop her a few miles from the little town. That unnerved her, particularly when she knew they planned to go in at night, but she had too much else to worry about to dwell on that particular aspect. Mac caught her arm, stopping her as she entered the tiny cabin, and she sent him a wary look. He seemed to struggle for words for a moment. “I know you’re scared. You don’t know me and you’ve got no reason to trust me—any of us—but we don’t make war on women and children. No one here is going to hurt you. I wouldn’t hurt you and I won’t allow anybody else to. You got that?” Sylvie swallowed convulsively and nodded. He lifted a hand and settled it along her cheek. “Good girl! Try to get some rest. I’ll have somebody right outside if you need anything. Alright?” Sylvie nodded again. “Thank you,” she said a little unsteadily. He smiled faintly, looked like he was considering saying more, and finally dismissed it. “You’re going to be ok, Sylvie—my word on it.” She curled up on the bunk when he’d left, listening to men moving around the boat, their low voiced conversations. The shock that had engulfed her from the time they’d taken over the boat gave way to a sense of unreality, almost like a dream where the sense of an unknown threat was woven in and out of a bizarre drama that didn’t really make any sense. She found that she didn’t want to think about what she was going to face if and when they did actually let her go. The images that did flicker through her mind weren’t comforting. After a while, she found herself drifting toward sleep in spite of the tension that still coiled through her, in spite of the questions and fears that kept tumbling through her mind. For a time, she would drop toward unconsciousness only to be jerked from it by some sound that alarmed her—a heavy tread above her head, a short spurt of laughter from a male throat. It flickered through her mind to wonder what Carl must have thought when he’d arrived at the rendezvous and found her gone. He was probably cursing her for being so unreliable, pissed off that he and the people they’d taken to Cuba for help were stranded. It was the least of her worries at the moment, though, and it was usurped fairly quickly by more immediate concerns. Eventually, she drifted closer to oblivion, but it seemed she’d barely lost touch with reality when she was jerked back again. Her eyes grainy from lack of sleep, she

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blinked up at the unfamiliar ceiling above her, listening intently, and trying to decide what had woken her. The boat had slowed, she realized as soon as it dawned on her that the sound of the engine wasn’t as loud. After straining for a few moments to see what else her hearing might tell her, she finally got up as quietly as she could and peered out of the small porthole the cabin boasted. Outside, it was brighter, but still dark enough that it took her a few moments to sort and identify the shadows. The thin ribbon of beach she could see in the distance finally identified the view as land mass and sea, although the black backdrop had seemed more like a bank of black clouds at first. A loud splash close by brought her focus from the land to the sea just beyond the porthole. Almost directly behind it was another loud splash, and then two more almost one upon the other. Bodies. Her heart skipped several beats before she saw movement and realized four men had gone overboard. She could see faint gleams of light among the shadows she finally identified as bodies cleaving through the water. Her gaze went immediately to the thin ribbon of beach that seemed so impossibly far away. The boat began to pick up speed again almost the moment the men went into the water. Sylvie stayed where she was for several moments more, straining to see if the men had made it to the beach, but she’d completely lost sight of them in the darkness. Settling on the bunk again, she tried to assure herself that they must not be as far from shore as it had seemed to her, but she couldn’t convince herself. They must know what they were doing, she told herself. She’d almost dozed off when the change in the sound of the engine alerted her that the boat was slowing again. She didn’t get up that time, instead listening keenly for the splashes she’d expected. Five this time. Thirty minutes to an hour later, the boat slowed again, and again she heard the splashes that told her four more men had gone into the water. She was wide-awake when someone tapped lightly on her door. Throwing the cover off, she got up and opened it. Hawk looked her over keenly. “It’s time.” Sylvie’s stomach instantly cramped with fear, but she merely nodded jerkily and followed him out, trying to convince herself he only meant that they were going to drop her off like they’d promised. In the back of her mind, though, the fear steadily grew that he’d meant something else entirely, something she didn’t want to think about. She discovered when she reached the top deck that Mac and Beau were standing by the side of the boat. Cavanaugh was at the wheel. She could see he was doing something but she couldn’t tell what—not simply steering. It looked like he was tying something to the wheel. “Ready?” Mac asked, drawing her attention to him. After studying his face blankly for a moment, she scanned the water, searching for land. A nauseating wave of fear went through her when she saw how far away that little ribbon of sand was. “You mean … you don’t mean …? I have to swim? That far?” My god! They might just as well shoot her. She’d never make it! “You can make it. We’ll help you,” Hawk said reassuringly, as if he’d read her mind. She blinked. All of the men were burdened already with canvas bags that she

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didn’t doubt were stuffed full of everything that wasn’t nailed down from the boat. Cavanaugh joined them, picking up his own bag. “Now or never,” he muttered. “The boat’s headed for open water and we’re getting further by the minute.” Stepping up onto the low side of the boat, he launched himself toward the water. “I can’t do this!” Sylvie said, panic threading her voice as Beau stepped up onto the wall and followed him. “I can barely swim!” “You can,” Mac said bracingly. Before she could object further, Mac grasped one arm, Hawk the other. They didn’t just help her up onto the side, however. They pitched her from the boat. Sylvie sucked in a sharp breath to scream as she felt herself hurtling toward the ocean. She hit the water and went under before she could brace herself, swallowing what felt like a gallon of water. When she came up spluttering and coughing, she sloughed the water from her eyes and turned in a circle, trying to get her bearings. “That way,” Mac growled at her, giving her a push in the right direction. She hoped to god it was the right direction! She couldn’t see a sign of the beach now that she was in the water. She started swimming, however. She swam until she thought her lungs would burst and stopped, struggling to tread water and catch her breath. Hawk and Mac, she realized, feeling a surge of panic despite her weariness, were several yards ahead of her. Letting out a whimper of fear, she began swimming again. Hawk paused, glanced around for her and came back. Pulling the strap of his bag from his shoulder, he thrust it at her. “Hold on to this. I’ll pull you.” She clutched at it automatically as he shoved it at her, but the drag was more than she’d expected. She nearly lost it. Hawk dragged her over onto her back and crooked an arm around her neck. Between the drag of the bag she was holding and his pull, she thought she was going to black out. The waves, moreover, were high enough to wash over her face every few minutes in spite of his efforts to hold her head above water. The struggle to catch a decent breath of air was sheer torture. She couldn’t imagine what it must be like for him, and yet he swam steadily, seemingly tirelessly. Minutes felt like hours. She had no idea how long he’d been struggling to pull both of them to the beach when he finally stopped to rest. When he did, Mac handed him his bag and began pulling her. Sylvie fought panic all the way. She was so relieved when she finally felt her feet touch sand that she couldn’t contain the sob that rose in her throat. “Shhh! You’re alright.” She wasn’t certain which of them had commanded her to be quiet, but she gulped back the urge to give in to her emotions. She was so exhausted it took every ounce of strength she could muster to climb out of the water even after she’d finally been relieved of the bag she’d been carrying. She collapsed face down on the beach, fighting for breath, still struggling with the urge to burst into tears. Mac and Hawk settled beside her, both breathing heavily, although neither one of them sounded as bad as she did—and they’d lugged her ass and the heavy canvas bags besides! “We need to get going,” Mac said after a few minutes, impatience and anxiety in his voice.

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Realizing dimly that that was a command for her to get up, Sylvie struggled to push herself upright. Mac helped her to her feet and turned her. “Straight down this beach. It’s about five miles to the village, but you’ll likely meet up with some fishermen before you get there. We have to get going.” Sylvie nodded. Relief at the discovery that they hadn’t lied to her, that they really meant to let her go, warred with sheer terror at being abandoned on a foreign shore. “It’ll be light soon.” Sylvie glanced at Hawk, but she didn’t know if he’d said it because he was worried about their escape or to reassure her. She merely nodded. Gathering her strength, she began walking along the beach. “Just stay on the beach, Sylvie. You can’t get lost if you stick with the beach.” Sylvie paused when Mac spoke, turning to look back at him and Hawk. Abruptly, it hit her that she was never going to see them again and that they were in far more danger than she was. On impulse, she rushed back and flung her arms around Mac’s neck. “Thank you! Take care of yourself.” His gaze flickered over her face when she leaned away. Abruptly, he threaded his fingers in her hair, tilted his head and covered her mouth. Sensations exploded through her. An avalanche of heat inundated her. As brief as the kiss was, it rocked her world. She swayed unsteadily when he released her as abruptly as he’d caught her to him for the kiss. Dizzy, completely disoriented, she struggled to find her bearings. Hawk swept her into an embrace, however, that finished her descent into chaos. Fortunately, when he lifted his head, he caught her shoulders, pointed her in the right direction and gave her a little push to get her started. She wanted to look back, but it took all of her focus to keep her wobbly knees from giving out on her. When she finally decided she could manage it without falling on her face, she discovered they’d disappeared. Despair instantly swamped her that they’d vanished from her life as abruptly as they’d appeared. Fear for them replaced her fear of them and her fears for herself. She tried to tell herself that they were far better equipped to handle themselves and the jungle than anyone she knew. They were trained and battle hardened. All she could think about, though, was that, for whatever reason, their country had abandoned them—No! Was hunting them like animals. She could go home. They couldn’t. In a few days, or possibly weeks, she would be back at home, comfortable, safe. They were going to be trying to survive in the jungle—or dead. She couldn’t bear to think of that! They were so young, so strong. It was obscene to even consider that their lives could be extinguished, that young men with so much potential and so much to offer would simply cease to exist. Little by little, her focus shifted from them to her more immediate concerns. She worked to put them from her mind and focus, trying to calculate how long she’d been walking and how much further she needed to go. The crash of the surf and the rustle of the jungle beyond the beach with the almost incessant breeze off of the water lulled her, and yet animal sounds from the jungle pierced those more soothing sounds often enough to keep her jumpy. Adrenaline rushed through her each time she heard the call or growl of some unknown beast and she would move a little faster until weariness overcame fear. She’d begun to wonder if they’d lied to her after all and there was no village

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ahead of her when a man suddenly stepped from the jungle in front of her. Relief instantly surged through her. “Help!” she called, hurrying toward him. “Can you help me? I need help.” She’d caught his attention before alarm bells went off in her head. In the lightening of early morning dawn, though, it finally struck her that the man wasn’t dressed like a peasant or a fisherman. He was wearing worn fatigues and carrying a rifle over his shoulder. She halted uncertainly when he spoke to her, shrugging his shoulder to shift his gun to his hands. A half dozen more dangerous looking men came out of the jungle like ghosts. The man she’d spoken to used the barrel of his gun to summon her. She stared at him warily, flicked a look at the others who were slowly moving to surround her. “I’m an American,” she said shakily, trying not to think about how many times she’d read in the news that the drug cartels and guerillas had kidnapped Americans and held them for ransom. A quick glance around told her she had no where to run, that there wasn’t any cover close enough that she could reach it before they shot her. She inched back toward the water, trying to keep them from surrounding her. One of the men laughed, making chill bumps run up and down her spine. “Here, Gringa. We help.” The other men apparently found that highly amusing. They grinned, displaying teeth in need of dental attention. Sylvie bolted abruptly. She realized the attempt to escape was futile even as she tried. She almost managed to race past the man closest to her. He made a grab for her, though, and managed to snag the loose shirt she was wearing. She screamed, kept running, trying to wrench free of his grasp, but he’d slowed her momentum. Another man grabbed her. Screaming again, she clawed at the man, twisting and jerking. He lost his grip on her when she used her weight to throw him off balance, tumbling to the sand, but he nearly peeled her shirt off. Someone else grabbed the waistband of her sweat pants, jerking them halfway down her hips and suddenly her terror switched focus. She’d never, for a moment, been in any real danger from Mac and his men, she realized dimly. These men meant to rape her and either cut her throat when they were done, or carry her off and rape her over and over until they were tired of it and then kill her. One of the men dove on top of her while she was struggling to crawl away, flattening her. She uttered a feral scream when he rolled her over, biting and clawing at him when he tried to pin her down, but she realized in despair that she was surrounded now. **** As hard as Mac tried to focus on the task at hand, he discovered once he’d left Sylvie on the beach that all he could think about was how helplessly inadequate she was for defending herself. They couldn’t take her with them, he reminded himself. They couldn’t afford to take her any closer to the village without risking their own necks—risking everybody. The entire reason he’d worked out the plan was to throw the bastards off, to make sure they were still guessing. They’d know once they chased

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the boat down that they had to have gone ashore, but there was miles and miles of coast for them to search and the chances of them being found was remote—as long as there weren’t any locals to report having seen them in the vicinity. He and Hawk had joined up with Beau and Cavanaugh shortly after they’d left Sylvie on the beach. He could feel their disapproval and it rankled. It was the best plan he could fucking come up with for everyone concerned, he thought angrily. Even if he thought she would be safer with them, she would’ve slowed them down, increased their chances of getting caught and that wouldn’t go any better for her than it did them. They were going to have to live off the land, keep moving. She wasn’t in any shape to handle what they were going to have to handle. He was still trying to convince himself that she was going to be fine when he heard the sound he realized he’d been listening for since they’d left her. His blood turned to ice with the first scream. Sheer terror filled every note. He stopped abruptly, lifting his head to determine the location. Beau, Hawk, and Cavanaugh halted, as well. Dropping everything abruptly, he launched himself into a run, battling his way through the heavy underbrush that reached out and snagged him like manacles. He felt the change coming over him as his fear and frustration mounted. For once, he didn’t fight it. He relaxed, let it take him, welcomed it. By the time she screamed again, he was in full transition, racing faster, unimpeded by the jungle growth that had been slowing him before. The smell of the men reached him—their excitement made his stomach churn, increased his rage. He could smell her fear, hear her panting breaths of terror. Uttering a howl of rage, he pushed himself to run faster still. Bursting through the heavy foliage at last, he landed in sand, whipped his head around and spied the knot on the beach. The men had all paused at his roar, lifting their heads. He could see the whites of their eyes as they spied him and the others. One man screamed and whirled to run. The others seemed too frozen to move for several moments. Abruptly, one of the men screamed ‘Chupacabra!’—goat sucker— grabbed his machine gun, and began firing. The moment he did, the others released Sylvie and scrambled for their own guns. Bullets whizzed past him like angry hornets, but he barely even registered them. Sylvie hadn’t moved. She was naked, her skin so pale it shone—and he saw blood. Around him, the others howled their rage and raced him to reach the men first. He slammed into one with a satisfying crunch of bones—the man’s bones. The man uttered a gurgling scream as he tore his throat out with one swipe of his claws and then looked around for another to kill. Hawk bounded past him, racing after the man who’d run. Beau and Cavanaugh were shredding two others. He glanced down at Sylvie, torn between the need to see if she was still alive and the greater need to rend and tear and break bones. As he caught a whiff of the men escaping, that need took precedence and he bounded after them. He managed to catch one of the fleeing men and settled to dismembering him, dimly aware of the screams around him as Beau, Cavanaugh, and Hawk managed to catch their own prey. By the time he’d finished, he discovered the others were well away and still running. Gasping for breath, he hesitated again, trying to decide whether to chase them down and kill them or go back to check on Sylvie.

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That time the urge to check on her took precedence. Turning away, promising himself he would hunt them down if they’d hurt her, he began jogging back toward the beach. It didn’t occur to him until he’d reached it that he was liable to scare her to death if she wasn’t dead already. Dragging in a deep breath, he focused on tamping the rage. As he regained his control, he felt the change overtake him again. He glanced down at his hands and discovered he was bloody all over, but he saw hands, not the paws of a monster. “Sylvie!” he called, stepping from the jungle and looking around for her. The churned up beach was evidence that he had the right place, but he didn’t see any sign of Sylvie until he’d surveyed the beach from end to end. He caught sight of her as she raced along the water’s edge. The jiggle and bounce of her bare ass riveted his attention the moment he spied her. Equal parts lust and rage filled him. Giving himself a mental shake, he began to jog after her. “Sylvie! Baby! You’re going the wrong way!” She threw a glance behind her and then skidded to such an abrupt halt that she went down on one knee in her attempt to change directions. She leapt up immediately and charged straight toward him, her clothes clutched under one arm. The bounce and sway of her breasts mesmerized him. She was barely a yard from him when she took a flying leap toward him. He had a split second to brace himself before impact. He managed to stay on his feet when she slammed into him, coiling her arms and legs around him, but he staggered before he caught his balance. Throwing his arms around her more from instinct to catch her than design, he tightened his arms when she burst into tears, babbling incoherently. “Mac! Soldiers! Soldiers! They tried … and I was so scared and then these things, these horrible things … They came out of nowhere and they … killed those horrible men, and I thought they were going to get me …. It was so horrible! Blood everywhere and ….” Mac dropped to his knees, carrying her with him. “Shhh! It’s alright now, baby. I’ve got you.” “They’ll get us! They’ll get us! We have to run!” It needed only that to make him really feel like shit! “It’s alright, baby. Nothing’s going to get you.” He found himself rocking her, trying to soothe her and at the same time get his mind off the fact that her bare breasts were flattened against his chest—when they weren’t bouncing against him from her hard sobs. He was only partially successful in directing his mind away from his lust, even though he fully expected her to notice he had a raging hard-on any minute and start berating him for having his mind in the gutter when she was traumatized. When she’d calmed a little, he caught her face between his palms and forced her to look at him. “Did they hurt you?” She stared at him uncomprehendingly. “Did they rape you?” Her chin wobbled. “They were going to! I tried to fight them off, tried to run, but they caught me and they tore my clothes off and held me down and then …. Mac! Those things are still out there! I swear I’m not making it up. There’s something in the jungle!”

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“There’s nothing out there that you need to worry about!” he said harshly. Sylvie sniffed, glancing around fearfully. Which was when Mac realized he’d smeared blood all over her. Drained of the adrenaline that had carried him, he had to struggle to get up with her. “Let’s get you cleaned up, alright? Drop the clothes.” It was obvious from the look on her face that she hadn’t realized she was still clutching them. She let go of them, but she didn’t let go of him. If anything, she clung more tightly as he waded into the water. He had to peel her loose and he was fighting himself, not just her, when he did. Bathing her was worse, but she was like a frightened child, too shocked and clingy to grasp what was happening or what he expected out of her. She was shivering when he led her out of the water again. Picking up her shirt, he knocked the sand from it and pushed it over her head, threading her arms into the sleeves. That was bad enough. When he knelt down to help her step into the pants, he was within inches of her mound and it took all he could do to keep from burrowing his face in it. “We can’t leave her,” Hawk said, breaking the silence. Mac straightened, heaving a shaky breath. “We can’t take her.” Her face crumpled. “Don’t leave me, Mac!” He caught her shoulders, giving her a slight shake. “I can’t take you, Baby. I can’t.” “Why?” she wailed. “Don’t leave me here! Please! The monsters will get me!” Mac clenched his jaw, glanced at the other men, and faced her again. “We are the monsters, Sylvie!”

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Chapter Five Sylvie stared at him uncomprehendingly and then turned to look at the other men. None of them were smiling. If anything, they looked more grim-faced than Mac did. “I don’t understand.” “It was us,” Mac growled. “Me, Hawk, Beau, and Cavanaugh. Those horrible things that tore those men to pieces—it was us! We can’t take you! We can’t guarantee that we won’t turn on you and kill you just like we did them! That’s why the military wants us back so bad. That’s why they’re chasing us, why they’re going to kill us if they catch up to us. Once we turn, we’re too dangerous even for what they had in mind for us—turning us loose on the enemy—because they can’t control us and we can’t control ourselves.” It was too much to take in. She thought it would be anytime, but certainly now, after all she’d just been through. A memory flickered in her mind, though, a faint image she hadn’t even been aware that her mind had recorded. The beasts had been wearing military pants, camo just like Mac and his men, she realized abruptly—and she still felt blank, unable to accept it. “How?” Mac shook his head. “I don’t know how—none of us do. All we know is we were sent out on a routine mission. We were to collect a spy satellite that had crashed in the jungle. We picked up something there—a parasite. Everything else aside, the longer you’re with us the more chance that you could get it, too.” Sylvie touched her lips in horror as that sank in. He’d kissed her. Hawk had kissed her. If they had something, couldn’t they already have passed it to her? What were the chances that they hadn’t? From the look on Mac’s face, she knew he’d instantly followed her train of thought. His face twisted and her chest contracted in empathy. “Now you know. Go to the village. You’ll be safe now. The ones we didn’t kill are long gone by now.” A shudder raked through her at the reminder. The men had been wearing military style clothing. For all she knew they were military and if that was the case, she had absolutely no desire to put herself at their mercy again. Even if they weren’t military, they’d been close to the village and, to her mind, that indicated a possible tie between them and the village that she didn’t want to chance. For several moments, she hesitated, but when she saw the men reach the edge of the jungle she dismissed everything from her mind beyond the fact that they’d protected her. She rushed after them. “Please, take me with you. I won’t be any trouble. I swear!” Mac turned on her so fast it took her breath. “What part of that did you not understand?” he growled. Sylvie’s heart thumped painfully. She swallowed a little convulsively. “I understand. You wouldn’t hurt me. I know you wouldn’t.” Mac’s lips tightened. He was furious with her, mostly because he felt like shit leaving her and worse with her begging him to take her. Hadn’t he made it plain enough

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that she was in far more danger from him and his men than she was with the foreigners? “Baby, you don’t know me at all! I’ve killed so many men I lost count a long fucking time ago—and that’s when I know what I’m doing. When the change comes over me, I’m an animal, a mindless monster.” Despite her fear, Sylvie saw something in his eyes then that she’d never expected to see—fear, fear of what he was, and might become, and might do, maybe had already done. Strangely, it soothed some of her own fear, gave rise to the certainty that she’d be safer with him than anyone else in the world. “You aren’t. You didn’t hurt me. You saved me from them. I trust you.” “Well, you’re a damned fool! I can’t trust myself!” he snarled, and then held up his hand, holding his thumb and forefinger about an inch apart. “I was this close to doing exactly what they were trying to do. And I can fucking guarantee you that if you don’t take your ass off down that beach, sooner or later that’s exactly what’s going to happen. It’ll just be me and my boys fucking you instead of the local boys.” Dismay flickered through her, and fear, but she dismissed it resolutely. “You don’t have to do that,” she said quietly. “You obviously haven’t been around too many men on the edge, Baby!” “You don’t have to … take.” He stared at her blankly a moment and swallowed audibly. “Jesus!” He scrubbed a hand over his face and finally turned to the other men. “She won’t be able to keep up.” Hawk flicked a glance from Mac to Sylvie. “She can if we help her.” “Cavanaugh?” “We can take care of her.” “Beau? You crazy, too?” He grinned. “As a loon. Let’s just get goin’.” Mac scanned the sky, shook his head in disgust, and urged Sylvie ahead of him. She’d lost her shoes. She hadn’t actually given that any thought until she stepped from the beach sand and into the jungle brush. She gritted her teeth at the first jab of debris, wondering how the guys had managed to run through the woods barefoot. She was well aware that she was only allowed to stay with them on sufferance, however, and tried her best to hide the fact that every step was painful, and it only got worse. As bright as it already was on the beach, it was dark under the canopy of trees, but it brightened steadily, revealing things she would’ve far preferred not to see. She almost regretted pestering them to take her with them until they caved in. She hadn’t actually given a thought to anything beyond staying as close to the men who had protected her as she could. She hadn’t considered that she was going to have to tramp through jungle growth so thick she could be lost in a matter of seconds. She hadn’t considered having to fight off more insects than she’d ever seen in one place in her life. She hadn’t considered that they were on the run and didn’t dare stop more than a few moments at the time—partly, she knew, because she’d held them up and they’d still been on the coast at daybreak. She hadn’t considered that she was going to discover more things she hadn’t adequately thought out almost hourly. She wasn’t exactly free from fear either. She’d grown up in a city and had lived her entire life in cities. The closest she ever came to nature was a walk, or jog, in the park. Every living thing in the jungle scared the piss out of her. Oh, there was the

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occasional sighting of a beautiful, brightly colored bird and butterflies, but there were far more horrible things crawling all over the place than charming ones. The first several hours that they walked she was so busy searching for things that might bite that she was vaguely nauseated from the constant movement of her own eyes and head—motion sick—and so tense with anxiety that it took all she could do not to scream every time something new jumped out at her. She finally became so weary and sick to her stomach her misery surpassed her fear, but it was always there in the back of her mind, a constant companion. When they finally took a break, she examined the spot where she wanted to collapse carefully and then wilted to the ground. Beau handed her a bottle of water. “Make it last. We don’t have much.” Nodding, she took a couple of small sips and put the cap back on. Someone thrust a pack of peanut butter crackers at her. She shook her head. “Thanks. I’m not hungry.” “Eat anyway,” Mac growled. She took it and swallowed a little convulsively. Opening the package with shaking hands, she took one out, folded the pack back up and stuffed it in the shirt pocket since the sweat pants she was wearing didn’t have pockets. She discovered she actually felt a little better after she’d eaten the cracker, not quite as nauseated anyway. Mac made an irritated sound. “At least it won’t take much to keep you,” he muttered. She flicked a glance at him and looked away. Clearly, he was still pissed off about her insistence on coming with them and her ‘offer’ hadn’t been enticing enough to appease him. Resentment flickered through her, but she was too tired to nurse it. Regardless, she felt it. If he hadn’t decided to use her boat as a diversion, she wouldn’t have been in this mess to start with. She could’ve turned around and headed home and that would still have been a diversion. Of course, she didn’t know anything about boats or navigation. She probably would’ve run out of fuel, or gotten lost at sea, or maybe been captured by pirates. It was also possible that the manhunt for them would’ve netted her since they were following her boat, but that was beside the point! It was his fault! He didn’t have to be so pissy about her tagging along when she wouldn’t be in the mess at all except for him—and the other men. “If you feel the urge for a nature call, now’s the time,” Mac said pointedly. Sylvie looked at him, and then looked around to discover everyone was looking at her. Her face reddened. That was another thing she hadn’t adequately considered! Swallowing the urge to whine about having to go in the woods, she stood up and picked her way carefully through the brush until she could find a little privacy. Once she’d squatted, she learned something new about her anatomy that she’d never known before. ‘It’ didn’t actually work with gravity. It seemed, in fact, to defy gravity. Hoping against hope that the leaf she grabbed to dry off with wasn’t poison-something-or-other, she cleaned up the best she could and adjusted her sweats. The men were grinning when she returned. Glaring at them, she stared stonily at the woods until they shouldered their bags and started off again. The lack of any means of personal hygiene offended her sensibilities. Since

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they’d left her bottle of water with her, she waited until she thought she wouldn’t be seen and tipped a little into her palms to hit at washing her hands. “You’re going to get thirsty if you use your water for bathing,” Mac commented from behind her. She flicked a guilty look back at him and nearly fell over a bush in front of her. He caught her arm, steadying her, but released her the moment she’d regained her balance, making it impossible to view it as anything more than a courtesy. Frowning, she took another cracker from her stash and nibbled on it thoughtfully. Despite her offer, she hadn’t actually thought the guys would take her up on it. Not that she wasn’t willing enough to trade sex for protection if that was what it took! But she hadn’t actually thought they were as desperate for sex as Mac had seemed to indicate. Obviously, she’d been right. Not only had none of them jumped at the chance to take her up on it, but they seemed determined to keep their distance. Was it the way she’d offered, she wondered? Had it looked as pathetic to them as she’d felt at the time? Or were they just not desperate enough and therefore not that interested? She couldn’t honestly say that it had occurred to her any of the time that they would be. She’d been afraid they would rape her at first, well aware that rape rarely had anything to do with sexual attraction. Sure she’d gotten a rise out of Mac when he’d pinned her to the bed, but she wasn’t young enough and naïve enough to misunderstand that sort of thing. A man’s dick was erectile tissue and young men’s dicks responded to stimulus a lot more readily than older men’s did. They were generally aroused when it did—unlike a woman whose nipples sometimes stood erect when she wasn’t the least bit aroused—but not necessarily for a particular woman. Even if she’d been naïve enough or conceited enough, to think they found her attractive, he’d made it clear that he’d been imprisoned for a very long time, which meant he hadn’t had an opportunity to really exercise it in a while—with a woman, anyway. They probably thought of her as an old woman, she thought glumly, which she didn’t suppose she could quibble with when she thought of them as the next thing to kids. She wasn’t really ‘in’ to self-denial, unfortunately. She was nearly thirty-five. She did her best to take care of her appearance, but she didn’t think she looked young enough to fool anybody into thinking she was a lot younger than she was and she knew damned well that she’d thought of anybody over thirty as old when she’d been in her twenties. Paybacks were hell! The more she thought about it, the more embarrassed she was by her behavior. She was lucky they hadn’t laughed at her when she’d offered to give them some for protecting her! Or told ‘old pussy’ jokes! Oh the humiliation of it! The only upside to her mental anguish and self-flagellation was that it kept her too preoccupied to notice her physical misery nearly as much. She was almost surprised when she discovered it was growing dark enough it was beginning to be hard to see. “That stream I saw on the map shouldn’t be far now,” Mac said, breaking the silence that had held everyone since they’d last stopped for a brief rest. Sylvie felt a spark of interest. “Do you think it’ll be safe to bathe in it?” “I don’t know. Guess we’ll see … if we find it.”

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“I smell it,” Beau, who was in the lead, said. Sylvie blinked in surprise. Lifting her head, she sniffed until she was beginning to feel lightheaded, but she didn’t smell anything. She’d already decided he’d just said it jokingly when the men in front of her stopped. She halted, trying to peer around them. Mac, who’d taken the rear all day, moved around her. “I’ll check it out. Y’all find a place to bed down for a few hours.” Hawk, Beau, and Cavanaugh obediently began to look around. Shrugging, Sylvie looked around, too, although she had no idea what they might be looking for. The forest looked the same to her in every direction. After a moment, they spread out and began walking off in three different directions. She stared at them in dismay, wondering if she should follow them—any of them—or stay where she was and hope they’d come back for her. Finally, deciding she was just too damned tired to wander around looking for a place to settle, she examined the ground at her feet and, when she didn’t find any crawling things, sat down. When she looked around for the men again, she discovered they’d all vanished and uneasiness began to creep through her despite her weariness. Breaking a leaf from a bush close by, she began to fan herself, trying to ignore the niggling doubts in the back of her mind, the fear that they had just brought her into the woods to abandon her. She’d managed to scare herself badly enough that she was near tears when she heard a rustle in the brush close by. “Mac?” she called out in a quavering voice. “It’s me, Hawk. I’ve found a good spot.” Relief flooded her. She surged to her feet and looked around for him in the deepening gloom. “I’m here.” She nearly jumped out of her skin when he spoke almost directly behind her. It took all she could do to prevent herself from leaping at him. Something flickered in his eyes when he saw her face. He shook his head at her. “Come on, scaredy cat,” he murmured gruffly, dropping an arm around her shoulders. The impulse to deny it trembled on her lips, but she tamped the urge. She didn’t think he’d believe her anyway if she tried to deny it. She was embarrassed when he only led her twenty or thirty feet from where she’d been sitting. She couldn’t see what there was about the site that was any better than where she’d been, though. “I think this is far enough off the trail we’ve been following to avoid any nasty encounters with animals heading to the river for water and it’s pretty high ground, so we shouldn’t wake up in a puddle if it rains.” Sylvie surveyed it skeptically. She couldn’t tell that it was any higher at all, but the first part of his speech was enough to convince it was a better place. She didn’t want to have any nasty encounters with the local wildlife. As she watched him, he pulled a long, wicked looking knife from a pocket on the leg of his pants and began hacking at the brush. “Go easy on that,” Mac said, appearing abruptly. “We don’t want to leave anything to make it easy for them to find us.” Nodding, Hawk finished decimating the plant he’d attacked and mounded it in the center of the tiny clearing he’d made. When he’d finished, he lay down on it, folding his arms behind his head. “Not too bad,” he announced, sitting up after a moment, “better

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than bare ground anyway.” Beau and Cavanaugh returned bearing unrecognizable dead things. “We found dinner.” “Good! I’m starving!” Hawk said cheerfully. Trying not to look revolted, Sylvie moved aside as they squatted down near the mound Hawk had made and set to work building a tiny fire and then made a spit out of limbs and placed the meat over it to roast. “You want to bathe before or after you eat?” Mac asked. Sylvie looked at him hopefully, glanced at the meat and then the darkening woods. “Before.” She didn’t want to be anywhere near the river after dark, but she was sticky from sea water and sweat from the humidity and itching from insect bites. Leaving the others at the campsite, he led her down to the edge of a fairly large stream. The water didn’t look terribly inviting. “There isn’t anything in it that will try to eat me, is there?” “No crocs … might be a snake or two.” Sylvie sent him a horrified look and he laughed. “Baby, this is a jungle—not a park. Everything in it has teeth or fangs—or both.” She studied the water unhappily for a moment but finally, resolutely, hooked her thumbs in the waist of her sweats. She was going to bathe off if she had to beat the animals off to do it, damn it! “Don’t piss in the water,” Mac advised her. Sylvie whipped her head around and gaped at him. He shrugged. “Some of the watering holes have parasitic fish that will swim up a stream of piss and right into the urethra.” “You aren’t serious?” “I’m as serious as a heart attack.” “Not that I was going to,” she muttered. Shaking her uneasiness, she pushed her sweats to her ankles and stepped out of them. When she turned around to find a place to hang them, she discovered that Mac had turned his back to her. She stared at his back, wondering if he’d done it to give her privacy because he was a gentleman or if he just hadn’t wanted to see. Trying to convince herself it was the former, she caught the bottom of her t-shirt and peeled that off, as well. When she’d hung up her t-shirt, she inched down the bank until her toes were in the water and began scooping up handfuls of water and splashing it on herself. She would’ve liked to get in and actually soak. Without any soap, she wasn’t likely to get very clean just splashing in the water. Then again, the water didn’t look all that terribly clean anyway and a little cleaner was better than nothing and she wasn’t about to swim with snakes. An enormous splash right in front of her sent a tidal wave of water over her and she surged to her feet in sudden fright, staring at the water with bulging eyes. Mac surfaced, skimmed a hooded gaze down her length and then ducked beneath the water. Irritation replaced her fright. The ass! She studied him as he surfaced again and swam toward the far side, mildly disappointed to see he was still wearing his trousers, and finally squatted down again to resume her own bath—not that she needed nearly as much water when he’d succeeded in thoroughly drenching her!

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“You aren’t worried about the snakes?” He flicked a hard look at her. “Only one at the moment,” he muttered. She sent him a blank look before it dawned on her what he was referring to. Her gaze moved to his crotch of its own accord. Warmth flickered through her when she saw his ‘pet snake’ was indeed ready to strike. Averting her gaze when it dawned on her that she was blatantly staring, she focused on her attempts to wash herself, wishing she had the nerve to submerge herself in the water as he had. As unappealing as it was, it was still wonderfully cool. He waded out again before she’d managed to convince herself to take the plunge. “We should get back. The meat’ll be done enough to eat before long and I imagine the others would like to bathe.” She hadn’t realized she was being thoughtless in taking her time! Nodding, she brushed as much water from her skin as she could and grabbed her shirt, pulling it over her head. “You should’ve done your laundry while you were at it like I did,” Mac commented when she’d pulled her sweat pants back on. She hadn’t thought about it, damn it! “Too late now.” He caught her shoulders. “Nope.” Her eyes widened at the gleam in his eyes. “Don’t!” It was too late to object, however. She hadn’t even managed to get the warning out when he gave her a shove that sent her flying backwards into the river. She hit the water and sank. She nearly lost her pants racing out again when she’d managed to get her feet under her. Furious when she saw the smirk on Mac’s face, she smacked him on the belly with the palm of her hand. The sound cracked like thunder through the jungle and Sylvie sucked in her breath in pure horror at what she’d allowed her temper to goad her in to. “I’m sorry!” Mac studied the reddened handprint on his stomach and lifted his head, his expression unreadable. She took an incautious step back, lost her balance on the sloping bank, pin wheeled her arms and fell backwards. Mac shot a hand out and grabbed her shirt, but it had been big on her to start with. It merely stretched. She fell in anyway. The tug was enough to pull Mac off balance, as well. He made an attempt to dive over her when he felt himself falling, but it was only partially successful. He still landed halfway on top of her, nearly drowning her before she could get to the surface again. He pounded her back. She fought his hand off. “Don’t help!” she said crossly when she managed to catch her breath. “You nearly drowned me!” “Sorry. Guess we’re even?” She shoved her hair out of her eyes and stared at him. “I really didn’t mean to hit you.” He nodded. “I didn’t mean to throw you in, either.” She glared at him. “You were just helping me get my clothes washed, I suppose.” His lips curled. “Exactly.” She studied him for a long moment and finally shook her head. His smile was just too appealing to ignore. “Ok, I’ll forgive you for throwing me into the water with the snakes if you’ll forgive me for my temper.”

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He chuckled. “Baby, I’ve had mosquitoes bite me harder than that.” She rolled her eyes, but if he wanted to be macho about it, it was fine by her! She didn’t know what had come over her anyway! She didn’t hit people—ever. How stupid was it to lose her sense of self-preservation with a man like Mac? Deciding she was just relieved that he hadn’t decided to choke her for it, she was more than willing to let it go at that. It took an effort to heave herself out of the water with her clothes so thoroughly soaked. She had to hold onto the waist of the damned pants to keep from losing them and she still managed to moon Mac as she climbed out. She was tempted to take them off and wring them out, but wasn’t sure she’d be able to get them on again so she just squeezed as much of the water from them as she could and slogged back to camp in them. It was already dark by the time they reached the campsite. She didn’t think she could’ve found it at all if Mac hadn’t been leading the way, and the guys all turned and stared at her anyway. Considering her clothes were plastered to her and left very little to the imagination, she wouldn’t have been surprised by their stares if she’d thought they had enough light to actually see her, but she didn’t think they possibly could. Deciding finally that they were just staring because they were wondering what had transpired at the river, she settled on the brush Hawk had mounded up for them to sit on and worked at getting more water out of the shirt. After a few moments, Beau and Cavanaugh left and headed to the river—she supposed. They didn’t announce it. Hawk dug into one of his pockets and shoved something into her hand, which she discovered was a comb. Ordinarily, she wouldn’t have considered using anyone else’s comb, but these weren’t ordinary circumstances. “Thanks,” she murmured, smiling at his shadowy face in the darkness. “Don’t lay it down. We might never find it again,” he said, rising and following the others. “Your clothes will probably dry faster if you move closer to the fire.” “Maybe I should just get further and take them off and wring them out better?” Sylvie said a little doubtfully. “Don’t worry about it on my account,” Mac said dryly. “Baby, I’ve done seen everything you’ve got … and I can see you just as well over there as I could if you were standing over the fire.” Sylvie cleared her throat. “You’re not serious?” “About which part?” “I can barely see my hand in front of my face. Your night vision couldn’t be that good.” He shrugged. “Wanna bet?” “How many fingers am I holding up?” she asked, shooting him a bird. He chuckled. “Three fingered salute.” A jolt of surprise went through her. “Can they see as well as you can?” “I’m guessing they can.” Sylvie considered it. “Will it bother you if I take them off and wring them out?” He was silent for a long moment. “Baby, I think everything about you bothers me,” he said finally, his voice husky. It sent a shiver through her, and warmth, but she wasn’t sure how to take the

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comment. “I kept up today,” she said a little defensively. “That isn’t what I meant, and you know it.” He was silent for a long moment. “Take them off and let me look at you.”

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Chapter Six Sylvie felt her throat close. She hesitated, uncertainty flickering through her. Finally, she stood up and pulled her shirt off. She didn’t know what to do with it when she had. “Now the pants.” She bent over as she pushed them down her legs. When she stepped out of them, she dropped both the pants and the shirt on the mound of grass beside her. Straightening, she tried to decide what to do with her hands and finally merely left her arms at her sides. “I had this picture of you in my mind as an exotic dancer,” he murmured a little hoarsely. “You aren’t, though, are you?” Sylvie sent him a startled look. “No.” She didn’t know why he’d thought so before and she wasn’t sure it was flattering that he’d decided he was wrong. In fact, she was pretty sure it wasn’t. She lifted a hand to cover her breasts. “Don’t cover them.” She moved her arm a little jerkily, curling her hands into fists at her sides as discomfort wafted through her. She jumped when he surged to his feet abruptly. “Get dressed,” he said harshly, striding away abruptly. “They’re coming back. Sylvie was too stunned for several moments to react at all. The shield didn’t protect her long, however. Dismay filled her and embarrassment, but a spark of anger flickered to life even as she dove for her clothes. She had a damned good figure, even if she wasn’t a snot-nosed kid! She didn’t know what he could possibly find objectionable about it except her age—unless he just preferred the boy-shaped, skin and bone sticks that passed as women these days! She supposed that was it. It was the ‘norm’ for young girls now, what they strove for instead of the curves they once had—in her day! She just didn’t understand why he’d wanted to look unless it was specifically to humiliate her. Instead of jerking her clothes back on as she’d meant to, she picked her shirt up rather defiantly and focused on wringing out as much of the water as she could. She wasn’t ashamed of her body just because he’d made her feel like she was lacking in some way! All three men had returned and crouched by the fire before she was satisfied. Shaking the shirt out, she finally pulled it on and then crouched down to pick up the pants and wring them out. Instead of putting them on when she’d finished, she draped them over her arm and left the campsite, moving far enough away for privacy to relieve herself and then stumbled around in the dark until she finally found the river by pure accident. Crouching beside it, she washed the tears off her cheeks, sniffing until she’d mastered the urge to cry and finally cleaned herself up and put her sweat pants back on. A dark shadow emerged from the deeper shadows as she straightened up and turned, she hoped, back toward camp, startling her. “You alright, baby?” Relief surged through her when she recognized Hawk’s voice. “You startled me.” “I didn’t mean to. I was worried about you.”

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The tears she’d thought she’d mastered threatened again, stinging her eyes and nose. “I’m fine. Just tired.” He didn’t move out of her way when she approached him. He slipped his arms around her and gathered her into a loose embrace. “You sure that’s all? You’re just tired?” She nodded instead of answering. His hard chest was so invitingly close, though, that she leaned against it gratefully. He stroked his hand over her head and down her back. “Sorry you came?” Was she? Given her choices at the time, the answer was no. “I’m sorry I left home,” she said wryly. “Will you be pissed off if I say I’m not?” She thought about it. “You’re right. If I hadn’t done it y’all wouldn’t have had any way to escape, would you?” He shrugged. “We would’ve figured something out. It’s for damned sure we weren’t going to hang around once we heard them talking about how they were going to dispose of us.” Sylvie tensed, lifting her head to look up at him in horror even though she discovered she couldn’t see his face well enough to read his expression. “They were going to ….” She couldn’t even bring herself to say it aloud. “Oh god, Hawk!” “Shhh! Don’t worry about it. Didn’t happen and it isn’t going to—not if we can take them out first and I’m betting we can.” “What happened to you?” she asked, settling her cheek on his chest again. “Like Mac said—we don’t know. We thought those bastards was trying to come up with a treatment or a cure. Of course, it didn’t actually take very long to figure out that wasn’t what they had in mind when they were so much more interested in discovering just how much punishment we could take and still heal. I haven’t decided, yet, if that’s a good side effect or not—the healing. It still hurts like a son-of-a-bitch to get shot, stabbed, or pummeled senseless.” As horrified as she’d been when he’d told her they’d been scheduled for ‘termination’ that paled beside the discovery that they’d been systematically tortured, and she knew that was what he meant. The urge to cuddle him smote her. “I’m so sorry, Hawk! It must have been awful.” He dragged in a shuddering breath. After a moment, he squeezed her. “I didn’t come out here looking for sympathy, you know.” “No?” He chuckled. “Maybe I did. You feel sorry enough for me yet to give me a pity fuck?” Sylvie burst out laughing. “No, and don’t try any of your bullshit on me, Texan! I know you don’t have to mooch for pity fucks!” “Is that a fact? And how do you know that, ma’am?” “I’m not blind,” she said wryly, “at least not in the daylight.” He settled an arm along her waist, guiding her back toward camp. “Ah! You’ve noticed I’m god’s gift to womankind, huh? Two hundred twenty pounds of rompin’ stompin’ romance! Well, I ain’t easy, ma’am, but I can be had!” Sylvie chuckled. “You’re a terrible flirt, but I suppose you know that.” “Say it ain’t so! I’m tryin’ my best!”

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“You know what I mean!” Sylvie said a little testily at his willful misunderstanding. He drew her to a halt, turning to face her. “You mean to say I’m terribly good at it?” Sylvie tipped her head back to look at him—not that she could actually see him. “I think you know you are.” He shifted closer. “I can’t be that good at it,” he murmured wryly, slipping an arm around her and drawing her up against him. “You haven’t thrown me down and had your wicked way with me yet.” She caught her breath as he dipped his head towards hers, holding it as he nipped lightly at her lips, instantly captivated by the feel of his firm mouth and the tingling awareness that jolted through her. It was salve for the hurt she’d felt when Mac had looked her over and found her lacking, made her feel undesirable when he’d left her with self-doubt. And yet, uncertainty flickered through her. He was big and strong, towering over her in a way that made her feel soft and womanly and yet he was so young, she was torn between desire she didn’t think she should feel and the undeniable pull he exerted on her with no more than that light, teasing touch. He hesitated, as if he sensed her turmoil, brushing his lips lightly along hers several times before he began to draw away. She swallowed with an effort, struggled with her conscience, and followed him as he began to withdraw, seeking more of the pleasurable sensations he’d ignited. He smiled against her lips, clearly pleased she’d fallen for his ruse, and covered her mouth with his before she could accuse him of teasing. His mouth commanded her full attention the moment he did. There was no hesitancy, no trace of the awkwardness of inexperience. His touch was as confident as he was, making it evident that he’d mastered the skills of seduction long since and was as competent in the bedroom as he was on the battlefield. Beyond that, he pleased every sense. His taste and scent were a heady wine that went right to her head. Wonder filled her, chasing her doubts far to the back of her mind. His mouth felt so good on hers, so very right that she forgot everything beyond the feel of him as he held her close and the way he made her feel just in the way he held her and touched her— beautiful, desirable, prized. “Let her go,” Mac growled. Jolted back to reality abruptly, Sylvie broke from Hawk’s kiss guiltily. He didn’t release her, however. “I don’t think so, Mac,” he replied, his own voice a low, threatening growl. He was little more than a darker shadow in the deep shadows, and yet she sensed Mac’s surprise when Hawk challenged him. “If you gave a shit about her, you’ll keep your hands to yourself.” “If you gave a shit about her you wouldn’t have made her cry,” Hawk shot back at him, bringing his right arm up in a blur of motion and punching Mac in the face. Sylvie sucked in a sharp breath, too shocked to react otherwise. Hawk released her, stepping away from her. The moment he did, Mac retaliated, slamming his fist into Hawk so hard he stumbled back several steps. Anxiety flashed

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through Sylvie in a cold tide, but she was too paralyzed to move or duck. Someone grabbed her around the waist and jerked her off her feet, carrying her away as Hawk and Mac settled to pummeling each other with their fists. She didn’t know who it was, or where he was taking her until he plunked her down by the campfire. “Stay put,” Beau said brusquely. The paralysis left her. “You have to stop them!” Beau snorted. “Sorry, Baby. This is between them … and Mac needs his ass kicked.” Sylvie gaped at him, discomfited that everyone seemed aware of what had passed between her and Mac—vaguely angered, as well, that they seemed intent on fighting her battles for her. “But … they’ll hurt each other!” “I think that’s what they’ve got in mind,” Cavanaugh remarked dryly. She stared at the two of them as they settled on either side of the campfire. Beau pulled one of the spits off and checked the meat. “Supper’s done whenever you two get tired of whaling on each other,” he called out. Sylvie strained to pierce the darkness to see if it had had any effect on them, but she could see less now than she’d been able to see before and she hadn’t been able to see much then. She could still hear meaty thuds, though, and grunts of exertion and the rattle of bushes as they flung each other around. “You might as well sit down and eat,” Cavanaugh said. “They’re probably going to be at it for a while. Hawk’s stubborn and Mac’s as pigheaded as they come.” Sylvie sank down weakly, struggling with her emotions. “I don’t see how you can be so … calm about it!” she said accusingly. Beau shrugged. “It ain’t me getting’ the shit kicked out of me. Anyway, they can’t do enough damage to make it permanent even if they want to.” He lifted his voice a notch. “They sure as hell are trampling down the jungle all over the place, though, besides making enough noise to be heard all over creation and back. Dumb shits!” He winked at Sylvie when the thrashing stopped abruptly. After a few minutes, she thought she heard them moving away. It struck her then that they had an almost unnatural ability to move swiftly and silently. She’d certainly noticed before. They startled her regularly by simply ‘appearing’ without warning. Put together with their ability to see far better at night, though, than could possibly just be put down to ‘great night vision’ she realized abruptly that it was more than their training as she’d assumed before. That might contribute to it, but it indicated abilities far above the norm—for a human. She supposed she’d been too distraught to actually take in what Mac had told her before. She hadn’t really believed him when he’d told her that they were the monsters she’d seen. She’d decided that her mind had been so terrorized that it had been playing tricks on her. She knew it was a well known medical fact that, in such situations, people’s sight failed them and their minds were prone to fail them, as well, shielding them from as much as possible for protection. She had accepted what he’d said about them ‘catching’ something, but she’d been thinking in terms of the ordinary sort of things they might have caught. That was why she’d dismissed it. She’d assumed she’d already been exposed and would either catch it from them or not and that it was already out of her hands—but she’d still been thinking along the lines of flu or something of that nature.

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She still didn’t see how they could possibly have caught anything that could change their physical appearance. If there was anything like that, wouldn’t someone have run across it before? Of course, he’d suggested it had happened in a South American jungle and there were places no man, or damned few, had ever been. Even if she discounted the possibility that it could not only physically change them once, but regularly, what kind of something could they possibly ‘catch’ that would account for the other changes they claimed that she’d seen? Mac had said parasites. She knew there were some that formed a symbiotic relationship with the host, but, just as often they were harmful, and she’d never heard of one beneficial enough to enhance vision, speed, and coordination—let alone rapid healing as Hawk had suggested, or healing of wounds that would ordinarily be mortal. She was inclined to dismiss all of it, found it hard to swallow anything she’d seen or heard, and yet the military had to have had some reason for holding them, experimenting on them, and then deciding to just terminate the ‘project’ by killing them. That part, she had no trouble believing. They’d filled her stepfather’s boat so full of holes she was surprised it had stayed afloat. It was nothing short of amazing that they’d managed to elude them, although she knew her stepfather had specifically had the boat custom fitted for more speed. He’d wanted to take her mother around the world on it. He hadn’t wanted to chance being hijacked by pirates. Mac and Hawk appeared out of the darkness in that unnerving way they had about them. She winced inwardly when she got a good look at them as they crouched down on either side of the fire, but she didn’t say anything. They made it a point not to look at her or each other. Guilt and sympathy flickered through her when she saw that they both looked so badly battered, but she strove to dismiss both. She felt ill-used by both of them. She still didn’t understand why Mac had behaved the way he had—and then had the gall to order Hawk to leave her alone, but she wasn’t particularly happy about Hawk’s behavior in retrospect. Not when the things he’d said seemed to indicate he’d been giving her ‘pity kisses’. She should’ve known there must be some reason he’d been thinking in terms of a pity fuck. He’d probably been offering, not asking for it. They sure knew how to annihilate a woman’s self-esteem! She’d give them that! Of course, she thought angrily, men were very good at that in general. It seemed to her that every man she’d ever been with had had the uncanny ability to zero in on every flaw, real or imagined, and optimize her self-consciousness about it. She supposed it wasn’t surprising given the fact that women in general, and her in particular, were prone toward self-analysis and stayed on the hunt for their own flaws. Young women didn’t seem to have that problem, though. She wondered if they just had that much more confidence in themselves or if it was because youth had become the ultimate beauty product. Young was beautiful by itself—and skinny! It didn’t matter if they weren’t special in any other way, or looked like a starving Ethiopian, as long as they were young and skinny they were beautiful! She sighed inwardly. She hadn’t noticed that she’d been particularly touchy about her age before. It was being around virile, hunky young men that was making her paranoid, she decided. When she hung around people her own age, she felt perfectly

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comfortable—even confident. The meat the men had cooked—and she didn’t want to know what it was—was surprisingly good—maybe because she was starving. Unfortunately, it was finger food due to their circumstances and she was left with a greasy mouth and hands that drove her bats. If she was obsessive-compulsive about anything, it was keeping her face and hands clean! Ignoring the disapproving look she didn’t doubt Mac sent her way, she poured a little of her water in one palm and did her best to clean with it, using her shirt as a towel. She just wished she’d been given the opportunity and the warning to grab supplies herself. She would’ve stuffed a bag with toiletries—at least soap and shampoo—and tissue paper! There wasn’t any point in complaining about it now. It couldn’t be changed. The only thing complaining would do would be to make the men sorrier that they’d allowed her to tag along and maybe convince them to leave her somewhere! She felt like hell when she finally lay down to try to sleep, though. As regularly as she worked out—three times a week like clockwork—she was sore in muscles she hadn’t even known she had, and just about crippled. She’d lost her shoes when she went in the water, though. There hadn’t been any chance of retrieving them. Not that she thought sneakers would’ve been all that helpful in the jungle. Military boots probably wouldn’t have been. She’d finally gotten comfortable enough to begin drifting toward sleep when someone settled behind and in front of her. She searched with her senses to determine who it was. Surprise flickered through her when she realized it wasn’t either Mac or Hawk, which left Beau and Cavanaugh. She wondered drowsily where Mac and Hawk were but decided it was too much effort to try to figure it out. “Warm enough, Chère?” Beau asked in a low murmur, apparently realizing she wasn’t completely asleep. Unwilling to stir herself to talk, she nodded, but realized she wasn’t particularly comfortable in that sense. Wiggling toward the sound of his voice, she burrowed against his warmth as if he’d invited her. He tensed slightly, but settled an arm along her waist, holding her. After a moment, Cavanaugh also shifted closer, planting his back against hers. Being sandwiched between them was like having an electric blanket, she thought dreamily. **** “Time to rise and shine, sweetheart,” Hawk murmured in her ear, his voice rough and husky from sleep. Sylvie drew in a deep breath, inhaling essence of Hawk, and opened her eyes to discover her nose burrowed against his chest. Instantly disoriented when she vaguely remembered cuddling up against Beau when she’d fallen asleep, she struggled to resolve the confusion and finally gave up. Rolling onto her back, she stretched all over and finally opened her eyes. Mac, she discovered, feeling even more confusion, was directly beside her, which meant his was the warmth she’d felt at her back. After studying her face a long moment, he flicked a gaze down to her breasts and rolled into a sitting position. Sylvie pushed herself up with an effort, looking around. It was still night— mostly. The shadows had lifted enough to discern everything close by fairly clearly but

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the jungle was still dark with shadows. She felt like a decrepit old woman when she struggled to get up, clumsy, stiff, and every muscle and joint protesting loud. She wavered a little drunkenly when she’d gained her feet, looking around blankly. Hawk caught her shoulders, turned her in a half circle and gave a little push. “River’s that way, Baby,” he murmured with a chuckle, and then swatted her ass with the palm of one hand to give her a little extra giddy-up in her step. “Make it quick.” Rubbing her stinging cheek, she wove a path through the brush in the direction Hawk had indicated, her mind so sluggish she almost forgot to check for livestock before she squatted. She also didn’t think about possibly harmful microbes before she used her finger to take a stab at brushing her teeth. Mac appeared on the riverbank beside her just as she’d finished her haphazard morning grooming ritual and pulled her sweat pants back on. She stared blankly at the toothbrush he held out, wondering what he was doing with her toothbrush, but decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth. He’d very thoughtfully squeezed a dollop of toothpaste on it, too, she discovered. She was a little self-conscious about him being so close while she was brushing her teeth, but since he seemed focused on brushing his own she managed to pretty well ignore him. “About last night …,” he said hesitantly when she’d finished and started to rise. She held up her hand. “Don’t throw me in the water! I don’t feel like being playful this early in the day. Anyway, you said we were even.” He frowned, making a sound of impatience. “I wasn’t talking about that …. It’s hard to explain.” Sylvie stared at him in dismay, realizing abruptly what he was getting at. “Oh. Well don’t try because I have a hard enough time understanding simple things this early in the day.” She thought about it. “To tell you the truth, I don’t think I want to talk about it at all. Let’s just forget it. OK?” His lips tightened. “If that’s the way you want to be about it,” he said angrily. “I think I do,” she retorted, surging to her feet and stalking back toward the camp. Mac was right on her heels and she thought he might have considered pushing the issue, but since they met up with the rest of the group, he seemed to reconsider. She might have been wrong, but she didn’t feel like taking the chance that she’d correctly assessed his mood. She supposed it was ungracious not to allow him to apologize when it would’ve made him feel better, but she rather thought that if his conscience was bothering him he deserved the discomfort. An apology, now, wasn’t going to make her feel any better. She thought it was going to be a very long time before she got over the embarrassment of having a guy ask her to strip for him, look her over like a piece of meat, and then saying ‘nah, not interested’. She didn’t think it would’ve been as bad if she hadn’t had any interest in him. Maybe it would still have stung, but she was madly attracted to Mac, for all that she hadn’t even admitted it to herself before. And, of course, she shouldn’t be. Well, she supposed any red-blooded female would be attracted to the hunks she had to look at all day, would want them to find her desirable, but wanting something out of reach never panned out well. It was far better to keep things in perspective and keep one’s feet firmly on the ground, as harsh as reality

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was sometimes. She was almost old enough to be their mother! Well, not really. She hadn’t been sexually active that young or reproductively developed enough, but too damned close for comfort. She was just going to have to keep thinking ‘adorable kids’ and not let herself be swept away by the fact that they were four of the manliest men she’d ever run across in her life. How unfair was it that there hadn’t been men like them around when she’d been fresh and pretty? She couldn’t remember a single guy that had been built even nearly as well or that was half as good-looking. She was distracted enough by her thoughts that it was a while before she realized they seemed to be moving much faster than they had the day before—either that or the humidity was really getting to her. She was so worn out by the time they stopped to rest the first time that she didn’t even have the energy to try to pretend she wasn’t half dead— or to care that she must look half dead! Hawk stopped her before they’d walked too far when they resumed the march. She stared at him dully when he turned his back to her and bent over. “Come on. Up on my back.” She reddened. “You don’t have to do that! I’m fine.” He glared at her. “Don’t give me a hard time about it, Baby. Just jump up.” She shrugged, too tired to argue with him even if she was embarrassed. Looping her arms around his shoulders, she lifted her legs to his waist. He hooked his arms beneath her knees and started out again. Mac glared at both of them when Hawk caught up, but Hawk passed him without a glance. Resisting the juvenile urge to inform him that it was Hawk’s idea, Sylvie just hid her face. She knew he was thinking about her glib promise that she’d keep up and not cause any trouble and here they were, day two, and she was already a burden. Poor Hawk didn’t complain, but she knew his back and arms had to be killing him from lugging her fat ass through the jungle. She was in pain just from being carried and could hardly put her legs together and walk when he finally put her down when they stopped at the noon break. She tried, surreptitiously, to massage her inner thighs but discovered Hawk was watching her with a mixture of amusement and sympathy when she looked up. “I can take care of that for you, if you like,” he murmured teasingly. “Ha! Ha! As if I’d let you put those hams of yours anywhere near anything delicate!” she retorted, smiling at him. He cocked his head, lifted his hands to look them over, and sent her a scorching look. “You’d be surprised at how good I am with delicate things.” She scanned his handsome, grinning face and felt a pang. There must be some very sad girls in Texas since he’d been gone. It made her wonder who was waiting and hoping he’d come back. “Actually, I’d be surprised if you weren’t,” she said solemnly. His gaze sharpened, but instead of responding, he merely handed her the bottle of water he’d brought her and another pack of peanut butter crackers. “Don’t throw the bottle away when you empty it—or the wrapper,” Mac said laconically. “We’re going to need something to carry water in before much longer and trash just leaves a trail.”

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Sylvie merely nodded although she was vaguely insulted. She might not be trained like they were, but she wasn’t stupid. Anyway, she wasn’t in the habit of trashing her environment. She held up a little better during the afternoon trek since Hawk had allowed her to ride and rest, but she was already flagging again when they stopped for the mid-afternoon rest. Apparently, they’d drawn straws or something, although she hadn’t heard them confer on it, but Cavanaugh helped her onto his back and carried her almost from the time they set out again until they stopped near dusk to make camp. It was near the watering hole they’d found that Sylvie had her first really nasty encounter with the wildlife.

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Chapter Seven It took Mac a while to figure out what he’d done. He’d had his problems figuring women out but no more, he figured, than the next man. And since he wasn’t usually quite that dense, he wondered uneasily if their worst fears, or at least his, was happening, if he was regressing into a beast, ruled by his instincts and incapable of much in the way of ‘higher’ thought. Despite those fears, it seemed unlikely to him that he would get any worse after all this time than he had been, but what did he know about it? Damned little more than the fucking assholes that had been experimenting on him! Maybe it had been nothing more than the raging lust? In his line of work, he’d grown somewhat accustomed to the feast or famine scenario that went with it. They were sent out on a mission. They spent whatever length of time it took to complete said mission, and then, once they’d completed it and been debriefed, they were released on the hapless female population and nailed any woman that didn’t run fast enough. They partied like there was no tomorrow because they knew, sooner or later, if they continued in Special Ops, their number was going to come up and there wouldn’t be a tomorrow. The fact that their last mission had gone totally screwy and they’d ended up in confinement for months had resulted in a bit more of a dry spell than he’d experienced before, but did that account for his desperation to get his hands on Sylvie? It certainly could, but did it? It unnerved him that he didn’t think it did. They had, in effect, missed party time and launched another mission, this one of their own making. He should be in warrior mode, which meant his mind should be totally focused on the mission regardless of what distractions he had to deal with. Except it wasn’t and he couldn’t seem to focus more than a fraction of his mind on the problem at hand. Most of it was on Sylvie, or at least the fact that he, and all the others, were putting her at risk. Part of that risk was just being with them when they were being hunted, but that had been out of his hands from the moment they’d spied her boat and headed for it. They’d made her a person of interest in that moment and the people that were after them were going to be just as determined to snag her as they were them. She was a witness, a potential carrier now that she’d been exposed to them, and they couldn’t do a thorough cleanup unless they included her. Part of the risk was exposure, though, and that was the only part he had any control over at all at this point—minimizing her exposure. He shouldn’t have kissed her. For more reasons than he could count, he should’ve resisted that urge. It might not be passed through the transference of bodily fluids, but what were the odds it wouldn’t be? He was relieved when he hadn’t seen any sign that either he or Hawk had given her whatever they had. The one thing he was certain of was that it didn’t take long to show the symptoms. They had gone through their first transition within a couple of hours. It hadn’t even taken that long for it to affect the pickup squad.

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And, if kissing her hadn’t infected her …. He couldn’t shake the thought and the others were struggling with the same thought—if they weren’t likely to expose her, why not? She’d as much as said she was willing to accommodate. Ordinarily that would’ve been enough, that subtle ‘come and get it boys’. He wanted it. They all wanted it, and she’d said she wouldn’t fight them. She’d been scared half to death at the time, though, and he knew why she’d offered—‘save me and I’ll do anything you want’. If he could just set his conscience aside and let his dick rule, he could get a piece and have a little peace. He hadn’t quite reached that point … yet, but he was getting close. Unfortunately, the longer he was with her the more that bothered him. When she’d been a complete stranger, somebody he didn’t know and wasn’t going to get to know, there’d been more of a possibility of using her and still putting his conscience to bed. He’d had the chance of nailing her and coming away with nothing but fond memories and maybe a twinge of conscience that he might have given her whatever he was carrying. She had the most beautiful body of any woman he’d ever seen except, possibly, in a porn magazine. He’d seen some damned fine ones, but hers was still the most perfect to his mind. Except she wasn’t a porn queen, and she wasn’t the exotic dancer he’d convinced himself she must be. She wasn’t a slut and he didn’t think he could bring himself to treat her like she was one and not have it nagging on his conscience longer than he wanted to live with it. Before, he just hadn’t wanted to hurt anyone or put anyone else at risk. Now, he didn’t want to hurt her. When he’d asked her to strip for him, he hadn’t thought beyond getting a good look at her when he’d only had glimpses before to drive him crazy. Looking, he’d figured, couldn’t hurt. It would give him something to think about when he was taking care of business and it wouldn’t hurt her. Except it had. He’d been in such a hurry to put some distance between them before he lost it and did something they would both regret that it hadn’t occurred to him how it might seem to her. Now she wouldn’t even let him fucking explain! He’d tried to convince himself that it was for the best. She was pissed off at him now, probably hated his guts, and that was a good thing—for her. She’d keep her distance and that would make it easier for him to keep his hands off of her. It was hard to hold that thought, though, when Hawk was making a play for her every fucking chance he got and Beau and Cavanaugh stared at her all the time like a pair of starving mongrels just waiting for somebody to drop a scrap off the table. And that was another problem, a new display of the beasts within them that made him uneasy. Their discipline was crumbling—his and theirs. Hawk would never have challenged him so openly before, let alone attacked—certainly not for a woman. The military designated pecking order by rank, a situation that was rarely challenged because of the consequences, but also because they were all aware that ranks were earned. A man proved himself before he advanced in rank. It was possible that it was Sylvie alone. It was also possible that it was the fact

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that they were now operating outside military protocol—and getting further from it all the time. He had the sense, though, that they were rapidly approaching a turning point where he was going to have to exert his superiority physically if he wanted to remain top dog. The contest the night before had resulted in a draw—mostly because Beau had pointed out that they’d picked a bad time and place to resolve their issues. He was confident that he could have won it, but he didn’t think Hawk had been completely convinced and that meant he and his best buddy were going to have another showdown. Not that he didn’t agree that he’d needed his ass kicked for hurting Sylvie—even though he hadn’t meant to—but that was between them and for them to resolve. As far as settling who was boss, he was going to push it if Hawk didn’t, because he sure as fuck wasn’t going to stand aside and let him walk off with Sylvie. Top dog got first dibs and if anyone was going to be first with Sylvie, it was damned well going to be him! Beau and Cavanaugh could scrap it out for third and fourth place if he felt like letting them have a taste and Sylvie was willing, but he was going to be one calling the shots and he was going to be the one to decide whether to share or not for the good of the pack. He shook his thoughts to the back of his mind when it finally dawned on him that he’d pushed until it was already dusk. As much as it had pissed him off that Hawk had decided to carry Sylvie, he’d seen the sense of it, even though he knew Hawk had thought of it as yet another ruse to rub all over her. There was no denying the fact that she wasn’t nearly as strong as they had been before the change, though. She certainly wasn’t close now and carrying her had made it possible to makeup the time they’d lost the day before pacing themselves to accommodate her. Even so, he had only to glance at her to know she was exhausted. Struggling to ignore the anxiety that churned in his gut at the thought, he signaled a halt. They needed food. There hadn’t been much on the boat that was suitable for their needs and, after dividing it so many ways, it had been really miniscule. The water supply was getting low, too. “Beau—get an area cleared and a fire going. We need to boil some water and refill the bottles. The rest of you fan out and see what you can chase down to eat.” Beau nodded, dropped his tote and pulled his knife from the leg pocket on his pants. Mac dropped his own tote to the ground and scratched around until he found the pot he’d thrown in. Pulling it out, he handed it to Sylvie. “The water’s just a few yards that way. Fill the pot and bring it to Beau.” Nodding, Sylvie took the pot he was holding out and got up again, glanced around a little uncertainly and headed off in the direction he’d indicated. Mac watched her through narrowed eyes. The sexy sway of her hips was a little off due to the fact that she had to lift her legs so high to step over the brush—and also because she’d had those sexy legs of hers wrapped around Hawk and Cavanaugh about half the day. It was the latter thought that made his dick hard. It didn’t take a lot of imagination, not on his part, anyway, to produce an image of her riding him in a position he’d find a lot more satisfying. Shaking his thoughts with an effort, he glanced at Beau, narrowing his eyes at the glazed look in his eyes as he, too, watched Sylvie. It was clear as a bell his thoughts were traveling pretty much the same road. “Keep an eye on her,” he said curtly. “I’m

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going to join the hunt. Those two ‘whatevers’ y’all brought back last night barely filled one tooth.” Beau snorted. “We was lucky to catch dem, mon ami.” He frowned. “I tink they’d be easier to corner if we still smelled like humans.” Mac sent him a sharp look. “You’re thinking we don’t?” Beau focused on his task. “I know we don’t—because we ain’t human no more. I don’t know what we are, but I know what we ain’t.” Mac’s belly tightened, but he didn’t even try to dispute it. He felt it bone deep the same as Beau did. “Maybe we should focus on using what we are, then?” “The most dangerous predators this old world’s ever seen,” Beau commented without glancing at him. Mac considered that as he left, wondering, now that he’d brought it up himself, if they could actually use the changes in them as an advantage. Not that they hadn’t already—several times over. They would never have been able to break out of their cells at Guantanamo if they hadn’t used the inhuman strength it gave them. They wouldn’t have gotten out of the base itself if not for the speed and the little effect bullets had on them and they wouldn’t have been able to swim so far or so fast without it that they could reach Sylvie’s boat before their jailors caught up with them. Could they call it, though? He’d spent every moment since it had happened trying to control it to keep it from controlling him and he couldn’t say he’d had a hell of a lot of luck with that. One sign of threat to the host and his parasites exploded into action to protect their territory, as often as not before he even sensed the threat himself. He didn’t know if he could make it happen. He was pretty sure he wasn’t ready to try it, though—not with Sylvie any where around him. He didn’t believe he’d hurt her. Even at the very worst, he’d been conscious of making most of the decisions. He’d been aware of allowing his instincts to maximize his killing potential. He didn’t want to take the chance, though, that his lust, already hard to control, might not get the better of him if nothing else. He was already dangerously on edge. Jacking off wasn’t doing it for him. If anything, that seemed to make it worse, because he always had an image of Sylvie in his head when he did. That worked well enough when the object of his desires was a picture in a fucking magazine that he couldn’t get hold of. It didn’t work worth a shit when he had to stare at the real thing all day long— smell it. He’d been trying hard to convince himself that, despite his heightened senses, he was just imagining he could smell her sweet perfume, but it didn’t matter whether it was so or not. He thought he could and that was enough to keep him as hard as rock almost constantly. He had a bad feeling that he could—that they all could—and that was one of the reasons they stayed at a low boil. If they didn’t find some place safe to leave her before much longer, he wasn’t going to be accountable. The closest dot on the map that he could recall, though, was still a good four day’s march, and that was if they could keep the pace they’d set today. And he wasn’t familiar with the terrain. He wouldn’t know until they got there if it was going to be a safe place to park her. Then he could focus on what they were going to do with their freedom. One thing at the time, he told himself, settling in a position near the small stream.

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He tested the direction of the wind, turned to face it, and went still, waiting to see what would come along. Since catching something required him to be as still as he possibly could, he focused on the occasional scents that drifted to him, trying to identify them. He was vaguely amazed when he discovered he could, that he could actually separate the scents around him and tag each to a specific animal. His hackles flared when he caught the faint scent of a cat, but he didn’t think much of it—at first—dismissing it when he realized it was an ‘older’ scent. A panther had passed this way and moved on. He wasn’t interested in killing it. He was hoping for a wild boar, maybe a deer, so he dismissed the faint scents of smaller animals. Abruptly, it connected in his mind that the scent of the cat was faint because it had passed him—heading toward the camp. He leapt to his feet before that realization had fully formed in his mind and began racing back toward where he’d sent Sylvie to get water, hoping against hope that she’d done what he’d told her and hadn’t lingered. He couldn’t catch her scent, though—she was downwind of him—and that worried him. **** The stream, Sylvie discovered, was smaller than the one they’d camped near the night before. It was also faster moving, which might have accounted for the fact that it looked clearer. When she’d filled the pot, she headed back to the camp with it, but the water beckoned. It had looked far more inviting that the previous stream and she was just as hot and sticky as she had been the night before. It unnerved her a little to think about going down to bathe by herself, but there was no getting around the fact that it would be a lot more comfortable for her in one way if she could go alone. It was dusk, but there was still plenty of light to see if she didn’t linger too long. Leaving the pot with Beau, she turned and headed back. “Give me a minute to get this situated and I’ll come watch you, chère.” Sylvie snorted, throwing him a smiling glance over her shoulder. “I don’t want to be watched! That’s why I’m going now—before the others get back.” Beau frowned but finally relaxed. “I doan like it. You watch yourself. If you see anything, you call me, an’ you haul that purty ass of yours back dis way. Got that?” Sylvie waved him off. “I’ll hurry.” She didn’t particularly want to but the reminder of the ever present threat of the local wildlife was enough to quell the urge to take a leisurely bath. As soon as she’d reached the water’s edge again, she peered up and down the stream as far as she could see, looking for any sign of animals. Aside from the birds—and the horrible insect life— she didn’t see anything and her shoulders slumped with relief. Undoubtedly, she’d made enough noise to scatter anything that had been close by. The water was clear enough to see the shallow bottom and as soon as she’d made certain there wasn’t anything scary already swimming in it, she quickly shucked her clothes and waded in. It was actually deeper than she’d expected—a trick of the eyes due to the clarity of the water, but not deep enough to worry her. The rush of the water made it cooler than she’d expected, too. Sighing blissfully, she sank into the water, sucking in a sharp breath at the difference in temperature between it and her overheated skin. She didn’t wait to adjust. She began splashing and scrubbing as soon as she’d sat down. The water and her own

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splashing pretty well deafened her to most of the noises of the jungle, but a particularly sharp crack of a branch brought her head around automatically with a jerk. She scanned the undergrowth where she’d heard the noise emanate from. She didn’t see anything. She was about to dismiss it with one last search for any sign of a threat when she saw something that looked out of place. She stared at it, hard, trying to decide what it was. Then it blinked—slowly. Sylvie’s heart leapt into her throat and tried to choke her. For several moments, it was as if her entire body had frozen in suspended animation. Her mind was wild with thoughts, however, tabulating at such a frantic speed that she couldn’t even grasp anything but half-formed thoughts. Scream for Beau? What was it? Run? Had it seen her? Which way to camp? Would it leave if she stayed perfectly still? Attack? Throw something at it? It moved. When it did, Sylvie instantly identified what it was and sheer terror made her far colder than the water. She surged to her feet instinctively, unable to command her body in any way. Scream! Run! Her body refused to do either. Instead, the moment it popped into her mind to scream two realizations hit her at once—Beau wasn’t close enough to help her and, if she screamed, she could alert the men they thought were tracking them. A scream could carry for miles in the jungle. Realizing she’d seen it, the panther surged from the brush in a rush. Uttering a panicked whimper in spite of her fear of giving up their position, Sylvie whirled to flee. The moment she did, she saw one of the ‘monsters’ from the beach charging straight toward her. Not just one of them, Mac. “Mac!” she screamed in a quavering voice, flying toward him and flinging herself at him. He caught her, hesitated as if trying to make up his mind whether to drop her and brace himself for the panther that was directly behind her or turn and run. Instead, he tightened his grip on her and issued a bellowed challenge. The panther skidded to a halt. Flattening its ears back, it screaming its own challenge. Even as Sylvie whipped her head around in horror to look, Hawk, Beau, and Cavanaugh—all now transformed into the frightening, hairy beasts she’d seen before just as Mac was—leapt from the jungle. Mac, by far the closest to the cat, peeled her loose and tossed her in the air. She sucked in a startled breath, losing it with a grunt when she landed in Hawk’s outstretched arms. He set her on her feet almost in a single move and charged toward the fray and Sylvie saw even as she wilted to the ground that the cat had attacked Mac the minute he’d tossed her to Hawk—she thought. Maybe it had launched itself at him even before that. Both of them were bloodied from slicing at each other with razor sharp claws. Hawk reached Mac and the cat before the others. It whirled and swatted at him with its paw, tearing four gashes across his chest. Sylvie clapped a hand over her mouth to keep from screaming. Beau, the next closest, caught the cat around the neck and pulled it backwards. She saw every considerable muscle in his chest and arms straining to hold the panther, which was as big as he was standing on its hind legs. The cat

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managed to twist its head around far enough to sink its teeth into his shoulder. He uttered a roar of pain as it bit down on him, losing his grip. The moment it turned on him, however, Mac and Hawk moved in. Mac clubbed it hard enough with his fist on the side of its head that he knocked it lose. It took a chunk of flesh with it, and Sylvie felt her stomach lurch. Cavanaugh caught the cat by the tail as it whirled and launched an attack at Hawk. Tethered by its tail, the cat whirled to attack Cavanaugh instead. He jerked on its tail, jerking its hind legs out from under it. It curled up, swiping at him with its huge fore claws. Roaring, Cavanaugh jerked the panther clear of the ground and slung it away. The cat hit a tree on the other side of the stream, let out a scream of rage and pain, and then vanished into the underbrush. The four men/beasts stared after it, obviously struggling with the urge to chase it down and finish the fight. For a moment, as she stared at them in horror, she thought they would. Instead, after several moments passed, the tension seemed to ease from them. Still heaving for breath after the battle, all four of them turned to look for her, zeroing in on her where she was huddled in the brush. They stared so long, Sylvie began to fear they’d turn on her. They seemed to shake the urge off, however, and, as she stared at them, slowly changed. The claws disappeared, became hands. The beast-like faces became the faces of the men she’d come to know and the fur that had covered them all over disappeared. Mac’s eyes were still wild and glazed with the heat of battle as he strode purposefully toward her, however. Fear flickered through her, but it was surpassed by the heat that surged up in her as he grasped her and lifted her straight up as if she weighed nothing, clamping his mouth over hers in a kiss that was almost savage. An involuntary sound of fear and pain escaped her at the sheer force of his lust, but there was no denying the effect it had on her. Desire rushed through her like a lava flow. She coiled her arms and legs around him. Someone slammed a fist into his back, jolting both of them. When Mac tore his mouth from hers and whipped a furious look around, Sylvie opened her eyes and discovered the other men now surrounded them. It was hard to say which of them had punched him to bring him to his senses, though. “Put her down, Mac!” Hawk growled. “You doan need to be grabbin’ her—not right now,” Beau said pointedly. “Shit! You didn’t even see if she’s hurt!” Cavanaugh said tightly. Some of the tension eased from him to Sylvie’s relief. Dropping to his knees, Mac set her away from him and looked her over carefully. She was bloody all over and for a moment that scared the shit out of him. He discovered when he’d rubbed his hands over her, though, that it was his blood. Or the panther’s. He felt vaguely ill at the expression on her face when she looked down and saw the blood and then looked at him. “You’re alright,” he said gruffly, trying to sooth her. She swallowed convulsively and shuddered. Releasing her abruptly, he surged to his feet, plowed through the men behind him and waded into the stream. After studying her uncomfortably for a long moment, the others followed him. It took Sylvie a few minutes to regain any kind of control of her emotions. Her heart was still hammering frantically in her chest, both with residual fear and the desire

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Mac had ignited. It would no doubt have taken her a lot longer to recover if the horrible visions tumbling through her mind hadn’t finally fastened on the fact that the blood was theirs. She surged to her feet then. Her legs were still so wobbly with fright that it took an effort to make it down to the stream. Remembering the horrible bite Beau had gotten, she waded toward him first, checking his shoulder with trembling hands. It was still bleeding fairly freely but, to her relief, it didn’t look as bad as she’d feared. Glancing around for her clothes, she spied her shirt and hurried toward it to grab it and press it over his wound. “Hold it there!” she said shakily. Ignoring the dumbfounded look on his face, she rushed away as soon as he’d put his hand on it and checked the others, starting with Mac when she remembered he’d taken the full brunt of the initial attack. Satisfied when she discovered the tears in his flesh weren't nearly as bad as she expected, she rushed from him to Hawk. She couldn’t remember that the panther had actually managed to claw Cavanaugh, but she checked him as soon as she was sure Hawk’s scratches weren’t life threatening. “What the fuck are you doing?” Mac finally demanded. Sylvie turned and gaped at him, stunned that he acted as if she’d lost her mind when they were the ones who’d been mauled by the panther. “You’re hurt,” she managed after a moment. “You all got clawed.” The four men exchanged uncomfortable glances. “It’s nothing that won’t heal,” Mac muttered finally. Sylvie stared at him a moment and burst into tears, sobs she couldn’t seem to control. Hawk, Beau, Cavanaugh, and Mac stared at her with a mixture of surprise and dismay. Hawk cleared his throat. “This is your department,” he muttered, giving Mac a significant look and wading decisively from the water. Mac glared after them with equal parts disgust and uneasiness as Beau and Cavanaugh retreated with him, leaving him in sole possession of the squalling woman. “Shit!” he snarled. She jerked all over, but she seemed to think it was his job to sooth her, too. She launched herself at his chest, weeping all over him. Uttering a long suffering huff of breath, he gathered her up and moved to the bank, dropping down on it with her on his lap since he was fairly sure this was going to take a while. He couldn’t think of a damned thing to say. He was pretty sure anything like ‘Baby you look like hell when you cry’, wouldn’t be appreciated or have the desired effect, but she seemed satisfied just to be held, so he did his best to ignore the fact that every heaving sob was sheer torture. He tried not to think about the fact that she’d rubbed those soft, beautiful breasts of hers all over his chest—too many times to count now—and he hadn’t once touched them. He was relieved when she finally cried herself out. Maybe she’d just needed to, he thought? She’d had a really rough couple of days and she’d been a real trooper about it. She’d surprised him, actually. She was a lot tougher than she looked—not hard when she looked like a hot house flower that was liable to wilt in a strong wind—but still she had grit. He had to admire that about her. He couldn’t imagine any other female of his acquaintance managing nearly as well as she had—especially without whining and complaining until they drove him up the wall. The amazing thing, he realized after a moment, was that she’d rushed directly

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toward him when he’d charged at her in full beast form instead of screaming and running the other way. The men that had been guarding them, and torturing them, had turned white and went weak in the knees when he’d shifted. He rubbed her back when she settled to sniffing. “Better?” She heaved a shaky breath and he thought for one horrible moment that she was going to start wailing again. She merely nodded, however. “I was so scared one of you were going to get killed,” she said finally. He patted her back a little awkwardly. “Not much danger of that, actually,” he said drily. “It’s one of the perks of being a monster, I guess.” She swallowed a little convulsively. “You aren’t a monster!” she said almost angrily.

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Chapter Eight Mac managed a lopsided smile when she looked up at him, her expression angry. Her pretty face was all splotchy from crying, her nose red and damp, her lips and eyes swollen and her lashes still spiked with tears. He still felt his stomach go weightless as he met her gaze. It occurred to him abruptly, and for the first time, to wonder just how old she was, because it was the first time he’d really studied her face. He’d been too focused on the rest of her assets before. She didn’t have any of the roundness about her face that hinted at lingering babyhood—that said ‘girl’—not that he’d thought for a moment that she was a kid. He might not have studied her, but he’d noticed right off that she was all woman, that there wasn’t a hint of girlishness about her. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask her when it occurred to him that was about the worst impulse he’d ever had—guaranteed to piss her off. He didn’t see any sense in indulging his curiosity at that cost when he didn’t particularly give a fuck how old she was. What he wanted to know was if the rest of her tasted as good as her mouth did, if the rest of her felt as good. Bad idea, he thought, even as he leaned toward her to close the distance and pressed his lips to hers. He felt a jolt run through her but before he could decide whether it was the same thing he felt or revulsion because she still had an image in her head of him as a monster, she coiled her arms around his head and pressed more tightly against him. That was all she wrote! Her mouth was hot and tight around his tongue and the image instantly leapt into his mind of her pussy wrapped that tightly around his cock. He struggled with it, but it flickered through his mind that he could afford to taste a little. He hadn’t infected her … yet. As long as he kept his dick in his trousers …. Opening one eye, he examined the lay of the land and decided it looked too rough. Breaking the kiss, he lifted her, guiding her legs around his waist and then pulling her closer so that he could feel her hot cleft through his trousers, rubbing along his cock. “Oh Jesus, Baby, that feels good,” he muttered thickly, feverishly, nearly mindless with the heat pulsing through him. “Just a little. I won’t do anything I shouldn’t.” She shuddered, rocking against him in the rhythm he’d set. For a few moments, he focused on it, struggling with the urge to come, grinding her hips down on himself each time she rocked forward in an effort to burrow a little deeper into her cleft. His heart felt like it was in his throat, choking him. His chest felt like it was caught in a vice. He sought her mouth again, hoping it would appease his need to drive himself inside of her. He almost came when she started sucking on his tongue. For a moment, he pursued it, but reluctance to end it so quickly made him back off. Breaking from her lips again, he gnawed and sucked at the soft skin along the side of her neck and her throat, enjoying the soft sounds she made and the way she quivered at

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his touch almost as much as he enjoyed the taste of her and the texture of her skin. His throat closed more tightly as he felt the brush of her breasts. He released his grip on her ass and cupped one in each hand, massaging them, enjoying the softness and the weight of them in his hands for a few moments before he caught her waist and brought her up high enough to suck at the hard tip of each. He wrapped his arms tightly around her when he felt her waver, felt her thighs tremble weakly. He was so intent on sucking her nipples that he lost track of everything else until he felt her tugging at his hair. “Please, Mac,” she said shakily, a note in her voice that made the blood pound in his temples. His mind instantly leapt to his cock, straining painfully against his pants. He’d already reached for his zipper when a spark of sanity reared its ugly head. He hesitated and instead slid his hand over her belly. Parting the hot petals of flesh between her legs, he pushed his index finger up inside of her. He nearly came when he felt the moist walls of her sex enfold him, clutch at his finger. He explored it, trying to find her g-spot to tickle it. She bucked against his hand when he found it, dropped her head weakly to his shoulder. “Please, Mac,” she whispered against his neck. “Don’t leave me like this.” “Shhh! I won’t, Baby. I’ll make it good for you,” he promised, fighting another round with the nearly overpowering urge to free himself and plow into her. He hadn’t meant to take it so far. He should’ve known he wasn’t going to be able to pull back, that he’d want more once he started. He supposed he had if it came to that. He drew her down onto his lap again, silencing her pleas with his lips, driving his finger in and out of her almost feverishly in an effort to bring her off before he lost his mind. She wasn’t having it. She reached for his trousers, stroking him through the fabric, but then she was feverishly working at his zipper. “Don’t!” he growled, breaking from her lips again. She opened her eyes and stared at him in reproach and he felt like a fucking dog. “I can’t, baby. You know I can’t.” Her expression hardened. For a moment, he thought she was going to leap off of his lap. Instead, she unzipped his pants and caught hold of his cock. It was like being punched in his stomach. He thought for a moment he was going to black out. “You started it!” she said angrily, jerking her hips to dislodge his finger and thrusting the head of his cock inside of her. He caught her hips, but there was no fighting the beast riding him then. Instead of thrusting her away, he began straining to pull her down over his cock, panting for breath as he felt the walls of her sex squeezing him. “Jesus, Baby! Oh Jesus!” He uttered a guttural growl as he felt his cock jerk threateningly. It was like a dam breaking. He completely lost control, lost all focus beyond driving into her until he’d pumped his seed into her. He was dimly aware that she was shaking as badly as he was, jerking, but the convulsing of her pussy around his cock didn’t leave room for thought. He grunted breathlessly with a mixture of satisfaction and something akin to pain as his balls ejected his seed in a scalding fountain, tightened and erupted again, over and over until there was nothing left to pump into her.

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He felt so weak when it finally stopped he was just relieved that it had. Holding her tightly, he pumped into her a couple more times, just to make sure he had nothing left, and finally collapsed backwards with her. He hit something on his way down that jolted him from the edge of consciousness. Sylvie, sprawled on his chest, uttered a sound that made him open one eye. She rubbed the side of his head. “Tree.” He smiled blissfully, ignoring the throbbing pain. “Did I knock it down?” She snickered again. “No, but you knocked the bark off of it.” “It’ll live,” he said indifferently. Releasing a deep sigh of contentment, she snuggled against his chest. For the first time it dawned on him to wonder if he’d managed to satisfy her before he’d come. Relieved that he obviously had if she was in such a good humor, he closed his eyes to savor the blissful sense of relief that had engulfed him. It took a while for guilt to begin nagging at him. He lifted a hand to stroke her hair apologetically. “I fucked up, Sylvie. I really fucked up.” “You did,” she murmured. “Next time, I’ll get on the bottom and you can fuck down.” The comment caught him off guard. He uttered a snorting laugh, wrapping his arms around her and dragging her upward along his chest to nuzzle his face against her neck. The move ‘unplugged’ her and he felt hot semen leak from her body and on to his belly. It sobered him. At the same time, it gave him an odd thrill, knowing he’d filled her body to the brim with his seed. His cock stirred with the urge to pump more into her, but he was sated enough at the moment he couldn’t get a rise out of it. Just as well the flesh was weak, he thought wryly. He would’ve been mightily tempted to roll over and take her up on her offer. “We need to bathe and get to camp.” She didn’t argue, but she sighed a little regretfully before she got up and it made him feel a little better. He sat up and watched her, struggling with a mixture of guilt, regret, and the growing desire to do it all over again. “I shouldn’t have exposed you like that,” he said finally. Sylvie flicked a glance at him. “You think it’s in your semen but not your saliva?” He frowned, feeling his face heat. “I didn’t mean to do that either.” She shook her head. “I kissed you—that first time. I suppose you could’ve warned me, but I can’t think of a time that would’ve been … appropriate. You think you should’ve stormed my boat bellowing ‘Beware! I could be carrying something!’” Mac was almost amused … almost. “God damn it, Baby! This is serious shit! I’m trying to tell you I’m worried about you!” Sylvie stared at him a long moment and finally approached him. Dropping to her knees in front of him, she caught his face between her palms. “And, from the bottom of my heart, I thank you. I think you should stop worrying about this … thing, whatever it is. I know it must be … scary. From what I understand, you got it months and months ago, though. If it was going to hurt you, make you sick or even kill you, I think it would have by now. You and the others … you’re … strong, amazing, too strong for this to be anything detrimental to your health.” He swallowed with an effort, struggling with the sense of relief trying to take hold

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of him. “We can’t control it,” he ground out. “You saw what we became. Any time we’re threatened, even get pissed off, it takes over.” Sylvie studied him for a long moment, thinking back. “You can control it,” she said with conviction. “You weren’t threatened when those men attacked me.” “I was fucking pissed off, though.” She met his gaze and leaned closer to press a light kiss to his lips. “You can control it. You’ve summoned it when you needed it—twice. I know it can’t be … pleasant for you, trying to live with it, but people learn to live with all sorts of things that happen to them. You just need to take the time to understand it and learn how to deal with it.” His lips tightened. “You aren’t worried I gave it to you?” She considered it. “I haven’t really had time to think about it or worry about it. I’ve been too busy trying to get in your pants.” He burst out laughing. He shook his head at her when he’d mastered the laughter. “You can get in my pants anytime you want to, baby.” She smiled at him seductively. “Really?” He heaved a disgusted breath. “Except right now. I’ve got to get you back to camp and try to catch supper. I’m starving.” “In that case, I guess I might as well get dressed,” she said wryly. Her shirt was wet—and still bloody. Her belly clenched and guilt smote her, but she reminded herself that the wound hadn’t looked as bad as she’d first thought. No doubt, they’d put together some kind of medical supplies from the boat. She knew there’d been a medical kit. When she’d rinsed the shirt as thoroughly as she could given that it had grown so dark it was hard to see, she wrung it out and put it on. The pants were damp and filled with sand. She shook them and stepped in them. She couldn’t quite decipher the looks the others trained on them when they finally arrived at the camp, but she strongly suspected that they had a good idea of what had happened between her and Mac. For one thing, Mac looked so damned cheerful and relaxed he might as well have strolled into camp whistling. It pleased her enormously to have had a part in lifting the burden from his shoulders, but she wasn’t particularly happy about the hungry looks from the others or the way they looked at Mac—like they wouldn’t mind tearing his throat out. “I don’t think food is going to drop out of the sky,” he said. “Hawk, you and Beau keep an eye on Sylvie. “Cavanaugh, come with me.” Despite the animosity she felt radiating from them, Cavanaugh got up immediately. Beau returned his attention to filling the water bottles they’d emptied. Hawk took the pot when he emptied it and headed back to the stream. “How’s your shoulder?” Sylvie asked a little uncomfortably. He shrugged and swiveled to show it to her in the firelight. She sucked in a sharp breath of surprise when she saw it. “How?” He made a sound that might’ve been disgust. “Doan ask me, chère. It jus’ happens.” Sylvie swallowed a little convulsively when she remembered what Hawk had said. “When you’re hurt, it heals like that? Every time?” He grunted. “So far.”

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“But it still hurts terribly, doesn’t it?” He squirmed a little uncomfortably. “Nah. Weren’t too bad. Adrenaline, you know? You doan feel too much until it goes away. I wished I’d tore that panther’s head off, though. You ok, now?” Sylvie felt her face heat with embarrassment. “It didn’t hurt me. It just scared the hell out of me. I was … upset because y’all were hurt protecting me.” He smiled for the first time. “You was worried about us, huh?” She smiled back at him. “Of course I was. Why wouldn’t I be?” He shrugged. “I thought, maybe, you was cryin’ ‘cause we scared you so bad, chère.” The urge to comfort him as she had Mac smote her. She struggled against it for fear Mac would take exception and she’d precipitate another fight. She didn’t want them fighting with each because of her. They’d been friends and close companions for years. She didn’t want to ruin that for them. She especially didn’t want to when she knew they depended on one another more now than ever. “I wasn’t afraid when I saw y’all. I was relieved because I knew you’d come to protect me.” Hawk returned in the middle of that explanation. He flicked a censorious frown at her as he squatted down and carefully placed the pot of water he’d brought in the edge of the fire. “That why you didn’t call out? You worried about us getting hurt?” Sylvie looked at him in dismay. “I was too afraid to call out.” His lips tightened. “You were trying to keep quiet. I saw you, so don’t bother to lie about it.” “If I’d screamed they could’ve heard me to the coast!” she said a little defensively. “I don’t give a fuck if they heard you in China!” Hawk growled. “That damned cat would’ve eat you alive, baby! Did you think about that?” Sylvie bit her lip. “Oh hell! Don’t start crying at me, damn it! You scared me out of ten years of my life and I’m pissed off about it! I ought to beat your ass!” “I doan think I’ll let you do that, mon ami,” Beau said tightly. Hawk glared at him. “I didn’t say I was going to, god damn it! I said I ought to.” Sylvie swallowed against the knot of emotion in her throat. “I promised I wouldn’t cause any trouble,” she reminded him. “And you think getting’ mauled …! Never mind!” he said gruffly, dragging her up against his side and squeezing her hard. “Don’t cry! Everybody will be trying to kick my ass and I’m too damned tired and weak from fright to handle it right now. Just don’t do anything like that anymore!” Sylvie would’ve chuckled at that if he hadn’t been squeezing the breath out of her. Luckily, he was satisfied to give her a quick squeeze and let go of her. “God! I hope they find something big. I could eat the ass end of a buffalo,” he muttered when he released her. **** When Mac had found a likely looking spot near the stream again and settled to wait, he found himself thinking over what Sylvie had said. At least, he did once he’d managed to put their lovemaking from his mind, which took him a while. Little by little, though, he turned his mind from his satisfaction about that to dissatisfaction about his

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complaining stomach and, as he did, he thought about what she’d said, wondering about it. She was right, he finally concluded. He hadn’t really been aware of calling the change when he needed it, but he had willed himself to change because he’d needed to move faster to reach her in time. That led him to wonder if he could call it at any time he felt a need for the expansion of his senses and abilities. Closing his eyes, he focused on trying to summon it. Nothing happened. He didn’t feel the strange disorientation or the stinging that he usually felt when his flesh began to remold itself. Cavanaugh was staring at him curiously when he opened his eyes again. “What’re you doing?” Mac released a huff of disgust. “Nothing I don’t guess.” He debated with himself briefly. “Sylvie thinks we can control it, make it happen when we want to and change back when we want to.” Cavanaugh looked at him like he’d lost his mind. “I don’t know about you, but it scares the shit out of me every time I feel it coming over me. I don’t fucking want to call it.” Mac shrugged. “It would make it easier to catch something to eat. I’m fucking starving. It’s like … it takes everything out of me every time and I’m so hungry afterward my stomach feels like it’s going to cave in.” Cavanaugh rubbed his stomach. “Don’t remind me. I’m trying not to think about it.” Mac closed his eyes again. This time, instead of chanting in his head, he focused on his body as he might when he was trying to gather himself to jump. Almost immediately, he felt the strange sense of floating. He forced himself to relax, to let it happen instead of struggling against it as he usually did. He felt his body remolding itself, but this time, he didn’t feel the burning pain—some discomfort but nothing like he’d felt at other times. When he opened his eyes, he discovered that Cavanaugh was gaping at him as if he’d never seen him like that before. He also discovered when he tried to speak that all that came out was a strange sound. “How the fuck did you do that?” Mac stared at him uneasily and finally tipped his head to look down at himself. The fur was there, and the paws tipped with lethal claws, but his arms didn’t look long and thick and his pants looked strangely empty. His heart jerked in fear and then he realized his legs had shortened to match his arms. His fucking dick was hairy! What the fuck? “You look … like a wolf—a really big, really fucking scary looking wolf.” Startled but feeling a great deal of relief, Mac focused on trying to change back. Satisfied that he actually did have control, he stopped in half transition and focused on trying to regain the form of a wolf. He met Cavanaugh’s gaze for a long moment when he’d fully transitioned and then lifted his head, seeking prey. Almost immediately, he caught scent of a peccary. He began following the scent, but when he’d gone a short distance, he stopped and looked back at Cavanaugh. After staring at him for a long moment, Cavanaugh closed his eyes and focused

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on trying to summon the change. Mac watched as he shifted from man to beast man and then to a form he assumed was much like his own. Uttering a soft whine, Cavanaugh scented the air and then followed him. Mac felt a sense of exhilaration as he bounded through the forest, an odd mixture of anticipation and the hunger that had driven him to try to summon the change. His mouth began to water as the scent grew stronger and the certainty settled in him that he was closing in on his prey. His ears picked up the faint sounds of pig-like noises in the distance and he tested the wind again to make certain it wasn’t carrying his scent to his prey. The currents shifted around him and, as they did, he changed directions, moving steadily toward the family of peccary, more stealthily as he realized he was virtually upon them. Jerking his head as a signal to Cavanaugh when he finally gained a vantage point that allowed him to see the peccaries, he moved in the opposite direction. The peccary caught their scent, stiffened for a moment and lifted their heads, snuffling at the air. Screaming, they began to dart away in as many different directions as there were peccary. Mac marked his target and leapt into the center of them even as they began to scatter, catching the beast he’d chosen by the throat and shaking his head to tear the flesh. It screamed again, gurgling as he locked his jaws tighter. The fight went out of it abruptly and a sense of triumph rushed through him. Lifting his head, he uttered a cry of victory to the heavens, urging the rest of his pack to join them in their feast. Cavanaugh, who’d killed his own, joined him, uttering a series of yips. **** Sylvie shuddered as the distant sound of howling wolves drifted to her on the night air. She rubbed her hands along her arms to smooth the goosebumps that had leapt to life. “They have wolves … here?” Neither Beau nor Hawk answered her. They’d stiffened just as she had at the sound. It unnerved her when they both stood abruptly, glancing around as if trying to pinpoint the direction of the howls. “Hawk? Beau?” Neither man seemed to hear her. Instead, they began to move away from the fire, slowly at first and then rushing. Dumbfounded, fearful that the wolves were coming to attack, she shot to her feet to stare after them. She was about to call to them again when she saw them change. Almost from one stride to the next, they shifted from man to man beast—and then into wolves. Sylvie blinked, feeling her jaw slide to half-mast in stunned disbelief, but there was no disputing that, where they’d been before, she saw wolves bounding away until they disappeared into the shadows of the jungle. She wasn’t certain how long she stood staring at the darkness where they disappeared when she heard more howls, closer than before. She sank weakly to the ground again. Hawk and Beau coming back, she wondered? Or the pair that had called before? Called to them, she realized abruptly. It had to have been Mac and Cavanaugh, but how? It was hard enough to swallow that they could transform themselves from men into man beasts, but wolves? She was insane! If they could mutate at will from one thing to another, there was

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no reason why they had to take any specific form! Or maybe they did? Maybe they just hadn’t completely changed before? There was no point in searching her mind for any answers. Nothing in the world could do what they’d done—even as men—nothing known. Nothing accepted as ‘real’, she realized, because no one believed such a thing as werewolves actually existed. She certainly hadn’t. She wasn’t sure she could accept it having seen it with her own eyes, but how else to explain it? Dementia? She could believe that whatever they had contracted in the jungle might make them hallucinate, but they weren’t just imagining that they were changing, they were morphing. Unless she was hallucinating because she’d contracted it, too? If she was, she decided a lot of other people had also been affected. The men who’d experimented on them and that were determined to chase them down and destroy them obviously believed. A rustle in the underbrush drew her from her thoughts after a time and she felt her heart accelerate with sudden fear. Cautiously, she rose up and stared into the darkness, hoping against hope that she would see the men returning. She didn’t see the men. She saw four pairs of eyes staring straight at her from the underbrush. The eyes glowed eerily in the light from the campfire. “Mac?” she whispered shakily, too unnerved to manage more. One of the wolves lifted its head. After staring at her for a long moment, he lowered his head again to something in the grass at his feet—and then Mac stood up and began striding toward her. Shaking with relief, Sylvie tried to get up and finally gave up and sat back as Mac strolled into the small clearing stark naked and dropped something that looked like a pig. As she stared at the thing in horror, a second one hit the ground and she looked to see Cavanaugh, equally naked and obviously happy to see her. “You gonna carve it up with that thing?” Hawk asked drily. Thankfully, Hawk and Beau were wearing their pants, though it appeared they’d just skimmed into them. Beau was still closing his fly and, although Hawk had zipped his, he’d left the waistband open and a lot of interesting skin showing that made Sylvie’s belly flutter. Cavanaugh shot him a bird. “I left my pants when I shifted.” “That’s something that’s going to be a real pain in the ass,” Mac said irritably. “Who’s skinning? I don’t have my knife either.” “We’ll clean them since you two took them down and y’all can go get your pants.” He glanced at Sylvie as he shouldered one of the wild pigs. “Anything gets after you, you scream like a banshee. Got it?” Sylvie smiled at him a little weakly. “Scream like a banshee,” she repeated obediently, wondering if he had any idea how ironic it was for her to scream for predators to rush to her aid that were probably twice as dangerous as anything else in the jungle. His eyes gleamed, but he merely turned and left, following Beau, who’d already grabbed one of the pigs. They’d cleaned both and returned before Mac and Cavanaugh finally got back. Mac’s eyes were gleaming with excitement when he crouched down beside her. She could feel the energy radiating from him.

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“I guess you were right,” he said finally. “You just have to accept the things you can’t change.” She managed a tentative smile. She was glad that he seemed more at ease, but she thought he hadn’t accepted so much as he’d embraced it and she couldn’t help but worry how it would change him.

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Chapter Nine They all changed. Sylvie spent most of her time trying to convince herself that they hadn’t or that it was something else. They’d been practically strangers, but their circumstances had been extreme. They’d been thrown together in a survival situation where there wasn’t a lot of room for social graces. She’d felt, even though she’d only been with them a few days, that she knew them and knew them well, quite possibly better than anyone else since they’d shown each other sides of themselves that few people ever saw. She knew very little about their pasts, but she knew them. They had all the qualities a woman looked for in a man. They were strong, hard working, responsible, protective, and competent. Beyond those things, they were handsome and charming, honest and honorable. They didn’t lose any of those fine qualities. The change was far more subtle than that, so elusive she couldn’t quite pinpoint why she felt they had changed. Then again, maybe it was purely her imagination? Maybe she was noticing the effect of the changes around them on their behavior and not an actual shift in their fundamental character? The discovery that they actually had control of the changes in them and that it could be used to their benefit had relieved their anxiety and tension. It had lifted a burden from their shoulders that she hadn’t understood or realized how deeply it was bothering them until it was gone. She supposed it was even understandable that the discovery that they could do something no one else was capable of would go to their heads and that it would be something exciting, something they would want to explore and understand to the fullest. It was their absorption with it, she finally decided, that was worrying her. They’d been handed amazing powers. Would it corrupt them? Would they become arrogant with it? Become so self-absorbed that they lost their empathy with ‘lesser mortals’? They weren’t completely absorbed with it. No one had actually said anything, not to her or within her hearing anyway, but they knew she’d been intimate with Mac. She’d been keenly aware of their physical needs before she’d managed to have her way with Mac. She thought that was at least part of the reason she’d been so preoccupied with sex herself—still was. They were young, handsome, and virile and that was enough to make it hard for her to ignore her own needs. Add horny to the mixture and it was no wonder she’d been aroused to such a state herself that she was practically champing at the bit for them to get hold of her. That dangerously explosive aspect of their situation was worse, not better, after she’d had sex with Mac. The others knew and it was like waving a steak under the nose of a starving man. She’d ‘fed’ one. The others wanted their piece. She wouldn’t have minded obliging them. She had a thing for Mac, but she was a long way from immune to the others and she knew her ‘thing’ with Mac wasn’t going anywhere. She also knew it was dangerous for her to allow herself to begin to think it might and, for that reason and others, it would be better not to play favorites. Because

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playing favorites was liable to turn them against each other and she didn’t want that. Unfortunately, giving freely to the ‘cause’ might also create friction between them, especially if Mac was possessive about his pussy, and he appeared to be. He’d seemed to be possessive before, but she wasn’t sure if it was him guarding the only available ‘source’ or if he’d just been trying to protect her from being gangbanged. She didn’t honestly know what to do. She didn’t think it was a healthy situation, though. Ordinarily, she wouldn’t have considered that she was under any obligation to appease their physical needs just because she was there. For her, it was personal, and they had no right to expect her to put out just because they needed the relief and she was handy. Ordinarily, she would’ve felt abused to be looked upon as ‘the pussy’ instead of Sylvie, a person who had value well beyond what she was carrying between her legs. There was no considering the situation as typical, though. No one had choices. None of the men had access to other women, and she was experienced enough and savvy enough to understand that the sex drive of men, particularly young men, was completely different than it was for women. They got build up pain—or blue balls as they often referred to it. She didn’t have balls herself, but she’d experienced pressure pain before and it was no picnic even if it wasn’t life threatening. Maybe, she thought, that was why they seemed different, seemed as if they’d changed? They knew she’d given and it rankled that she was holding out on them? She didn’t think Mac had kissed and told. She wouldn’t have been tremendously surprised if he had. They were buddies and buddies, she knew, often told each other things just like girls told their best friends things. She would’ve been disappointed in him if he had, but she didn’t think he had. She actually didn’t think he needed to. He’d been so perky since they’d had sex that it was hard to miss and harder to misinterpret. As pleased as she was about it, both with herself and him, she did wish he’d managed to be a little less obvious. Maybe then the others wouldn’t be staring holes in her all the time and looking at her like they couldn’t decide whether they most wanted to strangle her for holding out, or eat her alive. He made it more obvious the following day. They broke for camp earlier than they had on either of the previous days and Mac made a point of assigning himself the task of ‘keeping an eye’ on her while she bathed. Despite her embarrassment and uneasiness about it, her blood began to surge with anticipation the moment he announced that he’d go down to the lake with her while the others hunted for food and set up camp. Hope and doubt warred within her when he walked her down. He seemed tense, maybe even a little distracted, and that actually didn’t augur well for what she’d thought he had in mind. When they reached the small pool of water, he left her standing on the bank and disappeared. She waited hopefully, and waited. She’d just decided she’d completely misunderstood when he reappeared. “I found a better place,” he said, taking her hand and leading her off into the brush. After a few minutes, they reached an area where the brush had been thoroughly flattened, as if a small herd of some wild animals had settled there briefly, that almost seemed to create a nest. Stopping when they’d reached the center, Mac turned to her, grasped the bottom of her shirt and pulled it off over her head before she’d entirely grasped his intentions. Dropping it, he dragged her against his chest and lowered his head to match his mouth to

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hers in almost the same motion, so swiftly it was dizzying and completely disorienting— especially since he carried her down onto the grass. They broke contact briefly on touchdown, but she’d barely had time to suck in a breath when he was all over her. Vaguely disoriented, even faintly alarmed by his feverish assault, it took a handful of moments for the heat to kick in. Sylvie had just begun swimming in the euphoric drug of desire, when Mac broke from her lips and transferred his attention to her upper torso, alternately nuzzling and nibbling and sucking openmouthed kisses all along her face and neck, her upper chest and her breasts until she was so dizzy she felt as if she was floating. He moved restlessly against her as he returned to her lips, rubbing his bare chest and belly against hers and arousing her senses until she felt as feverish and needy as he seemed to be, began thrashing against him with a matching desperation. He pulled away almost the moment she did, caught the waist of her pants and snatched them off of her. Falling over her again, he pressed the hard ridge of his erection rhythmically against her mound, insinuated his hips between her thighs. She was warm and wet—eager for him when she felt him reach between them, unfasten his pants and guide himself to the mouth of her sex. She lifted to meet him, helping him attain the deep connection she was already aching for—had ached for almost from the time he’d left her the night before. The battle for possession almost undid them both, almost finished it before they’d even started. Her flesh clung to his feverishly despite the moisture that had coated her inner walls. It was almost too much to take and still maintain any control. She shuddered ecstatically when she finally felt him grinding against her, enjoying their deep connection in and of itself enough she almost yielded to the urge to ask him just to stay that way for a few moments so that she could enjoy it more fully. The moment he began to move rhythmically, however, stirring the heat inside of her, she completely forgot the urge. This was better, much better. She clung to the precipice as long as she could, clung to him, as thrilled by the bunching and flexing of his muscles beneath her palms as she was enthralled by the feel of his cock coasting back and forth along her channel. Too soon, it seemed to her, she reached a point of no return, where she couldn’t keep her body in abeyance any longer. The bubble of pleasurable tension that had been building and building shattered. She gulped back a sharp cry at the force of it, burrowed her face against him, and groaned mindlessly as the convulsions rocked her. He released a pent up breath of his own in a ragged groan, began to shake and then to drive himself into her in hard, fast thrusts, arching his back and grinding against her as his body yielded up his seed. Still drifting in her own private utopia, she watched his face from beneath her lashes as it contorted with ecstasy, feeling a rush that made goosebumps break out all over her, feeling a sense of euphoria and satisfaction that almost surpassed the glorious sense of release that had just consumed her. He allowed his head to drop forward on his shoulders as the powerful release drained him. He studied her face when he opened his eyes. Lowering himself to rest against her, he covered her mouth in a leisurely kiss and finally rolled off of her. The brush crackled as he settled on his back, draping an arm across his eyes. The jungle was muggy. She understood the desire to cool off. She really did. The kiss had been his praise and his appreciation and should’ve appeased her, but she wanted a little cuddling. When she’d cooled a little herself, she rolled onto her side to

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study him, wondering if he’d drifted off. It was impossible to tell when she could only see the lower part of his face, but he lay so still …. She sighed, dismissing the urge to touch. It would wake him and he was tired. None of them had gotten much sleep. They only paused briefly to allow a few hours of rest and even then the men rotated. Someone was always awake and on watch. She frowned at that thought. She couldn’t remember that they had the night before, but it had been part of the established routine in the beginning. Maybe she hadn’t noticed? They hadn’t moved in formation during the day either. From the time they’d left the coast, they’d moved single file through the forest—one man at point, one guarding the rear. She supposed, loosely, they’d still had a man at point and one to guard the rear, but they hadn’t traveled single file. They’d spread out through the brush, sometimes disappearing for brief periods before they reappeared again. One or the other had always walked with her, or carried her when she got so tired she was staggering, but they hadn’t bunched up like before. A new tactic to make it harder to follow them? Or was it that they no longer needed to have eye contact to communicate with one another? Had their senses and their awareness of their surroundings expanded to such a degree that they could survey a much wider swath of the jungle by spreading out? Mac hadn’t sent anyone back to check their back-trail the night before either. Maybe they were convinced that they’d managed to completely elude their hunters, that they hadn’t discovered where they landed and went in to the jungle? Mac roused. “It burns,” he muttered. She wondered if he was dreaming. “What burns?” “Your eyes. They’re burning a hole in me,” he murmured, his lips curling up at one corner. Embarrassed that he knew she’d been staring, she chuckled. “I was just wondering when you were going to take your pants off to do me, big boy!” she said teasingly. He lifted his head and looked down at himself. “I guess when I’m not in such a big hurry to get inside you that I don’t feel like waiting to get shed of them,” he responded huskily, his eyes gleaming now. “Ah! Any day now!” “Yeah—any day—maybe fifty or sixty years down the road.” Sylvie felt her throat close. She knew he was just joking but it still gave her a pang, knowing it probably wouldn’t even be fifty or sixty days. She didn’t want to think about it, though. Smiling with an effort, she sat up. “God I need a bath! I’m so sticky!” He chuckled. “Sorry about that. I was backed up. You’re lucky I didn’t blow your brains out the first time.” “Gross!” Sylvie felt her face heat. She laughed, even though she was horrified. “I was talking about the sweat.” He grinned at her. “It’s hard work. I’m a little out of shape. Next time I’ll fuck up again. It’s less work when you’re doing the pushups.” Shaking her head, Sylvie got up. “Come on, lazy. Let’s get a bath and get back before everybody starts to wonder what’s taking us so long.” “I expect they know what’s taking so long,” he drawled as he fell into step behind

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her, a faint edge to his voice. Sylvie sent him an uneasy look, but decided it would be better not to pursue it. The note of possessiveness was unmistakable that time. She didn’t want to say anything he might construe as a challenge. It seemed perfectly reasonable to her to try to maintain a polite lie to keep friction down, but she had the feeling that pointing it out to him would make him take the opposite tact just to be contrary. She changed the subject. “I wonder how much wildlife is in the pool and if it would be safe to swim?” His eyes narrowed, but he allowed her to redirect his attention. “I’ll check it out.” Pushing his pants down his narrow hips, he dove in. Sylvie stood on the bank, clutching her clothes to her chest and watching the surface of the pool. It seemed to her that he was submerged an awful long time. Finally, he surfaced. “Nothing with fangs or teeth—no big teeth, anyway.” Nodding, Sylvie put her clothes in a pile and jumped in. The water was deeper than she’d expected. She was gasping for breath when she broke the surface again. Mac grabbed her while she was still trying to shove her hair out of her eyes, dragging her close. “….except me,” he murmured, angling his head for a kiss. Expecting little more than a peck, Sylvie wasn’t prepared for the heat and hunger of his kiss. It swept her away. She was so dizzy and drunk with desire by the time he withdrew from her lips to slide his mouth along her throat, she couldn’t do anything but cling to him as he dipped lower and sucked her nipples into his mouth, one after the other. When he’d teased her to mindlessness, he straightened, guided her legs around his waist and dragged his cock along her cleft, pushing inside of her. He studied her face from beneath half closed eyes as he worked his flesh inside of her. She felt pinned by his gaze. Even when her eyes drifted half closed of their own accord, he held her. The ride was swift and rough for both of them. From the moment they fully connected, they were fighting a losing battle to hold out and enjoy. He dipped his head and covered her mouth as her body began to convulse. She sucked his tongue a little frantically as the waves washed over her, moaning into his mouth. His arms loosened around her when he’d finally ceased convulsing with his own release. “If you let go of me now,” she said a little breathlessly, “I’m going to drown. I don’t have the strength to swim.” “I won’t let go, Sylvie,” he murmured, nuzzling his face against hers. There was something about the inflection in his voice that brought her eyes open. She met his gaze for a pregnant moment. The sense that he was telling her something momentous swept through her and then the moment passed and her certainty with it. Kissing her forehead, he set her on her feet and swam away. She watched him for a moment and finally moved closer to the bank where it was shallower, and soaked and scrubbed at her skin and hair until they felt relatively clean. She still missed soap and shampoo and she was starting to really miss a lot of things. She pushed it from her mind, determined not to get caught up in the yearning for things. A change of clothing, for instance. She didn’t even have underwear or shoes. She supposed, though, that it was probably just as well she didn’t have the underwear. That would’ve just made her current situation more difficult. It was hard enough to manage ‘going’ in the woods without having to worry about layers of clothes. It was also

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hot and muggy and she was almost tempted to go shirtless as the men did. Of course, they didn’t have any choice in that, but somehow she thought they would’ve discarded them anyway. It was no great surprise, to Sylvie anyway, to discover that the other men were more tense and irritable than they had been before. She knew they weren’t in any doubt about what she and Mac had been up to when they were gone so long and strongly suspected Mac had deliberately kept her busy to make sure there wasn’t any doubt. Beau and Hawk had already returned with a kill—a large pig-looking thing. As if their return was some sort of signal, though, Cavanaugh instructed her on turning the spit and got up. The men walked a short distance into the brush, dropped their trousers and shifted. More than a little disappointed that she’d only gotten the back view, Sylvie watched until they disappeared and settled to wait for them. She supposed she could understand the draw—to an extent anyway. The sheer thrill of being able to do such a thing would be a novelty and being able to prowl the jungle as one with the other denizens, to see and hear and smell with such acute senses must be an adventure each time they did it. She tried not to think about the fact that, as men, they’d been careful never to get too far from her, were always alert to her need to be protected, whereas now …. She wondered if they had thoughts once they changed into the great beasts. Or did they simply have the beast’s instincts to guide them? And if that was so, was that part of the attraction? They could throw off the worries of the world for a time and be completely free as no human could? There was a cost to some freedoms, she thought abruptly, feeling depression seep into her pores along with thoughts she’d rarely allowed herself. Take infertility, for instance. Never a worry in the world that she might get knocked up! She didn’t suppose she’d ever managed to consider it in that light. She’d tried to convince herself she did, but the truth was it was like a low grade pain that never went away. She could push it to the back of her mind for long stretches of time, but it always made itself known again when she was least able to defend herself from it. She’d thought she was just ‘lucky’ when she was young and exploring her sexuality—like many kids playing Russian Roulette with both disease and pregnancy. She supposed she was lucky, or she just had better than average instincts. She’d managed to reach a more savvy age without catching anything. She’d thought she was lucky she hadn’t gotten knocked up until she discovered it wasn’t luck at all. She just wasn’t fertile—she wasn’t sterile, but it pretty much amounted to the same thing when her ovaries weren’t producing like they should. The doctor had scratched his head over it. He’d run every test he could think of to find the answer and still come up empty. He didn’t know why. It had taken no more than that to convince her husband, contrary bastard that he was, that he would miss out if he stayed with her. They’d fought tooth and nail over her desire to start a family right away, had had yet another fight about it right before her appointment and then, when she discovered her chances of having a baby were slim to none without some kind of fertility treatment, he’d left her. Not quite that fast, of course. They’d managed to drag things out a couple of

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years before she’d discovered he was having an affair—with a ‘real’ woman. Mike always had known how to go straight for the jugular. He wasn’t in the wrong. He was justified. She was defective. There hadn’t seemed to be any point in pursuing a relationship after that. Eventually, after she’d gotten over the divorce and her initial devastation about her situation, she’d tried—of course. She was a glutton for punishment! Her last try had been almost five years earlier, after she’d turned thirty. She’d thought that one might actually work. He was older than her—thirty-five. He knew she was thirty. She’d thought he wouldn’t expect or want children with her. As it turned out, though, he’d thought she was perfect because he figured she must be a clock watcher, frantic to conceive before it was too late. His last wife hadn’t wanted children—with him, apparently. She’d had children by her next husband and he’d wanted at least one. He’d seemed open to fertility treatments until he discovered it wasn’t cheap. He decided he’d do better if he kept looking, particularly when there was no guarantee that the fertility treatments would even work. So she was still free. It was almost worse to think that her life had turned out shit and it wasn’t even from a bad decision. A ‘do over’ wouldn’t help even if she could’ve done it. Trying to shake her thoughts and the depression settling over her, she turned the pig on the spit, wondering what had prompted the unpleasant past to rear its ugly head. She knew why, though. It was the ‘thing’ she had for Mac. He was so young. They all were. She doubted they’d ever given a thought to the families they would have someday, but they would eventually. Sooner or later everyone reached that point in their life where procreation became the driving force—just about everybody anyway. Not that it mattered—to her. Mac hadn’t said what he meant to do with her and she hadn’t asked. Truthfully, she’d been too damned scared at first to give any thought at all to ‘later’—because she wasn’t really expecting there to be a later. She still wasn’t sure that there would be a later for them. They were amazing, but the government was relentless. If they were determined to cleanup, they were going to keep looking until they could. Actually, she supposed if the guys could stay ahead of them long enough, they’d eventually be moved to the back burner and they might be able to get on with their lives. She hoped they could. They were good men. They deserved it and there were women out there that deserved really exceptional men. God knew there weren’t nearly enough! She supposed if they could stop running long enough, they’d try to swing by some town or village and drop her off. On some levels, she was anxious for it. On others, not so anxious, but she didn’t suppose it mattered how she felt about it one way or the other. Whatever happened would happen. Her fate wasn’t in her hands and she was just as glad it wasn’t. She’d lucked out. Her fate had fallen into a lot more capable hands than her own. **** It was between their mid-morning respite and the slightly longer break they usually took when they stopped to eat lunch that they stumbled upon the cabin. Sylvie didn’t even see it at once and wondered why the guys had just stopped. After looking around for several moments, though, she finally noticed a regular piece of wood that

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seemed out of place. The jungle had almost completely reclaimed it. Vines grew all over the walls and roof and the crooked chimney. The door was ajar, creating a black maw in the center that she’d thought at first glance was just an artificial tunnel created by the thick vines and undergrowth. “It’s been empty a while,” Mac commented finally, lifting his head and scanning the area around the cabin. Nodding, the men spread out, disappearing from her view in a matter of moments. She saw that Mac was studying her when she glanced at him again. “Want to check it out?” Nodding, she took the hand he offered and allowed him to lead her through the brush to the rickety steps. He tested them with one foot. “Seems solid enough. Watch for rotted wood, though. The jungle tends to consume everything.” There was no porch, just the crooked steps leading into the cabin. Sylvie stopped on the threshold, waiting for her vision to adjust. Mac released her hand when she paused and moved inside. “The floor and walls are stone,” he called from inside, his voice sounding strangely hollow. “It’s safe.” It was a single room and not a very large one at that, she discovered when she’d followed him inside. The vines and brush that covered the two windows, cut out most of the light but enough filtered through that she could scan the room. There was a narrow metal bed frame against one wall. A ragged quilt partially covered the sagging mattress. Dust liberally covered the floor and the rough hewn table that stood near the hearth. There were two equally rough chairs to match, one lying on the floor, broken, the other listing to one side. The kitchen counter consisted of two crates set on end and another rough cut board across them. An empty can sat at the end nearest the fireplace. Mac was studying the ceiling when she turned to look at him questioningly. As if he sensed her gaze, he looked at her. “The roof looks good—well, the tin isn’t rusted out. The beams don’t look great, but I think they’ll hold up to anything but a heavy storm. Looks like the place managed to weather a few of them.” “How long do you think it’s been standing here?” He shrugged. “Probably not nearly as long as it looks. As for standing empty—at least a year, I’d imagine. The plants grow fast here, but not that fast,” he said, pointing to the vines covering most of the windows. “What do you think?” Sylvie blinked at him. When it dawned on her that he was talking about staying the night, a shiver worked its way up her back. As bad as it had been to sleep in the jungle, she wasn’t sure this was much of an improvement. “You think it’s safe to stop this early in the day?” “I think if they’d figured out where we came ashore, they’d be a lot closer—close enough we would’ve heard, or smelled, them.” Sylvie nodded. “I guess I should look around and see if I can find anything to clean it up a little.” He chuckled. “It’s cleaner now than the ground.” “I don’t know. We don’t know what was sleeping in that bed … or is.” “Good point. I’ll drag it outside and see what I can shake loose.” A rat ran out when he dragged the mattress off the bed frame. Uttering a shriek,

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Sylvie tried to race it to the door. When she discovered the damned thing was headed in the same direction that she was, she danced over it and then whirled and raced in the other direction, flinging herself at Mac. He was laughing so hard by that time, he staggered at the impact. Hawk appeared at the door, his brows lifted questioningly. “Rat,” Mac managed to say in a voice still shaky with laughter. Sylvie peeled herself loose from Mac and shuddered. “It was as big as a cat!” she said indignantly. Mac snorted, but dismissed it. “How’s it looking?” “No trail up to the place. Nobody’s been here for a while. I found an overgrown cart path. Beau and Cavanaugh are checking it out.” Mac considered it. “I think we can figure on one night here, regardless. How about giving me a hand with the mattress? Sylvie wants it shook out.” Hawk flicked a glance at her and moved inside. As soon as they’d each taken an end and carried the unwieldy thing out, Sylvie grasped the coverlet between two fingers, dragged it to the door, and pitched it out behind them. She stood in the doorway watching them and finally decided it looked that they were doing a fairly thorough job of dislodging any occupants. “Will it be alright to pull the vines away from the window?” Mac paused and turned to study her and then the windows. “Just push them back. Don’t pull them down.”

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Chapter Ten “The cart track we followed connects with another about six or seven miles from here that gets a fair amount of local traffic. It leads to a village … another five miles at a guess. It’s small. We didn’t see any sign of tourists or tourist-type trade goods, and the people look poor, so I’m thinking it’s a good bet that it’s pretty isolated. We didn’t go in since it’s also obvious we’d stick out and be remembered.” Mac nodded. “We’ll need to check it out more thoroughly, but I think this will be a good place to settle—for now, anyway. Not many comforts, but there’s a few and Sylvie’s pretty worn out.” “I wouldn’t mind a few days rest myself,” Beau said wryly. “We’ve been humping it pretty hard.” “I heard that!” Cavanaugh agreed. Mac looked at Hawk. Hawk studied him a few moments and finally shrugged. “Whatever you say.” Mac frowned, studied the ground at his feet for several moments and finally met Hawk’s gaze again. “I think we have something to settle before we move on anyway, don’t we Hawk?” Hawk’s expression hardened. “Maybe we do,” he said tightly. “That’s what I figured. There can only be one top dog. We’ll meet here— tonight—and settle it. Meanwhile, we need to see what we can do to help Sylvie clean up the place until she’s satisfied it’s as comfortable as we can make it. There’s a crude shower and latrine just out back. We need to see if we can get them in shape for use and see whatever we can scrounge up that the former resident might have abandoned. Doesn’t look like he had much, but it won’t hurt to look.” “I saw an old garden patch,” Cavanaugh volunteered. “All grown up, but if there was anything left that ran to seed, there might be something to eat.” “Check it out. Beau, how are you with plumbing?” Beau snorted. “That ain’t plumbing, mon ami!” **** Sylvie was more worn out from trying to clean the cabin, she thought, than she would’ve been from a full day’s march. She still had the creepy-crawlies from all the varmints she’s chased out or slain outright, but she was convinced enough that they would have the cabin to themselves that she thought she might be able to close her eyes. There’d either been way more wildlife inside the cabin than in the woods, or she’d just been able to see them better. She wasn’t sure which, but she knew she’d never get a wink of sleep if she could see them crawling around or worse, hear them skittering across the walls or floor. The mattress looked and smelled better after it had been left outside most of the day to air, but it still didn’t look particularly appealing. She’d found a laundry area outside, though, a cracked tub and water supply from a huge barrel that had been set up to catch rain water. She’d also found a sliver of soap. It was a hard choice—save it for

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personal bathing or use it to clean the quilt—but she finally decided to use it for the laundry. It was pretty harsh stuff, and unscented. The quilt, even though it wasn’t very big, soaked up enough water it weighed a ton and that was the source of most of her weariness—trying to clean the damned thing, but she was reasonably satisfied after a while. She wrung it out the best she could and spread it over some of the brush to dry in the sun. Mac and Beau, she saw, were working on the crude bathroom that had been built a short distance behind the cabin. It was almost sad even to her how excited she was at that discovery, but there was no denying that her heart leapt with joy. It buoyed her spirits enough that she could hardly sit still when they finally broke for lunch. As soon as they’d finished eating, she was up and on the hunt for something to use to clean the cabin. It was just as well she’d been gung ho about it. She didn’t think she would’ve had time to de-varmint the cabin before dark if she hadn’t started right away. Cavanaugh came in about halfway through the afternoon and built a fire on the hearth. Sylvie watched him curiously. It got pretty cool at night—especially now that they’d gotten into the foothills—but it was still a long time till dusk and she wondered why he would start a fire so early. Hawk came in a little later with a broken pottery pot and set it very carefully on the coals of the fire Cavanaugh had started. He sent her a speculative glance when he saw she was watching him. There was heat in the gaze he raked over her, and possessiveness and she more than half feared he might say something that would make them both uncomfortable. “We’ll be a staying here a few days. Why don’t you take a break? You can always pick up again tomorrow.” A little surprised at the information but relieved that he hadn’t said anything personal, Sylvie smiled tiredly. “In a little bit. I don’t think I could sleep in this place tonight until I’m sure there isn’t anything in here to crawl on me while I’m trying to sleep.” Mac came in just then, divided a glance between them and then headed to the hearth, dropping in several unidentifiable, bloody chunks of meat. Mystery solved, Sylvie thought wryly when both men had left, wondering how they were going to eat the stew, or soup, the guys had apparently decided on for supper and if they had anything to put in it besides the meat and water. Mac was back in a few minutes with his canvas tote. After digging around in it, he pulled out a box of salt, poured a little in his palm and dropped it in the pot. He also removed a plate, a large coffee mug, and a fork, knife, and spoon. The other men came and went, dropping off similar treasures. As the sun started to set, Cavanaugh came in with a small armload of stunted vegetables, mostly potatoes—a couple of over ripe tomatoes and a few peppers. “Where in the world did you find all that?” Sylvie asked in pleased surprise. He threw a wry smile in her direction. “The garden. It hasn’t been tended in a while, but there were a few things that came up from the last year’s seeds. Unfortunately, this is most of it, but I think there’ll be enough to make another meal.” Sylvie breathed in the scent appreciatively. “It smells wonderful!” He stood up. “Guess it’ll be an improvement over just meat.” “Oh the cookouts we’ve been having were great, too!” Sylvie said hurriedly.

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“But it’ll be nice to have something different, you know.” “Cookouts?” Cavanaugh chuckled. “Guess that’s one way to look at it.” He moved from the hearth to the window and began yanking at the shutters, trying to disentangle them from the vines. A few minutes later, Beau and Mac also came in, Beau to work on the other window shutter while Mac checked out the door. They were all half rotted and hanging by their hinges, but the men managed to close them and wedge them into the openings to at least partially seal up the cabin. Mac lingered after Beau and Cavanaugh left. “We got the shower working—sort of. If you want a bath, you should do it before it’s too dark to see out. The water’s like ice, FYI,” he said wryly. Sylvie blinked at him. As thrilling as the suggestion of a ‘sort of’ shower was, it seemed clear that the guys were leaving. “We’ll be gone a little while, but you’ll be safe here.” He grinned. “Don’t let the stew burn. We’ll be hungry enough by the time we get back to eat you if you burn the stew.” Sylvie chuckled dutifully at his joke, but she was uneasy about being left. Shrugging it off the best she could, she finished cleaning what she could and headed outside to check out the shower. It wasn’t just outdoors, it was outside. It looked as if there’d been a privacy wall of some kind at one time, but that was gone. It also unnerved her that the water source was a huge barrel above the crude spout that she would have to stand under. The toilet was an outhouse—not flushable—but it still beat squatting in the woods—not much! Having made use of it, she went outside the little rickety cubicle that provided damned little privacy and studied the ‘shower’. There was a small stone floor beneath it. A piece of rope led upward to a valve of some kind. When she pulled on it, a narrow stream of icy cold water hit her right on the top of the head. Sucking in a sharp breath, she released the pull and sloughed the water out of her face. She hadn’t thought to undress before she checked the damned thing out! Her clothes were soaked. After glaring at them a few moments, she pulled them off and headed to the ‘laundry’. There wasn’t much soap left. She’d used most of it on the cover, but she sacrificed a little more to clean her shirt and pants, wrung them out and took them inside to hang them near the hearth to dry. She felt more than a little uneasy strolling around the place buck naked, but the guys were gone, she reminded herself. She had the place to herself. Back at the shower again, she braced herself and released another avalanche of water then took what was left of the soap and did her best to cover everything. There wasn’t much lather for her hair once she’d scrubbed everything else, but a little was still better than none. It was almost more torture than bathing in the streams had been—it was damn sure colder water!—but it was also cleaner. For the first time since she’d left the boat, she actually felt clean. There was nothing to dry off with. The cover was mostly dry, though, and she snatched it off the brush, shook it to make sure nothing was crawling on it and wrapped up in it. She’d used the straight back chairs to hang up her shirt and pants so she draped the cover over the table and moved to ‘bake’ herself dry in front of the fireplace. **** Mac studied his opponent as he unfastened his fatigues and slipped out of them.

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He’d been in enough battles with Hawk to know him fairly well, to know how he fought and what his weaknesses were, but he’d fought beside him before, not against him. His leadership of the pack was riding on this and, just as importantly, his claim on Sylvie. Hawk wanted her—bad. He was going to be vicious, but his focus was on Sylvie and that meant he wasn’t going to be able to be coolheaded. If it came to that, he wasn’t exactly coolheaded where Sylvie was concerned himself, but he figured he still had the advantage. He was just going to have to convince Hawk that he was running things—still. Hawk gaped at him for a moment in surprise when he undressed but finally shrugged and skimmed out of his trousers. Mac glanced at Beau and Cavanaugh. “When we’re done here, you have the option of challenging the victor.” Beau and Cavanaugh both stared at him like he’d lost his mind. “Shit!” Cavanaugh muttered. “I ain’t got no aspirations of leading this motley crew even if I felt like letting you kick my ass. And I don’t.” “Doan look at me, mon ami!” Beau said, grinning. “I’m satisfied to let you do all the worryin’.” Satisfaction settled in him. Nodding, Mac faced Hawk again and called the change. The moment he felt it begin, he saw Hawk call his own beast to the fore. Snarling a challenge, he bristled, curling his lips back from his teeth. Hawk issued a counter challenge and they began to circle one another, looking for an opening to attack. He saw his opening first. Hawk had taken up an offensive stance and was more focused on watching him than paying attention to his surroundings. The moment Hawk stumbled, he leapt at him. They tangled, twisting around and around, rolling, biting and clawing at one another, but Mac failed to lock his jaws around Hawk’s neck. After a moment, they broke apart and began circling one another again. Hawk was more cautious now, but that worked against him just as his inattention to his surroundings had before. Mac used his senses to ‘feel’ out his surroundings and kept his gaze locked with Hawk’s. The moment Hawk’s gaze flickered to one side for a quick look, he charged again. That time, he managed to catch Hawk by the throat, but he moved faster than Mac had anticipated. He didn’t get a good grip and Hawk was away again. Hawk recovered faster and nipped at his throat, narrowly missing him. For nearly ten minutes they charged one another, tangled briefly, doing as much damage as they could and then breaking apart. Hawk began to tire. Mac sensed it in the slowing of his reflexes. And then Hawk made his biggest mistake. He allowed his anger to get the better of him. It wasn’t a bad maneuver considering he was tiring and knew it, but as vicious as his assault was, he left himself wide open. Ignoring the pain as Hawk caught his shoulder between his jaws, Mac whipped his head around and clamped down on Hawk’s throat, bearing down until Hawk was forced to release his own grip. Tightening his jaws threateningly, Mac bore him to the ground and held him there until he felt the fight go out of him. The moment he did, he eased his chokehold, allowing him just enough breath to realize he couldn’t free himself without having his throat torn out. Hawk panted, unwilling to yield, trying to gather enough strength for a last ditch

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attempt to throw Mac off. Mac braced himself, snarling a warning. For several moments, Hawk struggled with his fury and his pride and finally yielded. Mac held him down a few moments more and finally released him. Hawk immediately made an abortive attempt to leap to his feet, but when Mac snarled a warning, he subsided and lay panting for breath. He stood over him, rigid with warning for a few moments more and finally backed off, allowing him to rise. Hawk glared at him balefully when he’d shifted back into his human form. Ignoring him, Mac stalked across the small clearing and retrieved his trousers. “I’m ready for some of that stew,” he said casually. “Let’s hope it’s done and Sylvie didn’t forget to watch it.” He looked down at himself and added wryly when he saw he was bloody all over, “guess I should hit the shower first.” Beau and Cavanaugh, expressing similar sentiments, got up to follow him. Mac turned to look at Hawk. “Don’t let Sylvie see you like that. It would upset her.” Still furious, Hawk sat back down once he’d put his pants on. It took a while for his anger, and his aches and pains, to dull enough to begin to consider the situation he’d found himself in. Reluctantly, he admitted Mac had a far better disposition to be a leader. He hadn’t actually wanted to lead. Like Beau and Cavanaugh, he knew he was better at taking orders than giving them and he didn’t want the responsibility of deciding everybody’s fate—which was what Mac had to do. He wanted Sylvie, though, he thought, dropping his head in his hands. It was driving him crazy. It would’ve been bad enough just having to look at her, being around her, without being able to touch, but knowing Mac was every chance he got made it worse. He couldn’t even think straight anymore. He supposed challenging Mac was proof positive of it. He didn’t think he was going to be able to handle staying and watching the two of them together. Unfortunately, he also didn’t think he could bring himself to leave, and what would be the point? It was his imagination that was tormenting him the most, and he’d be taking that with him. Beyond that, he felt a tie to the others than he couldn’t entirely understand. They’d been buddies for years, of course, and in and out of some pretty hairy situations together where their very lives depended upon how well they worked together as a team. He’d always felt a stronger bond with them than anyone else in his life, but this seemed … different. **** In some ways, it almost felt ‘wrong’ to feel so much contentment over what was really fairly minor comforts, but there was no denying the sense of satisfaction that wafted through Sylvie when she finally settled on the lumpy, and still malodorous mattress atop the slightly fresher quilt. The stew had made the most fabulous meal she’d ever tasted. She’d eaten enough to be uncomfortably full although, fortunately, she’d had enough sense to stop before she was miserable. The guys had helped, she thought wryly, vaguely amazed that they could put away so much food and still look so fit. She was still bare-assed, and that wasn’t so comfortable. The t-shirt had dried fairly quickly and she’d managed to get back in to it before the men had returned. The sweats were still soggy, though. She wasn’t happy about it, and she was more than a

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little afraid that Mac would object vocally to her running around in nothing but a t-shirt, but she just couldn’t face wearing the wet pants. The t-shirt, she’d reasoned, covered everything. It was bigger on her than it had been to start with—stretched out and more shapeless. But it covered her from neck to mid-thigh. That ought to be enough, she reasoned. Mac had looked her over somewhat skeptically, but once he’d tested the pants, he hadn’t said anything. The other three had looked like they might actually jump her—which had unnerved her—but except for staring at her hungrily every time she moved and drew their attention, they’d tried to ignore what must surely seem to them to be deliberate provocation. She’d been relieved when everyone finally found a place to park for the night and settled down. She hadn’t asked about the bed, but it was clear they meant for her to have it. She tensed when Mac climbed in with her, but the cabin was drafty in spite of the fact that it was more protection from the elements than she’d had for a while. She was glad he’d joined her. She needed a full body warmer. It didn’t take long to figure out he had more than sleeping in mind, though. Her mind went chaotic with shock when he’d settled beside her and very casually slipped his hand beneath the t-shirt. She tensed all over. With the best will in the world, she couldn’t convince herself that the others were asleep and she didn’t know what to think about Mac being so blatant. Trying to convince herself he really didn’t intend to do anything except ‘play’, she held perfectly still, trying not to make a sound while he leisurely explored her. **** Triumph was still singing in his veins when Mac settled beside Sylvie, that and possessiveness. He’d established his dominance and the fact that Sylvie was his. He wasn’t certain why he felt the need to reinforce that within view of them so that there were no lingering doubts, but the urge to do it was riding him. She tensed when he touched her and he felt her doubts, but the need to stake his claim only became more pronounced. Sylvie, he realized, needed to accept him, as well, as the man who owned her. Ignoring her warning signals, he pushed her shirt up so that he could see her, not just touch, focusing for several moments only merely enjoying the feel of her soft skin. It occurred to him after a few moments, though, that there was something different about her scent and whatever it was, it was setting his blood on fire. Curious, he leaned closer, snuffling between her breasts and then nuzzling his face against her belly when he couldn’t identify what that something was. The faint scent of soap was confusing him—that and the fact that he felt drunk with the lust raging through him, disoriented. As he nuzzled her belly, though, he discovered the scent was stronger and a vague thought formed in his mind that he couldn’t quite capture. Sitting up abruptly, he pulled her t-shirt off altogether and tossed it on the floor. He didn’t want anything between him and her. Shifting down on the bed, he grasped her thighs and pushed them wide. She resisted briefly but gave up at his insistence. The moment she yielded, he settled between her legs, sucking at her soft belly and then

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moving lower, searching for what it was that he wanted, that he felt such a driving hunger to have. When he burrowed his face against her cleft, he knew what the scent was that was driving him crazy. She was fertile. He didn’t know how he knew, but he smelled it on her and his mind went wild. For many moments, he thought he was going to shift. He didn’t. He managed to hold on to his human form, but he felt his mind shift, felt his grasp on his human side slip from his control. That tiny seed of life was his. She was his, he thought dizzily, but it wasn’t enough. His pack brothers would need to seed her, as well. She would have to give them more. And he knew, without knowing how he knew, how to coax them from her. He had to prepare her first, though. Settling between her thighs, he lathed her cleft with his tongue. She bucked against him, tried to scoot away, to close her legs. He threaded his arms beneath her knees and grabbed her wrists, pushing against her until her hips curled upward, exposing her fully, preventing her the leverage to struggle. The moment he had her pinned, he covered her clit with his mouth and sucked on it. She gasped, bucked against him again, but realized it was futile to try to fight him. Satisfaction flickered through him when she yielded. He caught her sweet little clit firmly in his mouth and began to tease it, driving her toward climax. She gasped, groaned, and fought him until she was shaking all over, but he knew she’d already yielded to him. The tension was pleasure and she was mindless with it. He nearly came himself when he realized that. Instead, he ignored his need to burrow his dick inside of her and pump into her until he released his seed. This need was more important. He suckled at her clit and tormented her until she abruptly stiffened. Her entire body bowed. A long, low moan escaped her. For a few moments more, he continued to suckle her clit, waiting until she reached the very peak of her climax and began to utter breathless little cries of rapture. He released his hold on her clit then and found the spot, the tender skin on her inner thigh where the blood pulsed heavily. Sinking his teeth into her, he sucked the sting away when she screamed and then lathed it with his tongue to release the hormones into her that would make her yield what he wanted—more of her ova. He moved over her when she went limp, driving his dick into her still quaking pussy, grinding his teeth when he felt the resistance of her flesh. He was too desperate for finesse, too mindless with the burning need to capture that first tiny seed for himself. He struggled against the clinging walls of her channel until he’d burrowed as deeply inside of her as he could and then set a frantic pace. She came again. He felt her body convulse around his and when it did, it milked the seed from him in a scalding fountain. He kept pumping his hips until he couldn’t pump any more into her and finally collapsed on top of her, gasping for breath. He sensed her confusion when she finally recovered enough for reality to creep in to her mind. Heaving himself off of her with an effort, he settled on his side and dragged her limp form against his length, pulling as much of the quilt over them as he could. To his relief, she clung to him—for comfort he knew. The madness seemed to

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have left him. In its wake, he felt remorse warring with the sense of triumph. He stroked her back, calming her, reassuring her. When she finally relaxed against him in sleep, he relaxed, as well. Contentment settled inside of him. He’d bred her, sown his seed in her belly, not merely expended it. She was his, and now she knew it, too.

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Chapter Eleven Sylvie didn’t know what to think about what Mac had done the night before beyond embarrassed to meet the other men’s gazes. It actually wasn’t as much of a problem, though, as she’d expected it would be. They woke her leaving the cabin the next morning before it was even daylight. She was too groggy then to remember what had transpired the night before and merely curled up, snuggling in to the warm spot Mac had left and drifting off to sleep again. It all flooded back as soon as she did wake up, however. With extremely mixed feelings, she peered outside. When she didn’t see any sign of the men, she headed back to the ‘bathroom’ to perform her morning ritual. The shower was a real eye-opener so early in the morning! She was sticky from sex, though, and lingered long enough to clean up before dashing back inside, drying herself with the cover, and then pulling her clothes on. There was still plenty of cleaning to do regardless of her efforts most of the previous day, and she tried to focus on that. It didn’t occupy her mind as completely as she’d hoped. Memories teased her and her imagination teased her almost as much because she couldn’t prevent herself from thinking about the show Mac had put on for the others. She dismissed that. She couldn’t think of anything he’d done to indicate it was for their benefit. Rather, he’d seemed too needy to give a shit whether they had an audience or not. And that was another thing she didn’t completely understand. He’d seemed … more desperate the night before than he had the first time they’d had sex. It didn’t make sense that he would feel so desperate when they’d had sex at least once a day every day since that first time. He’d seemed satisfied. Why had he been so … fierce the night before? She couldn’t think of any other way to describe it. He hadn’t hurt her. In point of fact, his raging heat had shot hers through the roof! But he’d been rougher than usual. She’d had such a hard climax when he’d held her down and teased her clit that she’d thought she might pass out. And then he’d bitten her! That had stung but, unbelievably, it had also made her come harder. She supposed, maybe, he’d just been carried away, but it was sore there—almost as sore as her poor pussy! She wasn’t actually surprised at his fierce assault after he’d made her come that first time. If he’d enjoyed it half as much as she had, he had to be desperate for his own climax and she’d still been more than a little unnerved. She’d thoroughly enjoyed it, but it had unnerved her. Worse, it had left her wondering afterward if of all that wild passion was just for her or he was working harder because he was already getting tired of her, because, somehow it had seemed almost impersonal. She thought that it might have been the fact that he hadn’t cared if the others watched that had made her feel that way, though.

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She hated to admit, but she finally did after mulling over it most of the day. She’d enjoyed the thought that the others were watching. She thought she was a sick, twisted bitch for enjoying their suffering when she knew they must be terribly needy, but there was no denying that she’d come harder than she ever had in her life. And, beyond the fact that Mac knew how to really ring her bell, the only thing different enough to account for her explosive climaxes was the audience. Not that she enjoyed their suffering. She didn’t. It made her feel horribly guilty that she’d enjoyed being watched when it had to have been very uncomfortable for them at the very least, maybe had even seemed as if they were being taunted. It was closer, she supposed, to say that she’d felt their desire and it had made her more mindless, increased her pleasure. Or maybe not. Mac had been doing a hell of a job without any ‘extra’ needed. Maybe her awareness hadn’t been anything but her imagination? She knew that wasn’t true as soon as the men returned. The look in Hawk’s eyes was almost feverish. Every time she felt his gaze, she felt her own temperature rise a notch. By the time they’d eaten their evening meal, she was so randy she had an inkling of what it was like for them. The cold shower she treated herself to when they left for their evening wanderings didn’t do anything to cool the heat inside of her. After pacing restlessly a while, she tried to settle in the bed and make herself go to sleep, but even her clothes seemed to make her awareness more pronounced. Every time she shifted, she felt the brush of the fabric acutely. She gave up after a while, telling herself she was just uneasy because the men were still out, but she knew better. It was as if someone had readjusted her internal thermostat. She was uneasy about their absence, but she was also horny, not to put too fine a point on it. It confused the hell out of her. She wasn’t generally like that. In fact, she’d spent the last several years without getting any and she’d been perfectly ok with it. Well, she’d felt the urge to get her itch scratched from time to time, but nothing like this. Her nipples got hard and stayed that way, and there was a deep ache inside of her that she couldn’t ignore no matter how hard she tried. It was almost as if someone had been teasing her and then stopped, leaving her unfulfilled but ready. She forgot all about her discomfort at having an audience when she heard the men returning. Moving to the bed, she settled on it expectantly, resisting the urge to strip naked in invitation only because she heard the door rattle before she could skim out of everything. Mac’s gaze zeroed in on her as soon as he came in the door. Sylvie felt her entire being go into high rev. Her belly tightened just from the look in his eyes and heated moisture flooded her sex. The others came in directly behind him, Hawk, then Beau and finally Cavanaugh. It seemed her pulse jumped a little higher as each of them came in. Mac crossed the cabin and halted beside the bed. Taking her hands, he drew her up and then pulled her t-shirt off. Her breath froze in her lungs. Her belly quaked in anticipation. The vague thought that she felt like she was on some kind of sexual stimulant went through Sylvie’s mind, but she dismissed it as Mac settled on the bed and drew her

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onto his lap. Confused, but too anxious to examine it, Sylvie allowed him to arrange her to suit himself without question, without resistance. She met Hawk’s gaze as Mac lifted her arms and guided her hands to the back of his neck. His hands settled on her thighs. Looping her legs over his own, he spread them, spreading her legs as he did. He slipped one hand between her thighs then, raking his fingers through the hair there, parting her nether lips. The sense that he was deliberately displaying her couldn’t be dismissed, but Sylvie was already too far gone to care. Even before he touched her, she’d felt her need skyrocket. He didn’t make any attempt to tease her. He merely spread her nether lips and then skated his hands upward to cup her breasts, pulling at her nipples with his fingers. **** Hawk stared at the two of them with a mixture of baffled rage and raging lust that created a dizzying, red haze in his mind. For a while, he couldn’t drag his gaze from the delicate pink lips of Sylvie’s sex, but as Mac drew his hands up her body, his gaze followed of its own accord. His throat, already as dry as dust, closed when he studied Mac plucking at her nipples. He felt as if he was rooted to the spot. At the same time, he felt like he was waging a losing battle between staying where he was and rushing across the room. With an effort, he dragged his gaze from Sylvie. Mac, he discovered, was staring directly at him. Rage flared, but there was something in Mac’s eyes that gave him pause when he’d averted his own gaze. Baffled, he lifted his gaze to Mac again. It almost seemed as if Mac was directing his attention to Sylvie’s beautiful breasts when he held his gaze a moment and then looked down at them. He found himself standing over them without any memory of having crossed the room. More specifically, he was staring at Sylvie hungrily. When he flicked a look at Mac again, it occurred to him that it almost seemed that he was offering her. But then his mind was gone, he thought wryly. He couldn’t think. And he abruptly didn’t care if Mac tried to take his head off. Dropping to his knees, he took one of the distended nipples Mac was taunting him with into his mouth. Sylvie gasped, shuddering when he caught the tip and began pulling at it hungrily. He struggled for control, but he was too far gone even before he touched her. Realizing Mac’s hands had disappeared, he lifted his own and bracketed her breasts, lifting them to taste them. He was breathing so raggedly when he finally lifted his head that he swayed dizzily on his knees. Mac turned, settling Sylvie on the bed and then got up and walked away. As dumbfounded as he was, Hawk surged to his feet and dove at her. Jesus, she was sweet, he thought drunkenly as he nuzzled his face all over her breasts and throat, so sweet! He sought her lips, found them, and sucked at her mouth, drove his tongue inside the warm, wet cavern to taste more of her, all the while familiarizing himself with her with his hands. He wanted to go slow, to savor, but he couldn’t. He wrestled with the closure on his pants and finally managed to get his dick out and plowed her cleft, searching. He broke from her lips, grinding his teeth at the pleasurable pain that went through him when

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he finally managed to stuff the head of his dick inside of her. “Baby! Jesus! Baby!” he muttered hoarsely, wondering if he was going to get fully inside of her before he lost his load. It was a near miss. She was so tight he thought he would explode. He was pretty sure he’d ground his teeth down to nubs and his jaws felt like they were going to crack from the pressure. **** Mac watched the two of them for several moments, struggling with the maddening sense of possessiveness that washed over him, the urge to tear Hawk off of her, and finally turned his back on them. It was for the good of the pack, he told himself, even while one part of his mind chafed against it, wondered where such thoughts had even come from. He knew, though. They were from the beast inside him, the beast that was slowly but surely gaining ground and pushing his humanity further and further away. Beau and Cavanaugh, he saw, were watching Sylvie and Hawk, their faces blank with lust. He caught their attention by blocking their view. Nudging his head, he ordered them outside. Reluctantly, they followed. He didn’t stop until he reached the clearing where he’d fought Hawk. “You two need to settle your place in the pack,” he said grimly, “before you can claim your place with our woman. I won’t allow her to carry the seed of any man that hasn’t proven himself worthy of getting a pup on her.” Beau and Cavanaugh both stared at him blankly a moment, still appearing dazed, but in moments their faces were transformed to rage. They turned on one another, clashing even before they’d shifted, pounding at one another with their fists. Mac stepped back to judge them, settling far enough to allow them room for their contest. Cavanaugh shifted first, from man to beast. Even as Beau shifted to match him, he shifted once more into his wolf form. Mac wasn’t actually surprised when they’d battled one another to a stalemate. He’d always known they were pretty evenly matched. He called it a draw and settled it. It might be a little rough on Sylvie, he thought wryly, but she was going to have to get used to it if she was going to hold her place as their alpha female—and he knew she would. She was strong. He’d been lucky to find her. She was perfect. **** Confusion flickered through Sylvie when she felt Hawk’s mouth settle on her breast, felt the hard pull of his mouth. It sent fire rushing through her, though. She didn’t know or care who put it out as long as someone did. That wasn’t true, she thought drunkenly when Mac released her and got up from the bed. She wanted them both. Hawk scattered her thoughts as he fell upon her ravenously, nipping and sucking at her until her brain felt like it was on fire, not just her body, until she was so feverish she hardly knew where she was. She gasped when he rammed into her, distracted for several moments by the pain that warred with the pleasure, but it was no contest, really. The ache inside of her needed to be appeased. It flickered through her mind that she would mount a bedpost if that would do it. She didn’t need one. Hawk supplied a flesh and blood post, nearly splitting her in two in his desperation to seat himself inside of her. She’d thought Mac was overly endowed! Well, he was hung like a horse, but Hawk was that and then some. She

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thought for several moments that he was going to drive her womb up into her chest cavity when he finally hit bottom and began pounding into her. The ache drove even that discomfort from her mind, however. She came, but even before she’d managed to gasp her relief, she felt herself gathering again. Hawk came with her when she climaxed the second time. They lay plastered together weakly in the aftermath, struggling to catch their breath. Finally, Hawk rolled off of her. She heard something heavy hit the floor. Even as she struggled to lift her eyelids to see what it was, the bed shifted—first the right and then the left. A mouth clamped hard over hers, pressing her lips apart. Hawk? Mac? The face so close to hers looked more Cavanaugh. Another mouth attached itself to one of her breasts, throwing her completely off kilter, but she realized, dimly, that there were too many mouths and way too many hands to belong to one man. A faint spark of alarm flitted through her mind and went out, extinguished by the blaze of heat that pelted her from every direction at once. She felt as if someone was playing tug of war with her, drawn in first one direction and then other. She knew she was in trouble when she felt two cocks glide along her cleft at the same time. They warred over possession of the main hole for a moment and finally plugged into both. Her eyelids shot open as they both tried to mount her at the same time. There wasn’t room for both! She didn’t give a damn if they were in two different holes! The first to hit bottom was pushed out by the second, but they seemed to get the rhythm. Relieved, Sylvie’s focus transferred almost immediately to the tingles of pleasure rippling through her almost constantly. Within a space of seconds, she lost all awareness of the world beyond her or more specifically the rising ache that threatened to explode any moment into another climax. It pushed the air from her lungs and left her gasping when it did. She didn’t touch down. Instead, the tension instantly began to build again. Her climax rushed upon her the second time, and it was still harder than the first, drawing sharper cries. She felt something akin to alarm when she felt it building for a third time. Beau drove deep and began to shudder with release. Cavanaugh uttered a ragged groan and began to come. Their desperate lunges to pump their seed into her set her off again and she came so hard she screamed hoarsely. She was so drained from the third that she fell toward oblivion even before they’d withdrawn. Her skin felt hot, achy and over sensitive. The light brushes of their skin against hers as they climbed from the bed were enough to send more shudders through her. She groaned when she felt the bed dip again, tensing all over, but Mac pulled her into his arms anyway, stroking a hand soothingly along her back. “Shhh, Baby. It’s alright.” It was only alright if he didn’t start anything, she thought a little drunkenly. When she finally realized he didn’t mean to, she uttered a deep sigh, cuddled tightly against him and passed from consciousness. **** Hawk was too stunned when he hit the floor to realize, at first, that he’d had

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assistance in rolling off of the bed. The moment he heard the activity above him, however, he knew instantly what had happened. Mac caught him even as he leapt to his feet, intent on dragging both Beau and Cavanaugh off of Sylvie and beating them both unconscious. The look in Mac’s eyes was enough to give him pause despite his anger. Confused, he glanced from Mac to Sylvie and back again. Mac gestured with his head toward the door. Reluctant, angry, Hawk threw one last glance at Beau and Cavanaugh and finally followed Mac outside. “What the fuck is this shit?” “She’s in heat.” Hawk blinked. “She’s what?” “She’s in breeding mode,” Mac said through his teeth. Still baffled, Hawk merely stared at him. “How?” Mac’s lips tightened. “I’m alpha male. I brought her into heat. She was ready to breed.” Hawk shook his head, not necessarily in denial but to try to connect the thoughts in his head that didn’t seem to want to connect. It occurred to him after a moment, however, that he knew. He’d tasted the sweet scent of it when he’d taken her. It was why he’d felt so desperate to pump into her. Part of it anyway. He swallowed a little convulsively. “I only had one chance to breed her, god damn it!” Some of the tension eased from Mac. “She’s still in heat. She will be until we’ve thoroughly bred her.” Hawk narrowed his eyes at Mac in sudden insight. “You’ve already bred her,” he growled. Mac’s face tightened. “Because she’s my alpha.” The comment rocked Hawk, driving home the fact that he’d only been allowed a chance to breed her because Mac had allowed it. She was his. He could’ve denied the rest of them any chance to breed her. He’d allowed it for the good of the pack, to create unity and harmony among them. Dragging in a shuddering breath, he let it out slowly. “I’ll have another chance to breed on her?” “You’re my second,” Mac said simply. **** Daylight was filtering through the cracks in the door and windows when Sylvie drifted upward toward consciousness. She realized that she was lying flat of her back, sprawled across the bed. Her body was still sparking and sizzling from the night before and what was worse, as tired and sore as she was, the ache was back. She tried to ignore it, struggled to burrow back into unconsciousness, but it refused to be quieted. She curled into a tight ball. The bed dipped and she slanted a look up at Mac as he settled a hand lightly on her shoulder. “You alright, baby?” Sylvie swallowed with an effort against the dryness of her mouth. “I feel … strange, Mac, achy.” He leaned down and brushed a kiss along her arm. “I know, baby. We’ll make it

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better. Sit up. I’ve brought you something to drink and a little of the leftover stew from last night.” Sylvie sat up, but her stomach rebelled at the idea of eating stew so early in the morning. “Just water. I’m not hungry.” He handed her the mug he’d brought. While she was drinking, he leaned down and picked up a plate of stew. “I’m really not hungry.” “But you’ll eat a little for me, right?” She glanced at him crossly, but she took the plate and ate a few bites and handed the plate back. He frowned, but he didn’t push it. Setting the plate down again, he took her empty water mug and set that down on the floor, too. “You feel like a shower?” The idea of standing under icy cold water when her skin ached sent a shudder through her. “Not right now. Later.” “You need anything else? Need to go?” he asked. Sylvie released a huff of breath. “No. I just want to be left alone.” “Is that what you want?” he murmured. Sylvie swallowed with an effort. “I don’t know. I … ache.” He stroked a hand lightly down her arm, over her hip and then slipped it over her ass and along her cleft. She gasped when he pushed a finger inside of her. “There?” She squeezed her eyes tightly as he began slowly thrusting in and out of her. “Yes,” she finally gasped. He leaned closer, nuzzling his face against the side of hers. “It’s alright, baby. We’ll make it better.” He didn’t, though, he withdrew his finger and got up. She discovered Hawk had been standing near the bed, watching. The moment Mac left, he took his place. “Turn over on your back, baby, and spread your legs for me.” She sent a glance toward Mac. When he nodded at her, she straightened and rolled onto her back. Hawk climbed over her, positioning himself. When he’d settled the bulk of his upper body on his elbows, he reached between them, aligned his body with hers and began to push slowly inside of her. The ache instantly intensified, but moisture flooded her channel to ease his passage. After sawing shallowly in and out of her for a few moments, he drove deep and continued thrusting until she climaxed shatteringly. When she did, he caught her hips, drove deep and spilled his seed. Relief flooded her. Sighing blissfully as Hawk rubbed his face along her neck, she dropped to sleep again, but it was only a brief respite. The next time she woke, she was as achy as she had been. Beau, she discovered, was waiting. As soon as she began to writhe in discomfort, he pushed his cock into her and thrust until she reached another peak and exploded in ecstasy. She had no idea what time of day it was or even what day. Exhaustion claimed her each time the ache was assuaged, but each time she woke it was back, worse than before and each time, one of them would come to her and plow into her until it quieted the sense of desperation. When she finally awoke free of the feverish achiness, she hardly knew whether to accept that it had actually stopped or not. The smell of food cooking on the hearth finally aroused her enough, however, to make her push herself upright.

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Mac was crouched in front of the fireplace, stirring something that was cooking on the hearth. He swiveled to look at her, studying her for a long moment. “Feeling better?” She felt like she’d been run over by a train. Hardly surprising, she thought wryly, when she considered the train she’d been driving—Mac and all of his buddies. “Except for feeling like I was beat half to death,” she said a little hoarsely. A look of regret and discomfort flickered across his features. “Hungry?” “Starving.” “I’m not surprised. You’ve hardly eaten anything for two days.” Startled, Sylvie gaped at him. “I was out of it for two days?” He grunted instead of responding. Pushing the cover off, Sylvie struggled and finally managed to drag her legs from the bed. Her inner thighs instantly began to scream and shake even before she tried to put any weight on them. A wave of dizziness assailed her. Uttering a sound of irritation, Mac crossed to her and crouched down in front of her, grasping her arms. “You alright?” “No,” she said crossly. “I’ve been screwed half to death!” A mixture of amusement, remorse, and anger glittered in Mac’s eyes. “Somebody did something you didn’t want?” he asked tightly. Sylvie felt her face redden, because the moment he asked, she distinctly recalled begging for it. She certainly hadn’t objected, not even once. If she hadn’t known better, she would’ve thought she’d been drugged. Unfortunately, she knew she hadn’t. There hadn’t been anything like that on the boat and they certainly hadn’t had anything with them. Then, too, she didn’t even know of a drug that would have that kind effect on her, not a prolonged one. She didn’t do drugs—never had—but she had friends that did. Ecstasy was probably the closest to the sort of symptoms she’d had, and it still didn’t match up. “I need a bath,” she said instead of answering. Pushing him away, she got to her feet and did her best not to hobble her way outside to use the ‘facilities’.

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Chapter Twelve Much of the soreness had passed before the end of the first day after Sylvie finally woke up without feeling like she was going to die if somebody didn’t screw her, but the suspicion didn’t and neither did the sense of guilt. All of the men watched her warily, as if she was a ticking time bomb, and steered clear of her. She didn’t realize it at first, of course. She was too focused on her own feelings on the subject and too certain the only looks she got from them was disapproval or disgust. ‘Things’ began to appear in and around the cabin, however. When she went out to use the facilities, she discovered a rough roll of toilet tissue had appeared. It wasn’t like the soft, cushy paper she was used to, but it beat the hell out of what she’d had to use before. There was a cake of soap and a bottle of shampoo on the edge of the shower floor. When she finally began to notice her surroundings, she discovered there was actual food on the kitchen ‘counter’—a basket of eggs, and a basket filled with a variety of peppers and tomatoes, some canned goods that she could only recognize, vaguely, by the pictures because the labels were in Spanish. There were a couple of pillows on the bed, and a new coverlet, and pillowy pallets rolled up against one wall that obviously belonged to the men. She didn’t know how the men had found the time to go out raiding between trying to screw her to death, but obviously they’d been somewhere! She finally realized the men had been deliberately avoiding her when Cavanaugh strolled up to the shower while she was bathing and propped his shoulder against one of the posts that held the rain barrel up. “Still pissed off, baby?” Sylvie sent him a speculative look. “Why would I be pissed off?” He shrugged a little uncomfortably, straightening away from the post. “Guess that’s a definite yes.” “What if I’d said no?” He hesitated, scanning her face. “Mac might stop growling at everybody and trying to take their heads off,” he said finally. Sylvie focused on lathering herself. “What’s Mac’s foul mood have to do with me?” Cavanaugh snorted. “I’m gonna leave and let you figure that one out.” She stared at his back irritably, but it gave her something to think about that was a little more pleasant than the thoughts that had been plaguing her. Had she been wrong about Mac despising her for sleeping with the others, she wondered? Or was that why he was angry? She’d thought so, but what Cavanaugh had told her seemed to indicate that he was irritable because she was angry with him. So maybe he was angry because he thought he should be mad and she had a lot of gall to be mad at him when she’d been in the wrong? She couldn’t make any more sense of it than she’d been able to understand what had happened to her to turn her into a nympho maniac and then just turn her back into her

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normal self. Her behavior bothered her, but it was almost more unnerving that she didn’t understand what had caused it. It hadn’t been ‘normal’, that was for sure. She was ready to admit that she had been drawn to all of them. She’d thought they were all attractive, but she didn’t think she’d just gone off the deep end for a handful of days and then recovered her wits. They’d acted guilty—and well they should!—but she couldn’t decide if it was because she’d made them feel that way or if it was because they’d done something they felt guilty about. She’d finally completely dismissed the suspicion that they’d somehow gotten hold of some kind of drug and slipped it to her. The lack of availability aside, why bother? She’d told them when she joined them that she was willing, and they all knew she and Mac had been intimate. Mac, she remembered, had been present much of the time and he hadn’t tried to stop it—which seemed to her to mean that he had approved it. None of the others ever did anything contrary to what Mac said. She didn’t think Mac would’ve drugged her just to turn her over to the others. If he’d wanted her to have sex with them, or hadn’t cared, he would’ve just told her, she thought, or disappeared conveniently and allowed them the chance to seduce her. She was more confused about Mac than anything else. Why had he behaved so possessive of her before and then said nothing when the others had screwed her? And why was he angry with her about it? Why not be angry with them? Or at least blamed everyone, not just her? Ok, so she could grasp that. They were his buddies and she was a woman. It was always the woman’s fault. She’d egged them on. Of course she had, but then she hadn’t been operating with a full deck and that had to have been obvious, damn it! No closer to understanding, she shook the thoughts the best she could, finished her bath, and went inside to check their dinner. She was learning to cook in a fireplace, a skill she’d never considered that she might need or want, but although she’d thought previously that she was pretty damned good at most domestic tasks—cooking in particular—it was a real challenge to turn out a decent meal. Limited ‘pretty much everything’ was part of the problem. They generally had plenty of meat—wild meat— but not much to go with it. Water had to be lugged inside. It wasn’t right at hand in a sink, and kitchen luxuries like pots, pans, and cooking utensils were extremely limited. Beyond that, it was hard to regulate the heat. The men seemed to appreciate her efforts, but she didn’t get a big head over it. She’d already seen that they seemed more interested in quantity than quality, although where they put all that food away was a mystery to her. She supposed they ran it off, or maybe changing required a lot of energy? It made sense, and they’d begun to spend more and more time, it seemed to her, running through the jungle in beast form. She wasn’t certain if that meant they were beginning to prefer the life as a wolf to the life of a human, but it worried her that that might be the case even though she couldn’t say she blamed them. The life they’d had had virtually disintegrated before their eyes overnight. They couldn’t go home and they weren’t soldiers anymore. If they had no choice but to live in the jungle and live off the land then their animal form was more suited to it.

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Mac surprised her by joining her in the bed when she finally turned in. He hadn’t shared the bed with her since the ‘orgy’, which was one of the reasons she’d been so upset. That sort of thing was usually a distancing tact and she’d figured it meant that he wasn’t really interested in her anymore now that she’d made the rounds. It had angered her because it seemed so unfair. She didn’t know what had come over her, but she hadn’t been in control and, as dim as her memories were, it seemed to her that Mac had encouraged them to fuck her. Which made it all the more unreasonable for him to hold it against her. She lay on her side tensely when he’d climbed into bed with her, trying to decide whether to give in if he showed any sign that he was interested in sex or to snub any overtures. Mac, she finally realized, was as tense as she was. He’d settled on his back, folded his arms behind his head and was staring at the ceiling. “We’ll have to leave tomorrow to meet the others at the rendezvous point,” he said finally. Sylvie’s heart contracted painfully in her chest and she was suddenly nearly overwhelmed by the urge to burst into tears. This was it, then, she thought. Goodbye, so long, nice knowing you, have a good life. She struggled to think of something to say in response, but she was too hurt to think of a thing that wouldn’t include begging him not to go or at least trying to wrangle a promise that he’d come back. There wasn’t really any point to either, she told herself fiercely. If he’d decided to go, nothing she could say was going to change his mind and she’d known all along that it was a temporary situation. “You’ll … be careful?” she finally whispered. He rolled onto his side and slipped an arm around her. “Beau will stay to take care of you. We’ve checked the place out thoroughly. It’s about as safe as anything we could come up with. I’d leave Cavanaugh, too, if I thought it was necessary, but we don’t know what we’ll be facing when we get there. That’s why I thought it would be best to leave you here.” Hope flickered through her but it was hard to reverse emotions that had already reached critical mass. She tried to draw in a calming breath to regain control. “If you’re only going to be gone a few days, I’d probably be fine alone. Don’t you think it might be best to take him if you suspect there could be a problem?” she asked shakily, more worried about him now that he’d suggested there could be trouble than she was about being left alone. He shifted up high enough to brush his cheek along her upper arm and then burrowed his face along the side of her neck. Shivers chased up and down her length as his heated breath caressed her skin. “No, I don’t. I couldn’t leave without knowing you were safe. Beau’s a good man. He’ll take care of you for me.” Take care of her for him? She’d thought she’d pretty much mastered her emotions, but the comment nearly undid her. She twisted her head, trying to see his face in the shadows, wanting reassurance that he actually meant what he seemed to mean. She’d misunderstood. He wasn’t dumping her and moving on! He cupped a hand along the side of her face when she turned her head, tilting his head to align his lips with hers. His kiss was gentle, so gentle her eyes stung. He merely pressed his lips to hers, brushed back and forth lightly a moment and eased away. Mac couldn’t say he completely understood what had been going through her mind, but he certainly realized that she felt used and abused. He was doubtful anything

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he could say would take that away, but he knew he had to at least attempt to apologize even if he couldn’t really explain. Which he couldn’t. He didn’t completely understand it himself. It had been his beast’s instincts that had told him that he could bring her into heat, and how to go about it, and even that it was desirable that he do it. It had actually been more than that, though, more of an irresistible compulsion. It was those same instincts that had driven him to offer her to the others once he’d been certain his own seed had found fertile ground, even though his human side had been dead set against it. What he hadn’t counted on or been prepared for was the effect it would have on them when she did go into heat. Truthfully, they were lucky it hadn’t been worse. He’d managed to maintain some order, but he didn’t know if he could put that down to the instincts of the beast, or what was left of their humanity, because they’d all been ready to fight to be the next to fuck her. On some levels, she’d ceased to be anything to any of them beyond a receptacle, the female they were absolutely dedicated to breeding. And yet, he didn’t think any of them had ever completely lost sight of the fact that she was Sylvie, theirs, and that the aim was to breed her, not merely to breed. If they had … well, it had taken more restraint than he’d ever thought possible to give her room to rest a little between. He knew damned well she had to be sore as hell for the simple reason that they’d all fucked her until they were sore. “I didn’t mean to treat you so roughly—nobody did. It just … got out of hand. Are you still pissed off with me?” Sylvie swallowed a little convulsively, still confused, but she wasn’t angry if he wasn’t going to dump her! Truthfully, she didn’t think she’d really been angry about it any of the time. “No,” she finally managed to say. He shifted to give her room, pulling her onto her back. Stroking his hand down her length, he found the bottom edge of her shirt and slipped beneath it, settling his hand on her belly. “Still sore?” His voice had deepened, roughened with desire. Doubt flickered through her. So, was this an apology--‘I’m sorry if I hurt you because I really didn’t mean to’? Or was it an ‘I’m sorry you’ve been holding out on me and can I coax you into giving me another piece of ass’? She was afraid it was the latter. And yet, did she really care if it meant that accepting it at face value meant they could go on pretending for a little while longer that it meant something, or at least she could? “Not that I’ve noticed,” she said tentatively. Taking that as assent, he sat up, pulled her up and skimmed her shirt off over her head. Coiling his arms around her, he dragged her down onto the mattress again, scooting down to match his face to hers. Contrary to what she’d expected, he didn’t simply fall upon her, fuck her brains out, pat her head, and roll over. For what seemed an eternity and stretched her tension nearly to the breaking point, he simply studied her, tilting his head to lightly brush his lips against hers, or rub his face along hers. She was already breathless with anticipation by the time he settled his mouth firmly over hers, breached the barrier of her lips with his tongue and began a leisurely exploration. He moved restlessly against her while he caressed her mouth, rubbing his skin along hers in a way that seemed to bring every nerve ending to high alert. With a mixture of dread and excitement, she felt her body begin to grow feverish as it had before, felt a

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deep, throbbing ache begin inside of her. The longer he caressed her, the more distressed she became, the more certain she was that she couldn’t bear the wait. He ignored her mute urging to end her suffering. Slowly and methodically, he aroused her to fever pitch by caressing her with the light stroke of his hands and the brush of his lips all the way from her lips to her mound. He paused when he reached her belly, rubbing his face against it, nibbling light kisses across the sensitive area until she was lifting to meet each one. Lifting his head, he studied her for a long moment, as if debating whether to kiss her lower, to bring her off with his mouth. She was instantly torn, remembering how good it had felt when he’d brought her off with his mouth and tongue, and yet the thought also disappointed. It felt far better to have him inside of her when she came. Almost as if he knew her thoughts, he lowered his head and began to work his way upward again. This time, though, his touch and his kisses were more heated. The nips with his teeth stretched the boundary between pleasure and pain. A sense of building hunger edged them. Shudders rippled through him that matched her own. She parted her thighs, cradling him between them in a silent demand as he sought her nipples again and tormented them with the hard suction of his mouth until she thought she would blackout. Surging upward abruptly, he speared the head of his cock unerringly into the mouth of her sex. She sucked in a sharp breath, coiling around him, meeting him thrust for thrust and urging him to move faster as she felt rapture burgeoning, taunting her with the great prize. It didn’t tease her long. She discovered she couldn’t prolong the wait to savor the feel of him gliding in and out of her even when she tried. It was as if her body had become so finely attuned to his that it waited only for his touch to soar. A profound sense of bliss washed over her when she felt his body convulsing in release with hers, reinforcing the sense of oneness. He rolled the two of them onto their sides when they’d finally stopped shuddering with release. Tucking her snugly against his length, he arranged the two of them in a comfortable tangle, released a heavy breath of relief and dropped to sleep as if he’d been knocked out. Sylvie envied that ability to simply shut down, but she didn’t dwell on it long before she’d dropped below consciousness herself. It was low, deep voices that roused her. For several moments, she was too disoriented to grasp what must be happening, but as her senses sharpened, she realized she could hear them well enough to make out what they were saying—or at least Mac. “…days. No clue what we might be heading in to. Could be they’re on to us and have set a trap. I don’t think so, but it’s still a possibility. Could be we’ll have trouble with the others. If we aren’t back in four days, I want you out of here. Watch your back trail and get Sylvie and the pups to safety as quickly as you can—whatever you have to do.” “You doan make me easy in my mind, mon ami,” Beau growled. “You tink dem others might challenge you?” Mac shook his head. “I don’t know. I just don’t want to take any chances. They may smell her on us. They certainly know she was still with us when we dropped them. I just don’t know what to expect and I don’t want to take any chances with her or the pups.” They left before she could make up her mind whether to allow them to know

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she’d awakened or not. For several moments, she lay tensely, struggling with the urge to leap up and race after them and the sense of abandonment she felt that they hadn’t even told her bye. Finally, knowing it was too late and probably wouldn’t be welcome if she had yielded to her impulse, she allowed the tension to go out of her. Sleep dragged at her. She was still exhausted. She knew she couldn’t have been asleep more than a few hours. Her mind was struggling to make sense of what she’d heard, though. For a while it seemed it would chase sleep away regardless of her weariness, but exhaustion finally reclaimed her. The cabin was so still and empty when she woke that she awakened with a sense of panic. Thrusting the covers away, more than half convinced she’d dreamed what she’d thought she’d overheard, she rushed to the door, opened it and peered out. Beau was crouched in the shade of a tree not far from the front door. His gaze raked her in a leisurely fashion before he met her gaze. “Mornin’, chère. And how are you on this fine day?” Sylvie blinked at him, remembered she was naked and sidled behind the door. His eyes gleamed with a mixture of amusement, desire, and irritation. “There ain’t much you got, baby, that I haven’t already licked, chewed on, touched, and looked over.” Sylvie felt her belly clench, but her face heated with discomfort. “Don’t be subtle on my account!” she said dryly. He chuckled. “That’s what I was thinkin’—no point in being shy, now.” “You’d rather I was brazen?” He seemed to consider it. “I doan think that’d come too natural to you, and I’m mighty fond of the way you are,” he said finally, rising slowly to his feet. “How ‘bout I fix the two of us a little breakfast?” Sylvie swallowed at the reminder, glancing around. “They’re gone, baby—left before first light. They got a way’s ta go.” Sylvie met his gaze. “I think I’ll take a shower first.” “Can I watch?” he asked, grinning. She couldn’t help but smile. “No!” He shrugged easily. “Cain’t blame me for tryin’. I’ll just wait inside and lick you dry when you come back.” Sylvie’s eyes widened and he laughed. “Go! Bathe! And make it quick. I’m starvin’ an’ I’m either gonna have to gnaw on you or find somethin’ a little more substantial.” She didn’t know how to take his teasing, or even if he was. Well, she knew it wasn’t altogether a tease—unless he had something in his pants besides his dick. She made it quick anyway, unwilling to linger outside too long naked when it was so bright out. Almost as if her thoughts had tempted capricious nature, dark clouds began to gather by the time she’d finished. She scanned the sky a little worriedly as she hurried inside. Beau, crouched in front of the fire he’d stirred up with a pan of eggs, swiveled on the balls of his feet and watched her while she dried haphazardly on the coverlet and pulled her t-shirt on. She flicked a glance at him as she picked up the sweatpants to examine them,

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discovering with little surprise that it hadn’t been her imagination that he was still watching her. “You gonna cover up all the purty things? Now I’m disappointed.” She studied his back when he turned around again, looked at the pants speculatively, and then dropped them. Any thoughts that had flickered through her mind that she might disconcert him by taking him up on his challenge were dashed. From the look he gave her, she began to think she’d played right into his hands. She settled a little gingerly on one of the chairs. They’d taken a stab at repairing them, but without any tools to speak of, the chairs were still scary to sit in. Beau had made an omelet. He cut a third for her and a third for himself. She doubted she could eat half that much, but she dug in. “Did Mac say how long he thought they’d be gone?” Beau shrugged easily. “Three or four days. It’s a far piece, even if they four-foot it. I tink you can hold off worryin’ about it for at least three.” Sylvie didn’t know whether to be disconcerted, irritated, or amused about his calm assessment. She didn’t dispute his assumption that she would be worried. She was anxious already, and would’ve been, she was pretty sure, even if she hadn’t overheard the conversation before the others had left. She finally decided she found it soothing. She just couldn’t imagine that Beau would be so completely blasé about it if he wasn’t convinced that they’d be alright. “It looks like it might storm. Do you think that might slow them down?” He shrugged. “It’s possible. Enough rain could swell rivers and streams, wash out roads and bridges and that would definitely slow things down. I’m thinkin’ they’ll take the high route, though. We smelled the rain a comin’.” Nodding, Sylvie focused on finishing her meal. “What is that like?” she asked when Beau had helped himself to the last of the omelet. He snorted. “Hard to describe,” he finally said wryly, but frowned thoughtfully. “I suppose it would be sort of like when somebody has bad eyes and then they get glasses. It’s not really that scents are stronger. It’s more like they’re just clearer, easier to separate and identify.” “Well, that’s a comfort,” Sylvie murmured. Beau chuckled and she felt her face heat. She hadn’t realized how that must sound. Embarrassed, she got up and began to stack the empty plates in the pan he’d used to cook. “I’ll just wash these.” It began to rain while she was trying to wash the dishes. She ignored it, rushing to finish, but it was raining hard by the time she had. Soaked, she left the pan and dishes and dashed back into the cabin, nearly slamming into Beau. “I’m soaked,” she said warningly. He gathered her close anyway, brushed her wet hair out of her face. “I was sort of hopin’ for that, actually,” he murmured, settling his mouth over hers. She tensed in surprise and doubt, but even as she relaxed against him, she felt the heat begin to churn inside her. His mouth felt wonderful on hers, intoxicating. She was almost disappointed when he broke the kiss after a brief taste of his passion. Holding her gaze, he peeled her wet t-shirt up. When he’d removed it, he left her to hang it over the back of one of the chairs. “Come on, chère,” he murmured when he turned to her again, holding out his hand. “We might as well cuddle a while an’ keep each other warm.”

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Somehow, she didn’t think he had cuddling in mind, but she thought she would enjoy it regardless. Crossing the room, she placed her hand in his and allowed him to lead her to the bed. When she lay down, he unfastened his pants and pushed them from his hips. He hesitated when he saw that she was examining him with frank admiration. There was nothing not to admire, she thought wryly. His skin was dark, even below the waist, but slightly lighter and that set off the black nest of hair and his raging erection even more. Lifting her gaze after a moment, she scanned his flat belly and male breasts. Dark hair liberally sprinkled his breasts and ran down the center of his chest, forming an arrow pointing to his groin. His muscular arms and legs were also sprinkled with dark hair, but she thought, overall, he was surprisingly unhairy for such a virile male and wondered if he had American Indian in him besides the French and Spanish. He climbed in with her, pulled the cover over both of them, and curled around her. She waited a little tensely for him to do something, anything, and waited. Finally, she glanced at him questioningly. His dark eyes gleamed. “What?” Sylvie frowned. She didn’t feel comfortable asking him why he hadn’t started anything, though. “Nothing.” He settled his head beside hers on the pillow and she began to think he actually had meant only to cuddle, either that or he was waiting for her to make the first move. “It’s good sleepin’ weather,” he murmured after a few minutes. “Is it?” she responded, although the pitter patter of the rain on the metal roof above them, the fresh scent of the air, and the warmth radiating from him was starting to make her drowsy. “Good weather for lyin’ in bed and makin’ slow love to my woman, too,” he murmured huskily. Sylvie felt her heart jerk reflexively. She turned to look at him and found that they were nose to nose. He stared deeply into her eyes a moment and then angled his head to match his lips to hers. A delicious, languid warmth filled her as he made love to her mouth with his. There was nothing rushed or fevered about it. He seemed intent on savoring her taste and the silky, inner walls of her mouth, stroking his tongue lazily along hers, sucking at it lightly when he’d coaxed it into his own mouth. An hour later, he was still savoring and Sylvie was beginning to get uncomfortable.

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Chapter Thirteen “You were dead serious when you suggested ‘makin’ slow love’,” Sylvie murmured ruefully. Beau smiled around the nipple he was teasing and finally released it. “You complainin’, chère? Gettin’ impatient?” Maybe a little. She lifted her arms and folded them behind her head. “No. Just curious. Wondering if you mean business or you’re just going to tease me.” His nearly straight black brows rose and then met above the bridge of his long, narrow nose. “Oh, I mean business, chère. I most definitely mean business. I’m workin’ at redeemin’ myself.” “Is that what you call it?” Sylvie asked teasingly. “Why do you think you need to? I didn’t scream loud enough before to convince you I was enjoying it?” He chuckled huskily. “Maybe I jus’ like hearin’ you sing, chère? Then again, maybe I’m thinkin’ the encore should be more outstandin’ than the original performance, ‘specially when that was a might rough around the edges? I have to show you my entire repertoire before you can make a proper judgment on whether or not I’m as good as I think I am.” Sylvie chuckled. “Now how am I supposed to prove you’re as good as you think you are?” His eyes gleamed. He shifted upward to capture her lips. “Oh, I’ll know, chère, by the pitch of your song,” he murmured against her lips. She was pretty convinced he really did mean business by the time he broke the kiss. She was gasping for breath as he made his way downward purposefully. Already tipsy with the heat scouring her, she thought she was going to come from the assault he launched on her keenly sensitive breasts. Until the moment he caught one tip between his teeth, she hadn’t realized his leisurely caresses had brought her so close to her peak, that he’d warmed her by subtle degrees until he had the blood pounding at every pressure point, had her wound as tightly as a coiled spring. She clutched at him, desperate for him to stop one moment before he did make her come and anxious for more the next. A mixture of disappointment and high anticipation filled her when he finally ceased to torment her breasts—and then impatience as he moved lower. “Beau!” she gasped plaintively. He ignored the demand, nibbling down her center until he reached her mound. She was so drunk with need by the time he’d tortured the acutely sensitive spot on either side of her mound that she didn’t actually tumble to his goal until she felt the hot, faintly rough texture of his tongue glide along her cleft. She arched her back, digging her head into the pillow as a groan tore from her, groping blindly for his head. “No!” “Yes.” He pushed her thighs wider in spite of her effort to squeeze them tightly together. “I’m going to come!” she said warningly.

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“I know you will, chère,” he said, his voice husky with satisfaction. She almost came the moment he began to tease her clit. She fought it with everything she had, clutching feverishly to the thought that she could hold on until he came inside of her. The battle was a short one. He’d driven her so close to climax before he’d begun to pluck at her clit that she was lost before she began to fight it. She arched her back, gasping hoarsely as her climax hit her with the force of a supernova, blindingly, shatteringly. She was screaming hoarsely for mercy and bucking like a wild thing before he finally released her clit, freeing her from the most wonderful torment she’d ever imagined. He kissed and nuzzled his way upward again, causing her to quake with hard aftershocks. Instead of entering her as she’d expected, however, he settled against her, nuzzling his face against her neck and stirring a rash of goosebumps along her side. He sought her lips when she’d finally managed to stop gasping for air. “Better,” he murmured. “Mmm?” she murmured weakly. “Not quite the tone I was lookin’ for.” She opened her eyes with an effort to look at him just as he dipped to capture a nipple in his mouth. A groan escaped her, but even she wasn’t certain whether it was dread or anticipation. Her breasts were almost excruciatingly sensitive. A few moments had her grinding her teeth. “Beau!” “Maurice. I think we’re well enough acquainted to be on a first name basis, doan you, chère?” “Oh god!” “Yes, baby?” “Maurice!” He poked the mouth of her sex experimentally with the head of his cock. “Is this what you want, chère?” Sylvie uttered a growl, sat up, and grasped two handfuls of his ass, pulling at him. “Damn it, Maury!” He tsked. “Take care, chère. He’s a timid fellow. He may duck and run if you’re too forceful.” She fell back against the bed in frustration. The moment she did, he settled lower, captured her mouth in a searing kiss and curled his hips to drive deeper inside of her. She whimpered into his mouth as she felt him spreading her, felt a deep ache flare to life. He set a tempo that reignited the heat of before inside of her, brought her soaring upward toward another peak. She writhed feverishly beneath him, clutching at him, matching his thrusts. The bubble of tension grew inside of her until she was nearly mindless with the need to reach a crescendo, fearful that it would elude her. It burst with a suddenness that took her breath. The moment she sucked in a sharp cry, he began to drive faster, deeper, nurturing the convulsions ripping through her until she was screaming hoarsely with the force of it and when she fell, there was no net to catch her. Blackness engulfed her. Beau had a supremely satisfied look on his face when she finally roused enough to pry her eyelids up a fraction. His eyes gleamed. “Was it good for you, chère?” he murmured, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Oh god!” Sylvie moaned weakly. “I know, chère, but it’s blasphemous to call me a god. Demi-god will do.”

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**** Sylvie wasn’t certain if Beau—Maurice Michel Beauregard—had been ordered to keep her occupied or if he’d interpreted his watch duty to include entertainment, but he kept her well occupied. They spent the first day in bed for the most part, dozing, making love, and sometimes merely cuddling together while they exchanged childhood misadventures, achievements, and disappointments. It rained harder the second day than it had the first, but he spent most of it wandering the woods in search of a kill to feed them and she spent most of the day staring glumly out the window at the rain, wishing it would stop, and wondering if Mac and the others had reached the rendezvous point. She knew Beau didn’t wander far. He reappeared periodically to check on her, always with an excuse for why he’d needed to come back—to get firewood inside before all of it was completely soaked, because he’d forgotten to take a bottle of water with him, or he’d thought he’d heard her call him. It was after dark when he finally came back with one of the small wild pigs that seemed abundant in the area. She thought he might not have had to spend the entire day hunting if he hadn’t felt the need to stay so close to keep an eye on her, but she kept her thoughts to herself. He looked chilled and worn out when he dropped to his knees to build a fire and Sylvie hurried to get the extra coverlet from the bed and fussed over him until he dragged her down on his lap. “Stop fussing over me, woman!” he said irritably. “I don’t need mothering.” Sylvie supposed, later, that if she hadn’t felt so uncomfortably conscious of the difference in their ages, she wouldn’t have taken it badly, but she was and it was more than just a sting. She struggled with a mixture of embarrassment and hurt. “Ok. Sorry.” He tightened his hold on her when she tried to get up. He made a sound of disgust. “Hell! Baby, doan look at me like that! I’m just hungry and pissed off in general. I didn’t mean to take it out on you.” Sylvie subsided, wanting to believe it hadn’t had anything to do with her. “Why?” He sighed heavily and shook his head. “Took all fuckin’ day to get one scrawny pig,” he muttered. “And I was beginnin’ to think I wouldn’t get that.” She stroked her fingers through his hair. It was hanging nearly to his shoulders in wet ringlets. “It’s because you didn’t want to get too far from me, isn’t it?” He sent her a sharp look. “Hell no! The bastards are just gettin’ cagey.” “The rain isn’t helping either, is it? It’s making it harder to track them.” He sent her a look of surprise. She kissed his nose and got up decisively. “Let’s cut it into smaller pieces so it’ll cook faster. I’m starving, too. It’s rained almost two days straight. Maybe it’ll clear a little tomorrow? You should be able to track them easily considering how muddy everything is.” It was still raining the following morning when they woke, but not as heavily and by midmorning the skies cleared enough for a few weak rays of sun to peek through. Beau went out before she even awoke. He was back by noon, this time carrying two pigs, one on either shoulder. He was grim for all that and Sylvie felt her belly tighten with anxiety. “Something’s wrong?” He shook his head. “I doan know.” Sylvie followed him into the cabin. “Mac and the others are supposed to be back

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today, right?” He didn’t look at her. Instead, he focused on building a fire in the hearth. “That’s what he said.” Moving to the board that served as a counter when he had the fire going, he set about butchering his kill, cutting both into thin slices of meat as they had the night before. “But?” He stopped what he was doing finally, stabbed his knife into the pig, and rinsed his hands in the bucket of water she’d brought in earlier. “We need to be out of here before nightfall if they doan show.” Sylvie felt a knot form in her throat. “But they could’ve been delayed by anything!” His lips tightened. “Unfortunately, chère, they could have.” She stared at him in dawning horror. “You think something’s happened, don’t you?” “It’s not my place to guess,” he said tightly. “Orders were to make sure I got you someplace safe jus’ in case.” He shook his head. “I should’ve had you out of here by daybreak.” Sylvie looked around the cabin a little blankly and finally dropped weakly into one of the chairs. “But … what if they come back and we’re gone?” “They’ll follow us.” He said it with such conviction that Sylvie felt an immediate lessening in the tightness in her chest. She still wanted to weep and wail and argue with him, but she could see he was worried himself. Being difficult wasn’t going to change anything or help matters. “What should I do?” “Cook the meat while I cut. Make sure it’s thoroughly cooked, but just done. We can’t afford to waste anymore time than necessary to get it ready for the trail. We’ll need to move fast, at least at first. When we’ve put a little distance between us and the cabin, we can spare the time for me to hunt.” Nodding numbly, she got the pan out and took what he’d cut already, crouching on the hearth to tend the cooking meat. When Beau had finished, he cleaned his knife and handed it to her. Striding to the bag he’d brought with him, he dumped the contents on the floor, checked it, tossed a few things away and put the remainder back in the bag. He moved around the cabin then, grabbing a few things here and there and finally disappeared outside. When he came back, he had the tissue, soap, and shampoo they’d gotten for her. He shoved them into the bag. Placing his hands on his hips when he straightened again, he surveyed the cabin and finally strode to the bed. She watched him as he folded the blanket they’d acquired and then rolled a pillow in it. He tore the old quilt into strips, used them to secure the bundle he’d made and then hefted it, apparently judging the weight. He glanced at her speculatively. “Think you can carry this without too much trouble?” She got up and crossed the room, pushing her arms through the loops he’d made and checking the weight on her back. “I think so.” “We’ll take it, then. If it rains again, we’ll probably have to ditch it, but it’s worth a try. It’ll be better than sleepin’ on the ground.” Moving the canvas bag and the bedroll to a spot on the floor near the door, he

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joined her at the hearth. They ate meat as it cooked. Beau was so clearly anxious, though, that it was all Sylvie could do to choke anything down. He paced while he ate and then disappeared outside again. Between her jitteriness and her distress over what could’ve happened to delay Mac’s return, Sylvie managed to burn herself twice before he returned. After examining what she’d managed to cook, he took another square of the quilt, bundled it up and then tossed the water from the bucket onto the fire, extinguishing it. He stirred it for a moment, checking to make certain he’d completely doused the fire and finally straightened. “Ready, chère?” Nodding a little jerkily, Sylvie led the way, picking up the bundle he’d made for her and slipping her arms beneath the straps. To her surprise, he picked her up once they were outside, carrying her. She looked at him questioningly. “One set of footprints,” he said succinctly. “My footprints lead up to the cabin and away in a dozen directions. As long as they doan see two pair, they’ll keep lookin’ for a bit—I hope.” “Who’ll keep looking?” Sylvie asked uneasily. He sent her a look. Sylvie felt a cold wave of fear wash over her. A horrible sense of loss followed it. She chased it to the back of her mind, refusing to believe anything could’ve happened to Mac, Hawk, and Cavanaugh. It was just inconceivable that it could have. “Won’t it make it hard for Mac and the others to find us, too?” she asked in a quavering voice. “No. Mac knows where I’m taking you.” Sylvie blinked at him. “Where are you taking me?” “Home, chère.” “My home? Or your home?” “Our home, chère,” he said gruffly. Sniffing back the urge to cry, Sylvie tightened her arms around his shoulders and burrowed her face against his neck. **** It seemed to Sylvie that Beau had carried her miles before he finally decided they’d gone far enough to throw off any possible hunters. They didn’t stop to rest but kept moving steadily northward. Fear rode Sylvie so hard the first few hours that it didn’t leave much room for discomfort but eventually physical misery began to eat away at the dark anxieties swirling in her mind, the fear that they were being hunted and what they might face if they were caught. And the fear that something awful had happened to Mac and the others. They stopped briefly toward sunset to attend their personal needs and eat a little of the meat they’d brought with them but set out again as soon as they’d rested a little. It made Sylvie all the more uneasy, but she kept her thoughts to herself. When it finally grew so dark she began to stumble along blindly behind Beau, he stopped, hefted her onto his back and kept moving. She hated being such a burden to him, but she didn’t have his ability to see well at night. Eventually, in spite of her anxiety, exhaustion got the better of her and she dozed off. Beau woke her after a time when he finally stopped. She wilted to the ground when he’d set her on her feet, too loopy from sleep to have any idea where she was. Taking the

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bundle from her back, he spread the blanket, dragged her onto it and curled up with her. She felt like she’d barely closed her eyes when he woke her again and told her it was time to move. She followed him more or less on autopilot for hours before she finally woke up enough to notice anything. Not that there was anything to notice! They were surrounded by jungle. Every blade of grass and every tree looked the same to her. They ran out of the meat they’d brought with them by the end of the second day. Sylvie was too exhausted to care beyond the hope that Beau would park her somewhere and leave to kill something. He didn’t. Instead, he dragged spoons and a couple of cans from the bag, used his knife to open the cans, plunged a spoon in, and handed her one. It was some kind of beans. “Well,” Sylvie muttered, “I don’t guess we’ll have to worry about the wildlife tonight.” Beau choked and then chuckled when he’d caught his breath. “I’ll pretend I’m deaf and have no sense of smell, chère.” “Yeah? What will I do?” she retorted, smiling tiredly. “Pretend the frogs are loud and there’s a polecat nearby.” She chuckled. “My the frogs are loud tonight!” He sent her an amused look but sobered. “Poor baby! You look exhausted.” She sighed. “I’m alright.” He stroked her cheek. “Tomorrow, I think, it will be safe enough to have a fire. We’ll roast a pig, and then I’ll let you sleep until you’re rested.” It sounded heavenly, although she was doubtful she would ever want pork again if she ever got home. She hadn’t really allowed herself to think in those terms. She was too tired most of the time and too scared when she wasn’t exhausted to think much beyond the moment. She also didn’t want to think about it because she wasn’t ready to face the very real possibility that she might never see Mac again, or Hawk, or Cavanaugh, and worse, might never know what had become of them. As much as it had pained her, before, to think they’d eventually tire of having to take care of her and dump her somewhere, she’d never thought of a future without them in any other terms. She couldn’t bring herself to do so now. Something had certainly happened or they would’ve returned. Mac had said he would and she didn’t believe he would lie to her, but it was still possible that they’d simply been delayed by something—maybe even nothing more threatening than the weather. If they had walked into a trap—well, they could get themselves out of just about anything, she assured herself. If they’d escaped some sort of trap, though, Mac wouldn’t have headed back to the cabin because he wouldn’t have wanted to risk leading the hunters to her and Beau. It was as simple as that. And she didn’t really believe it. At the same time, she felt that nothing bad could’ve happened to them or she would’ve known it, would’ve felt it. They’d become too much a part of her life to simply cease to exist without her feeling it as keenly as she would’ve if she’d lost a part of herself. Beau kept his promise. Although they barely broke to rest throughout the day, he began looking for a campsite as the sun began to set and finally chose a site near a small

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stream, the first they’d come upon since they’d left the cabin. Beau strictly forbade her to go down to bathe until he’d returned, but promised to take her himself when he did. He even relented enough to gather brush to soften their pallet for the night. Cautioning her to stay near the fire until he got back, and to call for him if anything did get curious enough, or nervy enough to approach, he kissed her and disappeared into the gathering gloom. Sylvie settled to wait, trying to stave off the exhaustion dragging at her to tend the fire. With the best will in the world, though, she couldn’t keep her eyes from drifting closed. Eventually, she dozed. She wasn’t certain if it was the sense of falling that woke her or the sharp snap of a twig nearby, but she jerked awake to discover the fire had nearly burned out. Whipping a frightened look around at the blackness surrounding her, she began tossing sticks into the fire a little frantically. To her relief, it surged up hungrily the moment she fed the dried sticks and brush to it, but her relief was short lived. In the burst of light the leaping flames gave off, she caught the gleam of a pair of eyes staring straight at her. Her heart surged painfully against her chest. “Beau?” she whispered shakily, searching blindly for a stick as she saw the eyes moving closer. Finally, her hand closed on the end of one of the sticks in the fire. Snatching it up, she surged to her feet. “Maurice!” The eyes disappeared abruptly and she searched the brush around her frantically for some sign of where it had gone. She discovered then that there were three shadowy figures moving toward her. “It’s alright, Sylvie. It’s us.” She couldn’t breathe for a moment. “Mac?” She didn’t wait for confirmation. She knew his voice. Dropping the burning club back into the fire, she raced toward him. It was fortunate for her that he’d rushed to meet her. She was as blind as a bat by the time she’d raced past the fire. She tripped and fell over a bush. Mac managed to catch her before she sprawled on the ground. He chuckled even as he dragged her into a tight embrace. His amusement had vanished by the time he set her on her feet. “Where’s Beau?” he asked grimly. “I am here, mon ami,” Beau responded from the brush a few yards away. Sylvie glanced uneasily from Mac to Beau, but when she saw Mac relax, she turned to greet Hawk and Cavanaugh enthusiastically. “I should go back for my kill before somethin’ else decides I’ve left a free meal,” Beau said as they moved toward the campsite. “I’ll come with you,” Cavanaugh offered. “We’ll probably need to bring something else down.” Sylvie was so thrilled to see them alive and well it took all she could do to keep her hands to herself when they’d settled around the campfire. Luckily for her, Mac seemed as anxious to reassure her as she was to be reassured. He dragged her closer as soon as they’d settled, nuzzling her neck and then treating her to a deeply satisfying kiss. She would’ve liked a good bit more, but she was suddenly acutely conscious of the fact that she’d been traveling hard for days and was in desperate need of a bath. “I don’t suppose I could convince you to take me down to the stream for a bath?” she said a little uncomfortably.

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“That bad, huh?” he murmured with amusement. “I wouldn’t know,” she said a little tartly. “But I’m badly in need myself.” He sent her a heated look. “I’m pretty badly in need, too.” “Bath first!” Sylvie said, scrambling away from him and digging through the bag for her toiletries.

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Chapter Fourteen Sylvie was severely put out about their trip down to the stream to bathe. Hawk had followed them and she’d been hopeful that she was going to experience the fantasy she’d had ever since she’d done a three way with Beau and Cavanaugh. Despite the promise in Mac’s eyes, though, they merely bathed. Her disappointment waned as they headed back to camp and her weariness began to weigh on her again. She’d been too shot up with adrenaline at their return to feel it until she’d bathed the tension away along with the dirt from her travels. Beau and Cavanaugh had returned from the hunt by the time they got back from the river and had already set the meat to cook on spits, but she was almost too tired to eat or to care whether she did or not. Giving up the attempt to try to appear alert, she finally lay down on the pallet and closed her eyes, promising herself she was just going to rest her eyes. “What happened?” Beau asked as soon as he was certain Sylvie had given up the fight and dozed off. Mac had been studying her himself but at that, he turned to look at Beau with an expression of disgust. “You know Carl Yancy?” Hawk muttered. Beau’s black brows drew together over the bridge of his nose. “Total asshole.” “Well, he’s a bigger, meaner, more dangerous asshole. Same goes for the rest of his pack.” Beau glanced at Mac questioningly. His expression was taut. “I had a bad feeling as soon as that son-of-a-bitch and his pack showed up. We should’ve left then. Near as I can tell, him and his pack have been rampaging all over the fucking place, terrorizing the locals, taking anything that tickles their fancy, and killing anybody that looks at them the wrong way. I should’ve guessed as much as soon as he showed up trying to sling his weight around, but I didn’t.” Hawk shrugged. “I didn’t know he was that damned stupid, myself. Son-of-abitch challenged Mac right off. He was spouting all kinds of shit about being top dog. Next thing we know, the fucking marines are crawling all over the place. We had to fight our way out of there.” “And we didn’t dare head for a rendezvous with you and Sylvie until we were sure we’d lost them,” Cavanaugh added. Beau stared at them in disbelief for several moments. “Jesus fucking Christ! Has he lost his fucking mind?” Mac shook his head. “I don’t know—maybe. And maybe he’s just a stupid sonof-a-bitch that’s decided he’s a god now. I have to tell you most of them made me damned uneasy. They were talking shit about revenge and storming Guantanamo even before Yancy and his bunch showed up. I think the bug’s got them all half-crazy if you want the truth of it. That’s why we stayed. We were trying to talk some sense into them. I thought we were doing pretty well, too, until Yancy showed. After that … I’m damned

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if I know. “We’ve got another priority, though. I wasn’t keen on that wreck of a cabin for Sylvie and the pups any of the time. She needs a doctor, and we sure as hell can’t hang around here now if the others are going to make war on the U.S. “About the only good thing I see coming out of this fucking mess is that everybody scattered south, heading deeper into the forests. The hunt’s going to be focused in that direction and that means we have an opening to get Sylvie out of here before she’s too loaded down to be moved. “It’s going to be dicey, though. One slip up and they’ll know we’re headed home and we’re liable to have a reception party when we get there.” Beau frowned. “We got hundreds of miles of jungle an’ everythin’ else you can think of between here an’ there. Sylvie ain’t gonna be able to handle it, mon ami! I can tell you that, straight up. I doan know much about pregnant women, so maybe I’m wrong, but it didn’t seem to me she got so wore out so quick before or even as wore out.” Hawk glanced at Sylvie frowningly. “It’s too soon for that to be a problem, don’t you think?” “Like I said,” Beau repeated tightly. “Maybe, maybe not, but somethin’s up with her. We’ve been humping it hard, but I been carryin’ her a good bit.” “Shit!” Cavanaugh put in. “My little sister—it’s like she had sleepin’ sickness or somethin’! Soon as she got knocked up it was like an energy drain. Plus she was pukin’ every time we turned around or dashing to the bathroom to piss every five minutes. And she only had one in the oven. How many you think Sylvie’s got?” Hawk frowned. “At least two,” he said a little absently. “You think more makes that much difference?” “Damned if I know,” Mac said shortly. “Never been around a pregnant woman before in my life—not close enough to notice anything.” Hawk noticed Beau and Cavanaugh were glaring at him when he finally dragged his gaze from Sylvie. “What?” he growled. “Dick!” Cavanaugh muttered. “Damned sure of yourself, ain’t you? Well, I’m thinkin’ she’s got at least three in the oven if you’re so damned sure you’ve got one, ‘cause I know damned well I nailed one!” “Maybe, maybe not,” Beau drawled. “Unless there’s four, you missed your shot, mon ami.” Cavanaugh glared at him. “Knock it off!” Mac growled. “We’ll worry about that later. Right now we’ve got to worry about getting her to a doctor. I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m sure as hell not keen on the idea of helping her whelp one pup.” Hawk, Cavanaugh, and Beau all looked horrified. “Jesus Christ!” Beau exclaimed. “I hadn’t thought about that!” “Ok—so right now I say we just focus on trying to take as much of the load off of her as we can and keep hauling ass,” Mac said decisively. “We’ve got a little breathing room, as far as we know, but not so much I feel like dragging my feet. I want a wider hole between us and them as fast as we can make one. We’ll just carry her like we did before if she flakes out on us. When I think we’ve got a safe enough margin, we’ll find some place to let her rest up and see what we can come up with. “We need transport. Even if we carried her the entire way, I don’t think it’s good

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for her in her condition—wouldn’t be if she wasn’t pregnant. She’s strong, but I don’t want to push it.” “Sounds like a plan to me,” Beau offered. “The borders are going to be a problem,” Hawk pointed out. “None of us have papers.” “And unavoidable,” Mac countered. “We’ll just have to deal with it as we come to it.” “Maybe we should make for the coast? See if we can requisition a boat?” “Not right now. It’s got merit. We could get her home a lot faster without nearly as much stress—but that’s only if we could slip under the radar. Right now isn’t a good time to try it.” “They’re in hot pursuit of the others right now,” Cavanaugh argued. “If they catch up to them and do a head count ….” “I said they were crazy,” Mac retorted, “not stupid. I doubt that the military’s going to get a chance to do a head count any time soon. Again, you have a good point, but they’re going to be expecting the possibility that somebody slipped through and headed north instead of south. We need to give it a few weeks, anyway, to give them time to get confident. “Once we get Sylvie settled somewhere, we can use the time to do some recon.” He stopped, frowning thoughtfully. “Pirates would be the best bet. The first thing they do is strip the boats and re-outfit them. They won’t run screaming to the police or militia about having a boat stolen and it would already be set up to keep authorities from noticing it’s stolen. The tricky part will be finding a pirating operation.” Hawk snorted. “You don’t think it’s going to be tricky stealing a boat from a bunch of pirates?” Mac grinned at him wolfishly. “Not if we take out the pirates when we take the boat. I don’t know about you, but I’d just as soon not have to watch my back for a bunch of pissed off pirates. We’ve got enough to worry about … and I’m not taking any chances with Sylvie that we don’t have to.” **** Sylvie was ready to retire her t-shirt and sweat pants the minute she saw the blouse, skirt, and sandals Mac had ‘liberated’ for her. Not that they weren’t nearly as worn looking as what she had on, but they were at least different! “Not yet. You’ll need them when we get to a town.” Sylvie gaped at him. “But … we’ve already by-passed two!” “And we’re going to by-pass a few more,” Mac responded grimly. “We can’t afford to be seen in our military fatigues and we also can’t afford to steal much in one place. Either one carries the potential of sending up red flags!” Dismay filled her, but she knew he was right. Everybody was dirt poor. They were going to miss what had been taken—and be pissed off about it. Stealing enough for all five of them in one place was just asking for trouble. Ditto trying to divide it by two. That would not only send up red flags, it would give the hunters a direction. He at least let her have the sandals. Not that she needed them nearly as badly as she had. The soles of her feet had gotten so tough they were like leather already. Beyond that, Mac, Hawk, Beau, or Cavanaugh carried her at least half the day every day. She couldn’t understand why she was still more exhausted than they were. She

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should’ve toughened up like her feet had after all the hiking they’d done. They hadn’t spent much more than a couple of weeks at the cabin. That shouldn’t have been enough time to allow her to get completely out of shape, especially considering all of the really hard work she’d done while they were there, she thought wryly. And that was another thing she didn’t understand! She knew she must look like hell and smell like a buffalo at least half the time, but they acted like she wasn’t even carrying the only available pussy, damn it! Granted, she was too tired most of the time to have any real interest in sex, but she would’ve at least liked to have the reassurance that they were suffering for the lack. Because she was! As exhausted as she was most of the time, she couldn’t be around them and not want it! She supposed they were worn out, too, and worried. The speed they were traveling was enough of a clue that they were still deeply concerned that they might have hunters on their trail. There hadn’t really been a time when that wasn’t a worry, though, and it hadn’t stopped them from thoroughly plowing her damned rows! She was alternately pissed off about it and worried. As if she didn’t have enough to worry about already! But it was still hard to dismiss personal concerns when they were a lot more valid to her current situation than the hunters she’d never even seen since they’d escaped Cuba. She couldn’t prevent dark thoughts from creeping into her mind that they were tired of her and had completely lost interest in her sexually. It wouldn’t have been quiet so bad if she hadn’t felt like they had every reason to lose interest. Thankfully, she didn’t have a mirror to see just how bad she looked, but she could still imagine it without any trouble. She probably looked like an old hag! Maybe it was for the best, she told herself. They were awfully anxious to take her home all of a sudden. To her mind that could only mean that they were desperate to dump her, but just too good-natured and responsible to simply abandon her to her own devises. It would probably be easier on her in the long run if she adjusted to the idea before she had to face it. She didn’t see any damned sense in it, though! She could get used to it after it happened, when she had to! She was available. They had to be getting horny. Why not scratch each other’s itch? It seemed perfectly reasonable to her. She finally gave up on the idea, though. If she hadn’t managed to convince herself she looked like hell, she might’ve had the courage to try to seduce them. Once she’d planted the fear of rejection in her mind, though, that was out of the question. She couldn’t help but sulk about it. However, she was so anxious to protect what was left of her pride by pretending she hadn’t noticed they weren’t interested in screwing her and that it hadn’t even crossed her mind that they were ignoring her that she worked hard to keep them from realizing she was beginning to hate their damned guts for holding out on her. She wanted to air her grievances. She wanted to tell them in no uncertain terms that she didn’t have trouble getting dick when she wanted it and they not only weren’t swinging the only dicks around but it hadn’t even been that great. It wasn’t true, unfortunately, but she wouldn’t have had any qualms about lying about it except that she suspected they’d know she was lying and it wouldn’t take them long to figure out why. After dragging them all over hell’s creation for weeks, Mac finally found a town

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that appealed to him. Sylvie was so worn out by that time, though, that she didn’t care what it was like. The idea of spending a little time in a place even remotely resembling civilization made her feel like weeping with joy. They had to clean up and don their ‘disguises’ before they even gave it a try, which meant another bath in another bug and animal infested river. They used the clothes they’d been wearing to dry off—very sanitary! Sylvie managed to get up some enthusiasm, though, when Mac finally coughed up the damned clothes he’d been promising to give her. She wasn’t particularly happy with the fit. The peasant style blouse looked pretty good, she thought. It really seemed to emphasize her breasts, but the damned gathered skirt also emphasized her belly, made it look poochy. She supposed, dimly, that it must be getting close to her time of the month and that explained the fact that it was swollen. She didn’t remember ballooning quite that badly as a general rule, but then she was hypersensitive about her appearance. Great! Well, she could put getting a piece of dick out of her mind for a while, damn it! On the good side, she was going to be in a town where she had some chance of finding feminine products—no money—but it ought to be available. The guys were sure going to be thrilled when she told them they were going to have to steal her some pads! “Pay attention, Sylvie!” Mac said, breaking into her thoughts. She blinked at him, tempted to inform him she would’ve if she’d thought he was actually talking to her. It had sounded more like general orders to her, though. “You and Cavanaugh are married. You got married about a year ago and you’re just getting around to your honeymoon.” Sylvie stared at him. She had a lot of problems with the cover story. First and foremost was the fact that she doubted anybody was going to believe Cavanaugh was her husband. He was twenty-four and he looked twenty-four and she was thirty-four and she probably looked about sixty after spending a month in the South American jungle! Before, she might have passed for somewhere around thirty, give or take, but she didn’t have to see a mirror to know that she didn’t now. Secondly, no one in their right mind would plan a dream honeymoon of trekking through South America! Third and not by any means least, neither one of them were dressed like affluent Americans even if they did have the accent. She cleared her throat and decided to assert herself. “Uh … this outfit. Don’t get me wrong! I appreciate it and I know you went to a lot of trouble to get it, but it doesn’t look like something an American would wear.” “You decided to go native.” She bit her lip. “But, if I’d decided to do that I would’ve bought something new.” “She’s got a point,” Cavanaugh seconded her. “So you traded a native for the outfit because you thought it was pretty,” Mac said through gritted teeth. “Ok,” Sylvie said meekly. She really, really hated to mention point number one, mostly because she wasn’t about to tell them how old she was, but also because she was afraid it might hurt Cavanaugh’s feeling. “Uh … Cavanaugh looks really young … because he is, you know. Don’t you think it would seem more believable if I went with Beau? He’s older.”

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Cavanaugh and Beau both looked indignant. “We’re the same damned age!” “And Beau’s accent is so thick it’ll make him stand out—make people remember him. Cavanaugh’s average. Nobody will remember him.” Sylvie gaped at Mac. “Well! That’s a terrible thing to say! He is not average! He’s very cute!” She smiled at Cavanaugh, who didn’t look particularly happy about being told he was ‘cute’, and discovered Beau was glaring at her. “But, of course, all of you are so I’m not sure anyone of you would be any less memorable than another.” “You’re going with Cavanaugh. Beau can’t speak Spanish.” “You can’t speak Spanish?” Sylvie asked, stunned. Beau narrowed his eyes at her. “No. Because I am French, chère.” “Oh. Well … never mind.” She looked at Hawk a little helplessly. “Why don’t I pose as her husband?” “Because you’re going to be with me,” Mac said pointedly. “This isn’t a democracy! Beau is going … I mean Cavanaugh is going to pose as her husband and they’re going to get a room for a couple of weeks. If it doesn’t seem to cause a stir, then we’ll give it a day, maybe two, and we’ll wander into town and bump into them. Cavanaugh will meet us here tonight and let us know if it seems safe to play it that way.” “Maybe we should just say we’re lovers?” Sylvie suggested. “I don’t have a ring.” “Not a good idea, ring or not,” Mac said tightly. “You might think these people have an antiquated notion of propriety—they do—and they don’t think Americans have any morals, but I don’t think it’ll cause nearly as much of a stir sharing a room with your husband as it would if you two went around telling everybody you weren’t married.” “I don’t really like Sylvie going in first,” Hawk said. “Nobody likes Sylvie going in first,” Mac said with determined patience. “I don’t like it. But the objective, if you’ll recall, is to get Sylvie settled—safely—so that we can do some recon work.” “What kind of recon work?” Sylvie asked uneasily. “We need to figure out how we’re going to get across the border with you,” Cavanaugh said helpfully. Mac glared at him. “Well, it took a lot for her to pry that out of you!” he growled. Cavanaugh reddened. “Sorry, boss.” “Why shouldn’t he tell me?” Sylvie asked a little indignantly. “It isn’t like I wouldn’t have to be told.” Mac shook his head at her. “Just get going.” Sylvie frowned. “We’re just going to stroll into town, hand and hand, with nothing except what we’re wearing? Don’t you think that’ll look a little suspicious?” Mac narrowed his eyes at her. “You’re going to each be carrying one bag, which is why you’re going to say you’re hiking, damn it! They already think Americans are weird and crazy. They won’t think anything is strange about it.” Obviously deciding to ignore her, he fixed Cavanaugh with a hard look. “You have the money I gave you?” Cavanaugh checked his pockets and finally dragged it out. “Don’t be waving it around. The fact that you’re American tourists is liable to make you a target as it is.” Cavanaugh glared at him. “Jesus, Mac! If you think I’m that damned incompetent I don’t know why the hell you gave me the assignment!”

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“You got your damned period, or what?” Mac snarled. “I’m just saying, watch your back, damn it! If I didn’t trust you I wouldn’t let you take Sylvie ten feet!” Cavanaugh looked mollified, but Sylvie wasn’t certain which of their comments set her back up most. She decided Mac’s had. “Exactly what do you mean by that snide comment?” she demanded indignantly. Mac stared at her blankly for a moment. Abruptly, he grabbed her, snatched her close and kissed her soundly on the mouth. “I’m not going to fight with you, Sylvie!” he growled. “I know you want to fight. You’ve been spoiling for a fight. But I’m not going to give it to you. Now, behave yourself and go on with Cavanaugh.” He sent Cavanaugh a significant look. Cavanaugh looked baffled for a moment, but he grabbed Sylvie’s hand and began tugging her toward the road that led into the town. Sylvie threw Mac an uneasy look as Cavanaugh dragged her away, wondering what he’d meant by kissing her like that. Had he been trying to say goodbye? Was this all a ruse just to get rid of her with the least amount of discomfort? “Why did he kiss me like that?” she demanded when they’d finally reached the road. “To shut you up, I’m guessing,” Cavanaugh muttered under his breath. “I don’t know why you’re taking his side! He insulted you.” He sent her a look. Sylvie blinked at him while she tried to tabulate the nuances of that look. “I didn’t mean to insult you, though.” He grunted. “What does that mean?” “It means I’m not going to argue with you either, damn it!” He dragged her close, draped an arm across her shoulders and bared his teeth at her. “Smile,” he said through his teeth. She wondered if gaping at someone and trying to smile at them at the same time looked as dopey as it felt like it did. “Is someone looking this way?” she whispered, trying not to move her lips. Instead of responding, he nodded at someone beyond her view and uttered a string of Spanish words that didn’t sound like anything she’d ever heard in Spanish class. The irony that neither Hernandez or Gomez, now part of one of the other groups, could speak Spanish and Cavanaugh could speak it like a native wasn’t lost on her. Turning her head, she saw an older man leading a donkey out of town loaded down with baskets. The man stopped, lifted a hand to point and uttered a string of gibberish in response. “What was that?” “He says there’s a cantina that has rooms for rent upstairs at the other end of town.” “Do we really want to say above a cantina?” she asked doubtfully. “Not really, but I doubt they have anything else.” They were stared at by everyone they passed. It made Sylvie uneasy, but Cavanaugh didn’t seem to be particularly perturbed by it and she did her best to pretend she wasn’t. She was heartily glad, though, when they finally reached the other end of town and found the cantina the man had told them about.

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The rooms, they discovered to their relief, weren’t actually above the cantina. The hotel adjoined it and it seemed likely they’d be able to enjoy the music and fights almost like being there, but Cavanaugh did manage to get a room on the opposite side of the hotel from the bar. The room was surprisingly spacious, clean, and furnished well, all things considered. Cavanaugh dropped the bags by the door and headed directly for the bed. Sylvie headed into what she hoped was a bathroom. She was so thrilled to discover it actually was a bathroom she almost felt like weeping with joy. When she’d gotten over her first thrill, she moved from one fixture to the next, testing them. “They work!” she exclaimed when she turned around and found Cavanaugh studying her curiously from the bathroom door. He chuckled. “Really? We got an actual working bathroom?” Sylvie gave him a look, but she was too excited to allow his teasing to spoil her good mood. “You didn’t check out the bed. It has a real mattress.” “Oh god! A real mattress?” Dashing past him, she raced across the room and dove onto it, laughing when the old-fashioned springs creaked and bounced her upward again like a trampoline. She rolled onto her back, spread eagle to take up the entire bed and smiled blissfully at the ceiling. “Where are you going to sleep?” “Right … here!” He leapt at her. Shrieking, she rolled out of his way before he could land on her, laughing. “I missed. Damn it!” Sylvie grinned up at him. “Like I was going to just lie there and let you squash me like a bug!” He grinned back at her and abruptly heaved himself upward and brought his chest down over hers, capturing her wrists. “Now … about that comment you made a while ago ….” “Uh oh,” Sylvie said playfully. “Which one?” “The one about me looking like a kid.” “I didn’t say that.” “You implied it.” “Just because you’re so cute.” He snorted, but she could see a faint tinge of color steal into his cheeks. “I was cute when I was a kid. I might have been cute when I was a boy ….” “I know you were. You’re still cu ….” He silenced her with his mouth. She saw it coming and she didn’t even try to duck. She twined her arms around his neck and kissed him back.

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Chapter Fifteen Sylvie smiled dreamily, drifting lazily in the aftermath of a fabulous climax. Cavanaugh had really wowed her with his manliness. She was going to have to remember to put him on his metal more often! He levered himself up and kissed her smiling lips. “I haven’t seen one of those in a while,” he murmured huskily. “Did I put that there?” “Mmmm,” she murmured, unwilling to give up the bliss of floating on her little cloud by making the effort to actually talk. “Why don’t you take a nap?” The suggestion stirred a hint of uneasiness. “What are you going to do?” “Take a walk around town and check things out.” She managed to pry one eyelid up. “Recon?” “Yeah.” She didn’t really want him to, not if there was any chance he could run into trouble. Then again, if trouble ran into him they were liable to be very sorry. “Kiss first,” she murmured. “We’re honeymooning, remember?” He kissed her lingeringly. “In that case, maybe you should call me Remy instead of Cavanaugh,” he said a little dryly. She chuckled. “Not my fault. I’m just following the leader.” “Good point. You’re right. It sounds too military. I’ll mention it to Mac—uh— Cole.” Sylvie rolled onto her side and watched him dress. He smiled. “Stop it, woman!” “I was just looking,” she said innocently. “Yeah, I know. You want to send me out there with all those senoritas sporting a woody?” “Good point! Down boy!” He chuckled, finished dressing and then bent over the bed, kissing her and fingering her at the same time. “Keep that warm for me,” he said huskily when he straightened. “Wash that finger!” she retorted tartly. “I don’t think so.” He stopped abruptly when he reached the door, though, apparently having second thoughts. Reversing directions, he headed into the bathroom. “Forgot. I’m supposed to meet Cole and the others after I have a look around. Might not be the best idea to taunt them considering ….” It irritated her that he left the sentence hanging to taunt her. Considering what, she wondered? He breezed out before she could ask. Relaxing when she heard the lock engaged, she rolled over, cuddled a pillow and sought oblivion. It wasn’t hard to find. **** “We walked from one end of the main street to the other. I hung around the hotel long enough to settle Sylvie and walked back and it had already made the rounds of the

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grapevine. It’s pretty obvious they don’t see many American tourists this far from the coast.” “Fuck!” Mac growled. “Well, that shoots that plan to hell and gone,” Hawk said tightly. “What now?” Mac shook his head. “Did you pay for two weeks? Or just one?” “One. I told them we might stay another week, and that we’d been hiking around the country and wanted to rest a bit.” Mac nodded. “I guess it would cause more talk if you left before that. We can’t waltz in. That’s for damned sure. You’re going to have to handle the recon in town— most of it anyway. We may be able to pick up a little chatter, but we’ll have to stay out of sight. Take Sylvie shopping tomorrow. It’s going to be noticeable if she appears in public in the same outfit more than once.” He handed him the shirt and sweats she’d been wearing. “She’ll need to get these laundered and wear them. I know she’s starting to hate the sight of them, but she’s needs them right now. And watch the money! I don’t want to have to roll another drug runner. They make too much of a flap when one goes missing.” Cavanaugh took the clothes, but hesitated. “I may have screwed up. There’s at least two that know I can speak the local dialect fluently.” Mac sent him a disgusted look. “Try to refrain from trying to impress Sylvie,” he said dryly. “And keep your mind off of your dick.” Cavanaugh flushed but he didn’t deny it since there wasn’t a hell of a lot of point in trying. “I’ll be more careful.” “It might be too late for that. If they have that good a grapevine, playing dumb now will only make them more suspicious.” “I’ll play it by ear.” **** “I caught a conversation outside the cantina tonight that I think you’ll find interesting. There’s an operation in a little cove on the east coast just south of Santa Maria run by a guy they call Araña--spider. They pirate boats and use them to traffic drugs to the states and arms back this way for a couple of groups of guerillas,” Beau reported. “Sounds like just the ticket we were looking for,” Hawk said, “transport and a retirement plan to bankroll a new start.” Mac frowned. “Sounds like a whole lot of hurt if we get sloppy. Before we get too excited, I think we need to head that way and check it out thoroughly. If it looks doable, we’ll move Sylvie to a safe house close enough we can snag her on the run. I doubt anything on that scale could be done quietly. We’ll need to be prepared to move fast.” Beau grinned. “Sounds good to me! I’ll be glad to get shed of this place, I can tell you. I’m ‘bout sick of wild pig!” “Like I said, don’t get too excited, yet. We still have to check it out. We might end up having to look for a smaller operation to crack. This one sounds pretty well organized,” Mac said dryly. “Hawk, you’ll stay here as a back up for Cavanaugh—try to keep them out of trouble. I’m still hoping we can extract them again and not leave too many ripples in the pond. Beau, you’re coming with me.” Hawk’s lips thinned. “Cavanaugh isn’t having any trouble being convincing as a

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sappy new groom,” he growled. Mac’s expression hardened. “Yeah, I noticed. Remind that asshole that she’s supposed to be taking it easy, god damn it!” Hawk’s eyes glittered. “I’ll have a little chat with him next time he checks in.” Mac studied him thoughtfully. “Just remember to keep the ‘chat’ quiet.” **** Sylvie was having so much fun enjoying ‘civilization’ that they’d been at the Hotel Grande for almost a week before the vague, nagging worry at the back of her mind congealed enough to hit her between the eyes. The scary part was that she still didn’t have any idea what it was, only that something wasn’t right. Her belly had swollen up as a warning, she thought, that her menses were upon her and then—nothing. It wasn’t until she actually sat down to try to figure out how long she’d been with the guys that she realized it was the second period that hadn’t happened. That was alarming. Occasionally, she would get out of whack and be a little late, usually because of some sort of stress, but she’d never missed two in a row in her life! Due to the fact that she was suffering agonies over the age difference between her and her lovers, the first thought that popped into her mind was menopause. She tried to convince herself she wasn’t old enough even for early menopause, but that was almost scarier. Sooner or later, every woman hit menopause. That was natural. It was to be expected, but if that wasn’t it, then that left pregnancy or tumor. She couldn’t think of a damned thing besides those two possibilities that would account for the symptoms and of those two, pregnancy seemed the least likely. She’d tried to have a baby when she was young enough it had seemed the thing to do. When she’d discovered how unlikely it was that she would conceive without assistance, she’d thrown her birth control out the window. She hadn’t actually tried to get pregnant since, but she hadn’t tried not to either. If it was going to happen for her, she was sure it would’ve happened a very long time ago. It was still a possibility, but she was afraid to accept that rosy outlook. If she allowed herself to think like that, she could be in serious trouble. She hadn’t had any pain, though, not even any kind of discomfort that she could put down to ‘something bad’. She would’ve tried to push it from her mind except that Remy informed her they were about to leave. She struggled not to look alarmed. “I wonder if they happen to have a clinic here?” she asked as off-handedly as she could. Cavanaugh studied her worriedly. “You think you’re coming down with something?” The look on his face didn’t help her feelings. “It’s just … uh … well, I’ve been really tired lately and it seems to me … uh … never mind.” “Oh …OH!” He frowned, seemed to wrestle with himself and finally spoke again, but she had the feeling it wasn’t what he’d intended to say. “You didn’t expect to be, baby? I mean, you aren’t used to any of this. I’m not at all surprised you’re worn to the bone. I would’ve been a lot more surprised if you weren’t.” She thought about it, felt a little lightening of the worry, and finally decided he might be right. “You think that’s it?”

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“I’m sure it isn’t anything to be worried about. We’ll be heading east, anyway. If you get to feeling worse, or you decide you should see a doctor, we’ll head for the nearest clinic.” Relieved, Sylvie was more than willing to dismiss it. Remy made it even easier to pack the last twinges of worry into the back of her mind by returning to the room later that evening via the window instead of the door. She discovered why he’d decided not to come back via the hotel lobby when she got her first good look at him. “Oh my god! Remy! What happened?” He shrugged. He looked a lot more pissed off than hurt—expression wise, anyway. Sylvie followed him to the bathroom. “How many were there?” “How may what?” he growled, stripping and climbing into the shower. Despite her anxiety, Sylvie knew an attempt to divert her when she heard it. She folded her arms over her chest. “You were in a fight!” He slid a look at her. “You noticed, huh?” “Fine! Don’t tell me!” Whirling, she stalked out of the bathroom and sat down on the edge of the bed angrily. Remy was still dripping water when he came out of the bathroom. “Are we going to talk about it?” Sylvie asked. “NO!” Unsettled by his vehemence, angry that he’d been hurt and wouldn’t even talk to her about it, alarmed that he’d been attacked so viciously and effectively when she knew how well he could handle himself and she’d thought the town fairly peaceful, Sylvie shot to her feet, turned her back on him and crawled across the bed. Settling on the very edge with her back to him, she glared at the wall while he got ready for bed—which consisted of turning out the light. He climbed in behind her stark naked and still wet. For a while he merely lay staring at the ceiling. Finally, he released a pent up breath. “I had a little difference of opinion with Hawk,” he muttered. “Satisfied?” Sylvie rolled over to face him, staring at him in stunned disbelief. “That looks like a lot more than a ‘little difference of opinion’.” “Yeah, well he looks like a lot more, too,” he said tightly. “Oh,” Sylvie said, dismayed. “Want to talk about it?” “No.” She sighed irritably, but finally snuggled closer to him. He lay stiffly for a while, but finally turned over and curled an arm and leg over her. He nuzzled his face against her neck and Sylvie wiggled a little closer still. He kissed her forehead. “Go to sleep, baby. You need to rest while you can. We’ll be on the trail again in a few days.” Sylvie relaxed. She hadn’t really been needy, but she’d thought he might want to, for comfort if nothing else. If he wasn’t in the mood, though, she wasn’t going to push it. Kissing him back, she settled more comfortably and tried to put his dispute with Hawk out of her mind. Considering the shape Remy was in, though, she couldn’t help but worry about him. Sure it was wonderful that they healed rapidly and it usually didn’t even leave a scar, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt—in fact she knew it did and her concern was for their suffering. They were as touchy, she thought, about their manhood, though, as she was about

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her age. Actually, she wasn’t touchy about it ordinarily. She rarely gave it a thought. The only reason it bothered her now was because she was afraid it bothered them. Weird, she knew, when they’d never given any indication that it had crossed their minds to worry about it. She supposed a part of her anxiety was due to the fact that she knew most everyone would disapprove—everyone she knew and everyone they knew, which was ridiculous given the fact that none of them were ever likely to know about the relationship at all. They ended up staying almost a week and a half in the little town before they set out again. Sylvie knew it was because Mac and Beau had gone somewhere. She managed to pry that much information out of Remy but not what they were up to. Her imagination might have been worse than what was actually going on, but it was all she had so she worried about what she thought might be happening. She was so excited to see them all again she wasn’t even remotely regretful to be leaving—not until their first pit stop, anyway. She’d actually managed to get used to going in the woods, though, and although she hadn’t stopped hating it, it wasn’t quite the ordeal it had been in the beginning. The only dim spot on her horizon was the fact that they were taking her home and no one had said what would happen then. She was afraid she knew and that that was why nobody wanted to talk about it. She was also fearful of what an attempt to slip back into the U.S. might entail. It could be bad for her since she didn’t have any kind of identification on her, and the authorities weren’t looking for her. There was another element to the trek that confused and worried her—they didn’t seem to be any great rush to get to the coast, which was where they’d told her they were heading—and at the same time the guys were all antsy. Mac sent someone out to check their back trail at least once a day and usually twice. She didn’t question it, mostly because she knew they weren’t going to tell her any damned thing unless they wanted to—and if they’d wanted her to know what was up, they would’ve told her without her having to ask. Try though she might to think up an explanation for their bizarre behavior, though, nothing the least bit reasonable occurred to her. Eventually, after over a week of trekking, they finally came to another small town. There, they repeated pretty much the same process as they had when they’d gotten a place at the first town, except that Beau posed as her husband and Beau went alone to find a place for them to stay. The men were tense enough while they waited for him to come back that it was impossible to ignore the fact that they were ready for trouble. She didn’t know if that meant that they were expecting it or not or how worried she should be. It was almost dark before he returned, but he wasn’t running and there weren’t soldiers on his heels, so Sylvie relaxed. He’d taken a small, furnished apartment for a month. Sylvie brightened immediately. “We’re going to be here a month?” All four men looked at her and exchanged a glance. Mac shrugged. “Don’t know yet. We’ll see.” It didn’t sound to her as if they actually meant to stay a month and she wondered if it was something to throw off the hunters, or throw off suspicion of the locals. It was possible, she decided. Half of what Mac did was a conscious effort to deceive and

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confuse. She wondered if he was always like that—as in it was an integral part of his personality—or if it was just the training and the current situation. Hawk, Cavanaugh, and Beau had absolute faith in him, though. Obviously, they had reason to and that seemed to indicate that he was totally reliable. Did that extend to others, though? Did it mean she could trust that he wouldn’t deceive her? Or that she should expect him to? She shook the thoughts off. He hadn’t failed her even once in some of the most hair-raising situations imaginable. She trusted him—completely. **** Sylvie managed to focus her worry on everything that was happening around her for the first several days after she’d settled in the small apartment with Beau. As soon as she began to get comfortable, though, her entire focus shifted to the mound her belly had become. She tried all of the easy excuses first, telling herself she was just putting on weight, that she was getting out of shape, and that the period she’d missed was going to start any day. She didn’t believe any of it because none of it was the least bit logical. She should be in the best shape she’d ever been in her life. She’d hiked miles and miles, hardly eaten anything but protein in all that time. She wasn’t getting fat anywhere except in her stomach. In fact, she looked amazingly toned everywhere else. And her belly wasn’t just swollen. She couldn’t convince herself of that—at least not that it was ‘normal’. She didn’t want to tell the guys, but she was unnerved enough she thought she needed to see a doctor if they had the money. Beau reacted pretty much the same way Remy had—concerned and wary. “You tink you’re comin’ down wid somethin’, chère?” “No—at least. I don’t really feel sick. Tired, yes. I’ve actually been a little nauseated a few times, but that could be the heat and ….” She didn’t tell him she’d eat roast pig until she felt like puking just to look at one. She knew they’d been doing their best under the circumstances and she didn’t want to make them feel bad about it. “My breasts feel tender and my belly’s a little swollen. I thought I should probably get checked out. That’s all.” Beau nodded, but she could see he looked distinctly uneasy. “I’ll talk to Mac about it. We’ll be in the states before much longer. There are better doctors there.” Maybe she’d downplayed the situation too much, she thought in frustration? Or maybe they didn’t have the money for a doctor? They couldn’t have had any money at all when they’d escaped. She didn’t know where they’d gotten the money to pay for the things they’d bought and she didn’t really want to know. She also didn’t want to ask, because if she convinced them she needed a doctor and they didn’t have the money, then they would have to take it from somebody. “Never mind,” she said finally. “I’ll just wait until I get home and get an appointment.” As much as it worried her, she reasoned, it couldn’t be anything too bad or she’d have more than a little tenderness and swelling, right? She managed to convince herself of that for a while, but it seemed to her that every time she actually looked at her stomach it was bigger. It wasn’t her eyes that convinced her that she wasn’t just imagining it. It was the fit of her clothes. Either the damned things shrank every time they were washed or she was rapidly growing out of

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them. **** As nerve wracking as it was to stay in one place as long as they had to, Mac knew that they had to get the operation right the first time. They weren’t going to get a second chance—not here. If they screwed up, they were going to have to move and move fast. Stirring up a drug lord and then hanging around his territory was never a good idea. It took weeks of recon to learn the operation and figure out their habits. It wasn’t like an ordinary business that took routine deliveries and sent out shipments with clockwork regularity. Partly that was by design, he knew. Being too predictable in such a business was just asking for the authorities to take them out. It was also because moving the sort of merchandize they did couldn’t be relied upon on either end. There were frequent and unavoidable delays. The drug end of the business was a little more reliable, however, and that was the part they had to focus on—shipments going to the US, not coming from it. A boat was brought in within a week of the time they began to watch and a crew put on it to begin stripping it down. Mac earmarked it. He figured they would very likely be sending out a shipment as soon as they got transport ready. Assigning Cavanaugh the task of keeping track of the progress, he and Hawk followed the money and watched the ‘product’. It was no part of his plan to take off in a boat loaded with drugs, but they were going to need money for new identities when they got to the states and money to live on until they managed to get work. They were also going to need money to provide a place for Sylvie to live and medical care. He didn’t waste any time considering taking up residence where she’d lived before. He wasn’t raising his pups in a damned city. He didn’t think he could handle it himself—not now. Maybe in the past before he’d changed, but now he needed room to breathe. He didn’t doubt the pack would completely agree with him on that. The trick was going to be convincing Sylvie. She’d done well. He was proud of her. She was a hell of a woman—but she had city girl written all over her. He supposed, if he couldn’t convince her to take up country life he was going to have to figure out a compromise, but he figured that could be settled later. What couldn’t be was where they settled when they hit the states. He figured she was a good two months along by now. He wasn’t sure how long it was going to be before she delivered, but they couldn’t be hauling her around while she was pregnant. They needed to find a place that met their needs as quickly as possible and any place anywhere near where she’d lived before was just too dangerous—for all of them. The Feds would’ve long since figured out who that boat belonged to and tracked it back to her. They were going to have someone keeping an eye on the place, waiting for her to return. He sure as fuck wasn’t going to risk her falling into their hands. It didn’t bear thinking on what they might do to her, to say nothing about the pups. Aborting them would probably be the least god awful possibility. And, just as they couldn’t afford to go anywhere near Sylvie’s old life, they couldn’t go near their own. None of the assets they’d had, even if, cumulatively, it added

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up to a goodly sum, mattered. They couldn’t touch it. He doubted the government had seized it yet. They were probably hopeful that they were stupid enough, or desperate enough, to make a try for it. He wasn’t going for the carrot. They could choke on it. He was going to bankroll his new life with ‘dirty drug money’. He wasn’t especially happy about it—but he sure as hell wasn’t promoting it—and he figured if the US government didn’t mind spending drug money there was no reason why he should—especially when said government owed him and the others big time. It took them almost two weeks to figure out the money trail. By that time, the ship had already been completely remodeled and they’d begun stuffing it with drugs. It chafed Mac, but he contained his impatience. They were going to have to coordinate the operation just so or endanger Sylvie and he wasn’t taking any chances with her. They followed the first courier from the airport to the warehouse where the drug lord conducted his business and from there to the airstrip they used to ferry it to a bank in the Caymans. It took almost another week of watching, waiting, and listening before they had the information they needed to intercept the next courier. The boat Mac had earmarked sailed. He nearly lost it, then. His nerves, he thought furiously, just weren’t what they used to be. Time was when he never lost his cool. That was before Sylvie, of course. It had been a hell of a lot easier to keep his cool when he wasn’t worried about anyone but himself and the men under his command. He didn’t get too worked up about the mission. He wanted to succeed, but he was more interested in surviving it. Fortunately for his fraying nerves, the pirates had seized another vessel in the meantime. He settled to calculating how long it would take the pirates to revamp it and how that would coordinate with the arrival of the courier with their money. One man, he figured, could handle the pick up. The courier was usually under observation of a couple of the Araña’s men when he exited the plane, and he was picked up in front of the terminal by a van with another three or four inside. He was due to arrive in the evening, however, and that would give them the edge they needed. The boat was another problem. At the very least, it was going to take three of them to tackle that problem and he feared that might be stretching it. Not that he entertained much doubt that they could take out the dozen or so armed guards and workers, but he doubted they could manage it quietly, and they couldn’t afford to stir up too much noise or reinforcements might arrive before they could get out of the harbor. There was no hope for it, he decided grimly. They were going to have to move Sylvie close enough to the action to make sure they could get her aboard quickly. He didn’t like it worth a fuck, but they were running out of time and options.

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Chapter Sixteen Hawk’s blood was still revving as he waited for the courier to arrive. He’d lucked out with one of the guards. The man had decided to duck into the men’s room to take a leak while he was waiting for the plane carrying the courier to disgorge it’s passengers on the tarmac. He’d followed him in, broken his neck and stuffed him into a broom closet. It wasn’t his first choice for a hiding place for a body, but he figured most of the cleaning crew was already gone for the night. He hoped so. He was going to be pissed off if all hell broke loose before he had the chance to dispose of the other two. He dismissed that anxiety as the passengers began lining up to come through customs, abandoning the pose of bored indifference he’d adopted when he’d taken up a position to watch for the man. Scanning them in an effort to identify which was most likely the courier, he’d studied and discarded almost a quarter of the passengers when he caught a whiff of fear. Following his nose, he spied a customs agent who was examining the case of a man that looked American. Possibly high Spanish, he decided. A surge of adrenaline when through him when he saw the passenger slip the customs agent an envelope. The bribe. Must be his man. Flicking a casual glance around the terminal, he spotted the guard—who was looking around the terminal instead of at his mark. Not a good sign. Either he’d pegged the wrong man as the courier or the bastard had noticed his partner was missing. Hawk relaxed fractionally when he saw the mixture of anger and uneasiness flicker in the man’s eyes. When he turned and looked straight at the man Hawk had marked, triumph flickered through him. Gotcha, he thought. Dismissing the guard for the moment, he stepped away from the column he’d been propping on and walked briskly toward the courier, pasting a broad grin on his face as he neared him. The man sent him a startled look. “Frank! Long time no see!” he exclaimed in Spanish. “Where’ve you been hiding yourself?” A mixture of doubt, fear, and wariness entered the man’s eyes, but Hawk had clamped an arm firmly around his shoulders before he could try to evade him. “One wrong move and you’re a dead man,” he growled under his breath. Barely breaking stride, he walked the man toward the men’s room, listening intently for his watchdog. Within a few moments, he heard the man fall into step behind them. He knew the sound of the man’s tread, knew by his brisk walk and the scent of fear and fury wafting to him that the guard was going to catch up to them before they’d gotten inside. He walked a little faster. The courier stumbled but he’d been expecting him to try something of the sort to break his hold. His hand tightened almost before the man’s weight shifted. The moment they entered the men’s room, he gave his mark a shove that sent him barreling toward the far wall. Twisting around immediately, he caught the gun the man behind him had just drawn, yanking him by his grip on it into the bathroom and

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slinging him around in a tight circle that broke his wrist. The gun hit the floor with a clatter. The man managed to get out a half a scream before Hawk planted his fist in his face hard enough to knock out three of his teeth. Before he hit the floor, Hawk leapt toward the courier again. The courier, he discovered, had managed to get his feet under him, but his position—half way to his feet and bent over—was a decided advantage for Hawk. Hawk merely kicked him in the ass. The blow was enough to drive the man’s head into the wall. He cracked the plaster when he struck, but he was unconscious before he could utter a cry of pain. Grabbing the case the man had been carrying, Hawk opened it to check the contents. Relief flooded him when he saw the stacks of cash—American cash. It would’ve been a hell of thing if he’d got the wrong men, he thought wryly! Removing the empty canvas bag he’d brought from beneath his shirt, he dumped the contents into it, dropped the empty case, zipped the bag and strolled out of the men’s room. He walked right past the black van waiting for the pickup and climbed into a waiting taxi, giving him the address of the apartment they’d rented. Settling back, he watched a policía vehicle turn in to the parking lot with its lights flashing and feigned a look of surprise and curiosity for the agitated driver. He was pleased with himself. He could almost have done that when he was still human! Of course the enhanced perceptions had helped a good bit, he thought, but mostly in substantiating his suspicions by helping him ferret out the ‘smell’ of guilt. He’d already pegged the right man as the courier and of course he’d spotted the drug goons before he’d even gone in the airport and knew them on sight. **** Sylvie didn’t think she would’ve been quite as anxious if she hadn’t been left alone to wait. It was so unlike the guys to leave her completely alone that she knew that whatever they were up to had to be something big—and that translated to dangerous. Beau hadn’t said anything but that they were leaving and to pack one bag. He’d waited until dark to leave with their bags. Drawing her close to kiss her before he’d left, he’d held her afterwards just long enough to stir uneasiness inside her and then had told her that Hawk would be by to pick her up in a ‘little while’. That had been a couple of hours earlier, though, and she’d begun to be uneasy even before he’d left. Nervous energy had been building inside of her ever since, completely ousting the little bit of gladness she’d felt at the announcement that they were going to be heading for the US when they moved out. She’d had mixed feelings even about that. She’d become increasingly anxious to see a doctor and yet she didn’t know what to expect when they got home. Would the military police be waiting for her or agents from some other government organization? They would if they’d managed to track her stepfather’s yacht down. Her stepfather had always been pleasant to her, had even kept in touch after her mother had died and, of course, had allowed her to take the yacht out when it had never actually had it’s maiden voyage. She didn’t even know why he’d kept it afterwards …. In any event, she couldn’t imagine him refusing to tell the authorities that she’d been the one with the boat and she was pretty sure they’d want to question her if nothing else. She felt damned uneasy about it considering the way they’d pursued Mac and the others. Could she expect them to respect her rights? Or to use similar strong-arm tactics? She decided she was uneasy enough about it that she wasn’t really all that

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anxious to find out. She didn’t know what she was going to do, but she thought she should approach the situation cautiously, not just head for home like a homing pigeon. Beau had told her before that he was taking her home, but even at the time he’d seemed to indicate home ‘in general’ not her home specifically. She hadn’t really known what to think when he’d said ‘our’ home. It had made her imagination run wild, but her feet hadn’t entirely left the ground. She’d hoped he meant something really significant by it, but she didn’t really believe he did and she hadn’t wanted to pursue it because she’d been afraid he’d remove all doubt and she would be unhappy about it. There’d been a hint that had her hopeful. However unlikely, she didn’t want to lose that. She finally reached a point of nearly explosive nerves and got up to pace, checking the little apartment again to see if there was anything she didn’t want to leave or shouldn’t leave. The sound of a car stopping outside set her nerves to jangling and made her heart pound uncomfortably. Even though they generally walked everywhere they went, she rushed to the window to peer out. Hawk was leaning in at the cab window. She was fairly dancing when he came in. She rushed to him before he could even get the door closed behind him. To her delight, he immediately swept her into a tight embrace. She went up on her toes to hug him back with enthusiasm. “I’ve missed you! I’ve been so worried!” He kissed her. It was more than reassurance. She felt it as a confirmation that he’d missed her, too. He drew away more quickly than she’d expected. “We need to get out of here.” Sylvie swallowed with an effort, struggling with dozens of questions. The most frightening one rose to her lips first. “Is someone after us?” “Not yet,” he said grimly. “Oh god!” she exclaimed in a quavering voice as he hustled her out of the apartment and down the walk. “What happened?” “We’ll talk about it later.” She wanted to talk about it now! Especially if someone was about to be after them and Hawk was worried about it! She didn’t know if the cab driver could speak and understand English, however, and since she realized they were close enough for him to hear, she bit back the questions. When they’d settled inside again, Hawk gave directions to the cab driver, drew her into his arms and picked up where they’d left off inside the apartment. Sylvie couldn’t say that the conversation they’d had had exactly dulled her enthusiasm, but it was certainly distracting. As much as she wanted to cling to him, she didn’t actually want to be distracted from potential danger. She wanted to have her wits about her. Apparently Hawk realized after a few minutes that she was having a hard time focusing. He broke the kiss, heaving a sigh that seemed equal parts resignation and irritation. Before he could pull away, though, she burrowed tightly against him. He almost seemed to shrug, but he held her close and that was what she needed at the moment, to feel sheltered in his arms. The drive was a relatively short one. They’d only been riding just long enough for Sylvie to begin to feel a little less shaky when the driver pulled over and stopped. Sylvie sat up and looked around as Hawk leaned forward and paid the man.

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She was bewildered by what she saw and more than a little unnerved. The area was poorly lit, but she could see enough to tell that it was probably the worst side of town. Actually, it didn’t even look like it was in town. There were only a couple of buildings that she could see in any direction and they were separated and surrounded by large stretches of cave-like darkness. When Hawk helped her from the cab, Sylvie discovered her knees were wobbly. She waited until the cab had turned around and left and looked up at Hawk. “Where are we?” she whispered, too unnerved to speak any louder. “Still a good ways from where we need to be.” Sylvie ground her teeth as he caught her arm and began walking at a brisk stride she had trouble keeping pace with. “Where do we need to be?” “Closer to the docks.” That caught her attention. Lifting her head, she glanced around again, trying to pierce the darkness. She certainly didn’t see any sign of the ocean! She couldn’t smell salt in the air. She didn’t hear waves crashing against a beach. A river? “Everybody’s at the docks?” He grunted. “You need to be quiet.” Sylvie felt her stomach knot. Questions boiled in her mind, but she was too afraid of being overheard to voice any of them. She had no idea who might overhear or what might happen if they did and she didn’t want to find out. They walked about twice as long as they’d ridden in the cab and stopped. Sylvie was more bewildered than she’d been when they got out of the cab. She couldn’t see anything. Hawk caught her arms and drew her down into a crouch near the ground. She jumped when she felt the brush of his face against her cheek. “This is very important, so listen carefully and do exactly what I say,” he said in a low voice next to her ear. “Understand?” She nodded, holding her breath, struggling with the shivers raking up and down her spine. “Stay low and stay put. You should be safe here if you do what you’re told. Don’t move from this spot until someone comes to get you—no matter what you hear.” She gripped his arms when she felt his hold on her loosen. He hesitated and then gathered her into an embrace. “It’ll be aright, baby. I promise. Just don’t move from this spot and if you hear any gunfire, get on the ground.” Oh! That was reassuring. She gripped him tighter when he began to draw away again, but he refused to be held that time. Squeezing her arm reassuring, he straightened and left. She knew he was gone. She felt alone, felt cold and terrified, afraid even to breathe for fear it would be too loud. Shivering, she huddled lower, clasping her arms around her knees. Her ears were pricked for any kind of sound, however, and after a little while she heard something faint in the distance. She tilted her head, listening intently. She couldn’t decide what she’d heard, though. She’d just decided the sound was coming from behind her somewhere when the night suddenly seemed to explode with sound. A man screamed and then she heard more of them, high pitched with terror, interspersed with exclamations and machinegun-like bursts of chatter, thuds of every description—flesh to flesh, flesh to dirt or wood,

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clanging sounds like someone beating metal objects together, splashing, running feet, deep beast-like roars of fury and snarls. She’d just shot to her feet in mindless terror, whipping her head around in an attempt to figure out which way to run, when she heard gunfire. Uttering a whinny of fear, she dove for the ground again and began scrambling on her belly. She ran into something lumpy and climbed over it, dimly identifying it as a bag. Beyond that, however, she didn’t encounter anything but brush—no walls to hide behind. She was still searching frantically for something to hide behind or climb into when she heard a rhythmic pounding that seemed to be coming directly toward her. It took a few moments for her mind to interpret the sounds as feet pounding against the ground, but she couldn’t tell which direction they were approaching from. Someone slammed a foot into her side hard enough to knock the breath out of her and then fell over her. Uttering a string of Spanish, the man scrambled to get his feet under him, stomping her in the process. Something bellowed almost directly over her and the man abruptly vanished. She heard the rattle of brush and then a heavy thud some distance from her. Something hairy grabbed her, snatching her up from the ground. “Damn it, Sylvie! I told you to stay put!” Uttering a mindless whimper of terror, Sylvie whirled toward the sound of Hawk’s voice and climbed up him, clawing frantically for a tight grip on any part of his anatomy she could get hold of. She found his neck and tightened her arms around it in a chokehold, burrowing her face against a furry neck. “It’s ok, baby,” Hawk said in a rumbling growl of a voice that was only vaguely recognizable as his. Curling his arms around her, he turned and walked a little way and then bent over and picked something up from the ground. He began running then, lumbering leaps that would’ve shaken her loose despite her grip on him if he hadn’t been holding her. She clung tighter, squeezing her eyes shut. “You’re choking me, baby. Ease up!” Hawk said, amusement threading his voice. The amusement was enough to spawn anger, which manifested itself in tears. She burst out crying, burrowing deeper to try to smother the noise. “She alright?” Mac asked sharply from behind her. “No!” she answered. Mac peeled her off of Hawk and set her on her feet and she discovered that she was standing in the middle of a massacre. In the near blinding beam of the flood light, she saw bodies everywhere, lying in dark, damp patches that she was afraid to look at very closely. Shock instantly shut off the tears, but the moment Mac saw the expression on her face, he lifted her into his arms and began striding rapidly along a wooden dock. He paused to leap from the dock onto a boat deck and then crossed it and leapt the stairs leading down into the main cabin. A bizarre sense of déjà vu swept over Sylvie as he set her on her feet and she looked around. Mac met her gaze fleetingly. “Stay put. We need to cast off and get the hell out of here.” Shivering, Sylvie turned and watched Mac disappear up the stairs to the top deck.

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When she couldn’t see him anymore, she looked around the cabin she found herself in. Beams from the floodlight on the beach shot through the portholes, hampering her efforts to examine the cabin as much as it helped, but she saw a booth and table set along one wall and moved to the bench. Clambering into one corner, she drew herself up into a tight ball, dimly aware of the sway of the boat as the men moved around the deck and the sound of splashes. Trying not to think what the splashes might be, she sat staring at her toes, her mind curiously blank. In a few minutes she heard the engine roar to life and felt the boat move away from the dock. Mac came back down and glanced around. Spying her, he moved toward her. “Come on, baby.” She stared at his hand a moment and finally uncurled, reaching for his hand. When he’d pulled her up, he settled an arm around her and walked her to the sleeping quarters. He caught the blanket on the bed and snatched it off and then helped her onto the bed and covered her up. “Warmer?” She hadn’t realized her teeth were chattering until she tried to speak. It felt like her jaws were locked. Mac settled beside her, pulled her against him and rubbed a hand along her arm. “Are you hurt?” “I don’t think so,” she said after thinking it over for a few minutes. He released a pent up breath. “Just scared half to death,” he muttered. She didn’t argue with him. She discovered, though, that he was radiating heat like a heater and she was freezing. She snuggled closer, trying to absorb some of his heat. After a few moments, she began to feel like she was thawing. “What happened?” she asked finally. Mac sighed. “They weren’t too keen on giving us the boat.” Sylvie shuddered. Fishermen? She dismissed that as soon as it popped into her head. She hadn’t been able to tell much about the boat, but it was too big and too nice to be a fishing boat. “Who were they?” “Pirates—drug runners—arms dealers. They did a little of everything from what we could see.” She felt her heart quicken. His comments pushed the blankness from her mind that she hadn’t realized she welcomed until images began to pour in—some real, some wholly unwelcome possible scenarios. “Do you think they’ll come after us?” “Not them,” he said grimly. “Others?” He hesitated. “It’s a big operation. We dumped the drugs they’d hidden on board, though. Hopefully, they’ll be satisfied to get their product back. We aren’t planning on hanging around long enough to find out.” Which meant they might. She didn’t want to think about it. “Can you stay with me?” Again he hesitated, but after a moment, he settled them both more comfortably on the bed and curled around her. She focused on emptying her mind as soon as she felt safe and warmth had crept into her to chase the cold away. Daylight was streaming through the portal when she woke. Reluctance began to tug at Sylvie as soon as she started surfacing toward awareness. She shifted to find a more comfortable position to try to recapture sleep, but the discovery that she had

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company in the bed roused her enough to open her eyes. Mac, she discovered, was studying her, his eyes heavy as if he’d only just awakened himself. His lips curled after a moment. “Morning.” She found herself smiling back at him. He kissed the tip of her nose and sat up. “You hungry? I could eat a grizzly bear.” She rolled over and stretched when he headed into the bathroom, closing her eyes to drowse a little longer while she waited for her turn. Undoubtedly, she drifted off. She woke abruptly to the feel of cold sprinkles of water on her face and opened her eyes to see Mac standing at the side of the bed, grinning. “Get up and feed me, woman, or I might eat you.” Irritation flickered through her, but she couldn’t help but chuckle at his he-man routine. She sobered once she was in the bathroom. Surrounded by the unfamiliar, it was impossible not to think about the way the boat had been acquired—the battle on the dock that had scared her witless the night before. Struggling to put it from her mind until she felt better equipped to deal with it, she cleaned up, dressed, and left the bedroom. The main cabin was empty. Shaking her head, she went to the galley and began examining the cabinets and the small fridge. Surprise flickered through her to discover that it was actually fairly well stocked. Listening idly to the voices of the men up top, she searched for essentials and finally put a pot of coffee on. Despite the fact that the kitchen/galley was well equipped besides being fully stocked, she discovered cooking on a rocking boat required concentration and care. She managed to turn out a pan full of scrambled eggs and a second pan of bacon. The smell of the coffee and bacon brought all four men down. She glanced at them as they hovered just beyond the galley hopefully. “Who’s driving the boat?” Everyone turned to look at Beau. “I set the wheel. It should be alright until I get back up top,” he responded irritably. It was just as well she was content with the coffee, Sylvie thought wryly. The men inhaled the eggs and bacon and came back for more. Shrugging, she whipped up more eggs and cooked the rest of the bacon. “That’s it,” she informed them when they looked up again. Shrugging, they carried their plates and utensils to the galley, dumped them in the sink, and disappeared again. Sylvie glared at them as they trooped past her, but they seemed blithely unaware of her displeasure. Dismissing it as too much effort to complain, she finished her coffee, studied the dishes in the sink when she carried her cup into the galley and finally ignored them, heading up on deck. Beau was at the wheel again. Mac, his face pulled into an expression of intense concentration, was studying maps and charts. Hawk and Cavanaugh had been lounging on the deck but when they saw her, they got up and headed downstairs purposefully. Sylvie sent them a curious look, but dismissed it. When she’d strolled the circumference of the boat she’d observed that there wasn’t a sign of land in any direction, although she saw a bank of what looked like clouds far to the west that she thought might be the coast. The boat was a small yacht very similar to the one that had belonged to her stepfather, but she didn’t know if it was

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the same boat or just similar. She supposed her stepfather’s would’ve run out of gas and been drifting if the military hadn’t managed to catch up to it before it did. It could be the same boat, but there was no way to be sure since the pirates had obviously gone to a lot of trouble to change it. In any case, beyond the size, amenities, and builder, there wasn’t a lot of difference from one to another. She hoped it wasn’t his. He might stand a chance of getting it back otherwise. And, if he had, or did, he would be certain she was dead. She felt bad about that, although she couldn’t imagine he would grieve. She’d been grown when her mother had married him. They’d been friendly enough—he was good to her mother and clearly loved her—but they’d never formed a bond beyond the common ground of her mother and she’d died years ago. She still felt strangely detached after the battle that had been waged the night before. Next to her terrifying encounter with the soldiers, or guerrillas, when Mac had tried to cut her loose, though, she couldn’t say she felt any more traumatized. She didn’t think she would ever have any desire to visit South America again. Hearing noises below and tired of wandering the deck anyway, Sylvie finally headed down into the main cabin to see what Hawk and Cavanaugh were up to. She wasn’t happy when she discovered they were systematically removing pieces of the bulkhead, mostly because she discovered a stack of bundles she knew must be drugs. “Oh my god!” Hawk flicked a sharp glance at her. “We got rid of the bulk of it as soon we came on board, but Cavanaugh was watching it. We knew they’d already hidden a good bit. Don’t worry. There won’t be a trace of it when we hit port.” Profoundly relieved, Sylvie nodded. Something dark and unnamable that had been hovering at the back of her mind eased as she watched Cavanaugh gather up bundles and carry them up top and then heard the splash as he pitched stuff overboard. She hadn’t really believed they had any intention of selling the drugs, but it was still a tremendous relief to have confirmation. More than that, it relieved her of the fear she hadn’t wanted to consider—that Mac hadn’t been completely honest with her about the boat. Not that two wrongs ever made a right, but she was glad to know she hadn’t been wrong about the guys. The men they’d attacked had been predators themselves, and she felt like their survival was a mitigating circumstance. She didn’t believe any of them would’ve done any of the things they had if they hadn’t been deprived of any other choice and forced to fight for survival when they hadn’t done anything to deserve it.

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Chapter Seventeen They were hardly home free. Sylvie was well aware that they were probably in as much danger now as they had been when they’d been fleeing through the jungle, maybe more since they were so exposed. Beyond that, even if they managed to make it to the US coast without being attacked either by pissed off pirates/drug runners or the military that was still pursuing their escaped experiments, they had other problems to face once they got there. The guys couldn’t simply return to their homes and families. The government would just pick them up and haul them back to Guantanamo and make them disappear and she knew that as well as they did. The more she thought about it, the more certain she was that she could be looking at the same, or at least an uncomfortably similar, scenario. It was time she had answers, though, she decided. She’d been content to hang on for the ride. She hadn’t actually felt comfortable with the idea of questioning what they were doing or why when she knew she’d only been invited to join the party because their consciences wouldn’t allow them to simply dump her to survive or not. After a while that had ceased to be the reason she’d refrained, however. She still hadn’t wanted to remind them that they hadn’t planned to bring her for fear they would dump her somewhere, but it was only partly because she was afraid and didn’t know how to handle the situation she’d found herself in. She didn’t want them to leave her because she wanted to stay with them, because she’d enjoyed the sexual adventure way too much and moved beyond that. She’d grown far too fond of them. She’d reached a point where she couldn’t imagine a life without them in it and didn’t want to. She had a problem, though, and it was growing. If she could’ve just convinced herself that she was pregnant, she would probably still have been scared shitless, but that had the possibility of a happy ending. The problem was that she wasn’t convinced and if it was a tumor it was growing dangerously fast and not only did she not want to go that way, but she didn’t want to risk slowing them down and being responsible for their capture and death. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the sort of thing that could be handled simply and easily or even delicately. She needed to know what they planned to do. If they were just going to leave her anyway as soon as they got her back on American soil, she didn’t suppose there was any point in disturbing them with her problem. If that wasn’t the plan, though, she didn’t want to say anything that would make them change their mind. She still needed to know what was going on with her body. She couldn’t just ignore it. She didn’t see how they could ignore it. She discovered when the opportunity dropped in her lap, however, that she was scared to take the plunge. “So—what’s the plan?” Hawk asked when they’d finished their evening meal and were still seated around the dining booth. Mac flicked a glance at her and she thought for a moment that he would exclude

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her like he generally did when he had a ‘mission’ to discuss with the men. He surprised her, though. “Unfortunately, we’re going to have to play some of it by ear—not enough intel. Beau has connections he assures me we can trust, though.” He motioned to Beau to get the map and spread it on the table when they’d cleared it. He pointed to a thin, wavy line going up from the gulf and into Louisiana. “We think the boat has a shallow enough draft to get far enough up this tributary to reach his friends. If not, we might have to use the life raft. I don’t especially want to when the bayous are full of gators and snakes and cypress knees, but we’ll do what we have to. He assures me they’ll put us up until we can arrange transportation and new identities.” He paused and studied Sylvie so long she thought she knew what was coming. She braced herself, struggling against the sudden urge to cry. He released a heavy breath. “We’re going to have to get Sylvie to a doctor. If everything checks out and he doesn’t think there’ll be a problem moving her, we’ll find a place for her to stay for a few weeks while we look for a place to make home base. Even if everything’s ok, I don’t think it would be good for her or the babies to keep dragging her all over the place. “Depending, of course, on how long it takes to find what we want and acquire it, and what the doctor has to say, we can, hopefully, get her settled in with plenty of time before the babies get here. “If not, we may have to settle down and wait it out and make the final move after the babies get here.” Too stunned even to assimilate what he’d said at first, Sylvie finally held her hands in a ‘stop right there’ gesture. “Wait, wait, wait! Go back!” Mac looked at her with a mixture of wariness and grim determination. “It’s a good plan. A workable plan.” “Go back to the part about the baby.” The men, suddenly looked extremely uncomfortable and wary, bailed out of the dining booth. “I’ll just go check the course,” Beau said hurriedly. “I think I’ll just go with him. I’d like to know more about these friends of his,” Hawk said. “Me, too,” Cavanaugh agreed. Mac glared at them, but he stood his ground. “Actually, I said babies,” he said uncomfortably. “You know I’m pregnant? I mean, you’re sure?” “Yes,” he said cautiously, obviously uneasy about the possibility that it was a trick question. Sylvie simply stared at him, trying to digest that. “How long have you known?” He hesitated. “Since we got you pregnant.” Sylvie felt her jaw slide to half-mast. “We?” she asked in a strangled voice. “You think …?” His lips tightened. “I know.” “How …? How …? You think you all fathered the baby?” she asked blankly. “I know we each fathered a baby—at least, I’m certain of two. I’m reasonably certain Beau and Cavanaugh also fathered one, but I know I did. And I’m almost a

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hundred percent certain about Hawk, too.” “But …but …but …. That isn’t even possible, is it?” Mac’s lips tightened. “Not humanly.” She gaped at him. “Then why do you think …?” He seemed to wrestle with himself. “We aren’t human, Sylvie,” he said roughly. Sylvie blinked several times. “Of course you are!” “At best, we could only claim to be half human! But I’m not even betting on that anymore. We just look human to you. I don’t know what we are—wolf—maybe—but we aren’t human anymore and we haven’t been in a long time. I know you’re pregnant because I’m not human and I know we all bred you because I made you come in heat to produce enough eggs for each of us. It was for the good of the pack.” Sylvie’s mind was still swimming against a tide of disbelief, but that comment produced a spark of anger. “You made … for the good of the pack?” she asked faintly. He scrubbed his hand over his face. “We needed to mate. You wouldn’t understand the drive. It was maddening. We all felt the urge and it couldn’t be ignored. If I hadn’t done it, we would’ve all been fighting for dominance over the one and we couldn’t afford the distraction—let alone the danger to you. It was dangerous enough as it was.” Sylvie scooted out of the booth abruptly and made a dash for the bathroom. She made it, but just barely. She’d slammed both doors on the way in but Mac, the ass, followed her. “Out!” she said weakly when she could catch her breath. He hesitated but finally closed the bathroom door. She felt like hell when she’d finished emptying her stomach, weak, washed out and completely empty. Shuddering, struggling to keep from gagging again, she finally got up and brushed her teeth and washed her face. She was still weak and shaky when she dragged herself from the bathroom. Mac, she discovered, was waiting. He scooped her up and carried her to the bed. She felt too bad to protest, or beat him around the head and shoulders, but she wanted to. It was a relief to lie down. She curled into a ball and squeezed her eyes shut. Mac, for once showing no sign of possessing a sense of self-preservation, sat down on the bed and began to stroke her back. “Better?” “No, I don’t fucking feel better!” she snapped crossly. “I’m pregnant! With four! My god, Mac! What were you thinking?” “I’m not sure you’d call it thinking,” he said tightly. “I don’t know how to explain it beyond saying the beasts took over. I wasn’t thinking. We weren’t thinking. We were acting on instincts.” A handy excuse if she’d ever heard one! “It just … sort of snowballed out of control before I knew what was happening. I sensed that you were fertile and the others did, as well. I’d established myself as the leader. I knew it was mine by right, but I could feel them edging toward a complete loss of control. And then, somehow, I knew what to do to solve the problem.” “Whose damned problem? Not my problem!” She sniffed, struggling with tears. “I thought you were all just really horny. It wasn’t bad enough thinking you all just wanted me because I was the only woman around! Now you’re saying it was just instinct because I happened to be fertile at the time!” “It wasn’t that way, god damn it!” Mac growled. “And it didn’t have a damned

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thing to do with the fact that you were the only woman around! Because you weren’t! Give me a little fucking credit! I guess I can see where you’d get that idea, all things considered. Regardless of how things played out, though, I didn’t just decide on you because you were most handy or just there. We were within ten miles of a village and there were plenty of women there. If I’d just wanted ‘a’ woman, or we had, we could’ve found one without any damned trouble.” Sylvie sniffed, willing to be convinced. “Really?” Mac looked angry. “I thought you were my woman. I thought you cared about me.” Sylvie gaped at him, deeply disturbed to abruptly find herself on the defensive. “Oh! That is so not fair!” “Just not enough to have my baby.” Sylvie swallowed convulsively. “I love you.” He looked willing to be mollified. “But you hate me for getting you pregnant.” Sylvie scooted closer to him and put her arms around him. “That’s not true! I’m … I’m just scared! I’ve never had a baby! I don’t know what I’m going to do if you’re right and there’s four—or even two.” She wrestled with her pride a moment. “I’m not young anymore, Mac! What if … what if I can’t do this? What if …? Eggs get old and they aren’t really any good anymore and the babies ….” His arms tightened around her. “They were healthy. I know I would’ve sensed it if they hadn’t been. I don’t know how, but I know none of us would’ve felt the drive if we hadn’t known you were right for us and we could count on getting healthy pups off of you.” He couldn’t have said anything more comforting. Next to being pregnant at all, the fear that she couldn’t produce a normal, healthy child was the most terrifying thing about the entire situation—that and the fear that she would disappoint Mac. And the others. The sniveling cowards! They’d sneaked off and left Mac to take the heat! Of course, he was the instigator, but they hadn’t held back that she recalled! In point of fact, if she hadn’t felt so desperate, she thought their enthusiasm might have been more than a little scary. Dismissing her anger with them for the moment, she finally allowed herself to consider that she was actually going to be a mother when she’d given up all hope of it. Easing away from Mac, she settled her hand on her abdomen as the certainty sank in to her and the awful feeling that the rounded mound was something bad vanished. Abruptly she felt a thrill of joy, pleasure at the firm rounded flesh instead of fear and disgust. “You want me to have your baby,” she said wonderingly. He hadn’t said he loved her, not in so many words, but didn’t that mean he did? He cupped her face, meeting her gaze. “Does that mean you aren’t pissed off at me anymore?” Sylvie frowned. The sudden suspicion assailed her that she’d been manipulated very skillfully. And Mac was damned good at that! She sighed a little irritably. “I’ll think about it.” He uttered a huff of breath. “Guess that means you aren’t interested in giving me

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a little?” She felt like punching him. “You are such an asshole! You drop a bomb on me like this and expect me to be in the mood?” “That’s what I thought,” he muttered. Releasing her, he rolled from the bed. “And before you decide how damned insensitive I am, you might think about the fact that I haven’t had any in a while! I’ve been busting my balls to get us all out of that hell hole with our skin in tact!” He had a point. She knew he did and she could empathize with it. On the other hand, he was being an insensitive asshole and he hadn’t told her he loved her! “And maybe you’ll think about the fact that honey catches more flies than vinegar!” He slid a look at her as he paused at the door. “Shit catches more flies than either one!” he growled. Sylvie gaped at the door when he slammed it behind him. Indignation swelled within her. “What the hell did he mean by that?” **** Sylvie supposed it was a sign that she was at least half convinced that Mac wasn’t going to dump her that she felt comfortable enough to get pissed off and let him know it. She wanted more reassurance, though, damn it! True, there was a certain comfort in knowing he still wanted sex with her, but just being horny wasn’t any indication that he had a specific target—her! It left her feeling like none of the things he’d said could be taken to heart. She extended the anger to the rest of the ‘pack’, as Mac was growing more and more prone to refer to them. If they thought for one minute that it was going to be fine by her if Mac did all the talking, they were wrong! And he’d referred to the babies as pups! What was up with that? A mental slip because he’d begun to think he was more wolf than human? Or did he know something? That was a very unnerving thought. It didn’t matter to her that they were different. She loved them the way they were. She hurt to think of what had happened to them, but she certainly didn’t feel less attracted to them because of it. She didn’t feel any reservations about having their babies—if she was. Except the pup thing worried her just a little. Maybe he’d just meant they were half and half? And of course they were—half of their father or fathers and her—she thought they would have to be, anyway. But what did she know? They didn’t understand it completely and they were closer to understanding than she was. She put that from her mind. What ever they were, she loved them and by extension, she couldn’t help but love her babies. If they were the same as their fathers, then she’d be thrilled. She just wanted them to be strong and healthy. The Cajuns Beau took them to stay with were a little scary, but despite the initial distrust on both sides, they were friendly and courteous and helpful. Sylvie almost had the feeling that one of the reasons they were so nice to them was because it gave them an opportunity to thumb their noses at the authorities they hated and distrusted but, in the end, it didn’t really matter why. And it didn’t matter that they weren’t exactly honest, upstanding citizens. Actually, it was good that they weren’t because the Cajuns would’ve felt compelled to turn them in instead of helping them and they wouldn’t have had any idea

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of how to go about such things as inventing new identities and getting them a car owned by one of those new identities. Sylvie was almost afraid to go to a doctor after what she’d learned, but Mac insisted and for once, instead of delegating the job to one of the others, he took her to her appointment himself. He didn’t seem in any rush to get out once they’d parked the car and Sylvie began to worry that he might have sensed that something was wrong. Finally, he dug his hand into his jeans pocket and turned to face her. She turned to face him, a little uneasy when he took her hand. To her surprise, he slid something cold and metallic onto her finger. She looked at the ring, blank with surprise when he’d finished and held her hand in his. There was a faint tremor in his hand that made her more uneasy. He cleared his throat. “I told them you were my wife,” he said finally, his voice sounding strangely roughened. She shouldn’t have been surprised when she’d posed as Beau’s wife and Cavanaugh’s, but she was. “Oh!” He closed his fingers around her hand when she started to withdraw it, swallowing audibly when she glanced at him curiously. “In my mind, you are.” Sylvie felt her face warm with pleasure. “Really?” she asked breathlessly. He pulled her close, nuzzling his face along her neck. “Really.” She turned her face for a kiss. His kiss was surprisingly tender. It made her throat close with emotion, made her regret that she’d been so cool with him since he’d told her about the babies. She stroked his hard cheek when he broke the kiss. “I love you … Cole … uh … What’s your name now?” He drew back, giving her a look. “Damn it, Sylvie! We kept our first names so you could remember them!” She sent him an apologetic look. “But I’ve always called you the same thing you called each other. I’m used to it.” “Well, you need to get used to the new ones.” He shook his head. “At least get used to the first names. We’ll work on the rest. It’s Cole Tyler. And you’re Sylvie Tyler. Don’t write Sylvie Stone when you fill out the forms!” She repeated the name under her breath in a chant when they got out of the car and Cole led her inside, switching the chant to thought once he opened the door. In spite of the attempt to keep her mind focused on it, though, her mind kept flickering to the ring and the sweet things Mac—Cole!—had said. She came so close to signing in as Sylvia Stone, she felt cold wash over her. She smiled a little weakly at Cole when she’d finished and went to sit beside him. She could tell from the look on his face that he was sure she’d screwed up. “It’s fine,” she said. He didn’t look particularly relieved. Deciding to pretend she didn’t notice he was looking perturbed with her, she focused on admiring her ring in her lap, twisting it around her finger to study the design. It was a beautiful band. Tiny rosebuds sprinkled a vine that twined all the way around it. It was a little loose and that worried her. She smiled at Cole warmly and leaned close. “It’s beautiful! I love it!” He flushed, but some of the tension eased from his shoulders. He looked as if he started to say something, but she was called to the back just then by a woman with a

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clipboard. Fortunately, she reacted to her first name, rising immediately. She leaned down to kiss him before she left. “Don’t you be looking at any other woman while I’m gone!” she said teasingly. “You’re mine!” He chuckled when she straightened and gave him a sassy look. It was twice the ordeal that she’d expected. Memories of her past haunted her as she went through the routine of being measured and weighed, giving up samples for tests, and then climbing onto the miserable examination table. She focused on the ring Cole had given her, though, and finally took it off to study it, wondering if she could get it resized without ruining the design. That was when she saw the inscription inside of it. All my love, forever—Cole. Her heart fisted in her chest. Tears filled her eyes, blinding her. She thought she might’ve burst into tears if the door hadn’t opened suddenly and the doctor breezed in. He studied her chart for several moments and then did a physical examination while his nurse looked on. When he’d finished, he sent the nurse to call Mr. Tyler in so that he could talk with both of them. Frightened when she hadn’t expected anything of the sort, Sylvie stared at him uneasily. “Is something wrong?” She could tell he was angry despite his effort to maintain a front of cold professionalism. “Let’s just wait for Mr. Tyler.” Cole looked as confused as she was when he came in, and alarmed. The doctor shook his hand, but he wasn’t particularly friendly. “I don’t see anything on your history here to indicate that you’ve been taking fertility treatments.” Sylvie blinked at him. “I haven’t.” He looked like he wanted to call her a liar. Actually, he did call her a liar. “You’re sure?” “I think we’d know if she had,” Cole said tightly. The doctor divided a look between the two of them. “Mrs. Tyler?” She couldn’t believe he’d think she’d lie about it. “NO!” He shook his head. “We’ve got a … situation here that isn’t the best. I’d like to sugar coat it, but I want to be sure both of you understand the seriousness of this. I’m not sure that it’s anything I feel comfortable dealing with. I counted four heartbeats and, frankly, Sylvie shouldn’t be pregnant at all. Without wanting to sound insulting, she’s too old and she’s never had a child at all. One would be risky. We’re pushing the line here, but I’d suggest terminating the pregnancy—we still have time if we schedule the procedure right away. Alternately, if she’s just determined to go through with it, we could attempt to terminate at least two of them and see if we can manage to deliver the other two.” Sylvie was so shocked she couldn’t even find her voice. Cole was shocked, as well, but his reaction was a lot swifter than hers. “You cold blooded son-of-a-bitch!” he growled. Sylvie burst into tears. She tried her best to stifle the sobs, but between her fear that Cole was going to throttle the doctor and the things the doctor had said, she felt like a dam had burst. Stiff with fury, Cole put his arms around her. “It’s alright, baby! This stupid fuck doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Get dressed. We’re going home.” The doctor wrestled with his own temper. “I think it would be wise for you to take her to someone else,” he said angrily, “but you need to take her to someone. She’s

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pushing forty. I wouldn’t advise any patient to take this kind of risk at her age.” Sylvie did her best to get her emotions under control while she dressed and not just for the doctor’s sake, or Cole’s. She didn’t want to humiliate herself by weeping in front of everyone from the nurses to the other expectant mothers. She managed to choke back the sobs and wipe her face, but she knew anyone that saw her would know she’d been crying. Cole hustled her out with one arm around her waist. When he’d helped her into the car, though, he crouched down and looked at her. “You trust me, don’t you, baby?” Sniffing, Sylvie nodded. “He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Alright? In the first damned place, you aren’t too old. You’re just right. You couldn’t be more perfect. You got that?” Sylvie felt her chin wobble, but she nodded again. “In the second place, you and I both know the babies you’re carrying aren’t anything he’s used to. They’re our babies, Sylvie. They’re going to take care of you so you can take care of them.” She wasn’t sure if she could, or should, believe him, but she loved him. She knew she couldn’t give up his baby—she couldn’t give up any of them. She managed to dry up the waterworks. She even managed to smile at him tentatively. He rewarded her with a smile of his own. “That’s my, baby! We’re going to be alright!”

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Chapter Eighteen Cole startled Sylvie so badly when he crept up behind her and grabbed her waist that she nearly burned herself with the wax she’d been carefully dripping inside the wedding band he’d given her. “That was a guilty start. What are you up to?” he murmured, nuzzling her neck. Sylvie smiled. “It was not a guilty start! You just keep sneaking up on me.” “Why are you dripping wax in the ring? Trying to hex me or something, witch?” She sent him a mock frown. “The ring’s a little loose. I was afraid I might lose it.” Cole lifted his head to examine it. “Shit! Why didn’t you tell me? We can have it resized.” “But I don’t want it resized.” He went back to nuzzling her neck. “Why?” “You know why! I don’t want to mess up the engraving.” She felt him smile against her neck. “There’s an engraving inside?” Sylvie turned to gape at him. It took her a moment to realize his eyes were dancing with amusement. She pursed her lips. “You know there is! It’s got your name right there.” Cole studied it frowningly. “Oh yeah! I remember now. I discovered it had my name in it and I figured it was like … fate! Here I was looking for a ring and this already had my name inside of it with a really gushy kind of sentiment. And, of course, I know the ladies like that sort of thing ….” Sylvie studied him a little doubtfully. He captured her face between his palms and kissed her, almost playfully at first, but then with more heat. Sylvie’s blood was humming in her veins when he finally drew away. It took an effort to open her eyes. “Always and forever, Sylvie,” Cole murmured. Pulling away, he took the ring from her and slipped it back onto her finger. “Want to take a walk and look our place over?” Sylvie smiled at him, feeling a surge of excitement, but flicked a glance around at the boxes piled in the living room. “There’s so much to do,” she said hesitantly. “It’ll be here tomorrow, and the next day, and the day after that.” She chuckled. “That’s what I’m afraid of. What’re we going to do about supper? Everything is still in boxes.” “Hawk’s been dying to cook something on that fancy grill he bought. We’ll tell him we’re cooking out.” He stopped her before they went out. Grabbing his jacket, he draped it over her shoulders. “It’s a little cool, I think, for you. It’s sunset.” A chilling breeze wafted across them as they crossed the wide front porch of the log cabin they’d bought and Sylvie was glad for the jacket. Cole ran a hand over her belly as they went down the steps. “How’re the little guys?”

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Sylvie looked down a little doubtfully at the mound that led the way wherever she went now. “Oh, sleeping. They played a game of soccer a little while ago with my left kidney and they’re all tuckered out.” Cole chuckled dutifully and lifted his head, looking around with pride and pleasure at their front yard. Even though it was badly in need of some clean up, Sylvie felt much the same. She wasn’t certain if she loved the land the most or the beautiful chalet style log cabin … or the view. She’d had no idea Montana was such a breathtakingly beautiful state. “It’s just … magnificent!” Cole dragged in a deep breath, filling his lungs appreciatively with the fresh mountain air. “Let’s walk this way. There’s something I wanted to show you.” Smiling, Sylvie allowed him to guide her around the house. The sound of metal striking wood grew louder as they rounded the house. She discovered that Gabriel, Remy, and Maurice—formerly known to her as Hawk, Cavanaugh, and Beau, in that order—seemed to be having a contest to see which of them could cut the most wood the fastest. Shirtless and with all kinds of lovely muscles straining with their task and gleaming with the sweat they’d worked up, Sylvie admired the view as Cole paused to inform them a cookout was in the game program for the night. Gabriel wiped his brow with one forearm, studied them a moment and dropped his ax. “I should get the grill ready!” “Get the steaks ready, too!” Cole advised him. “If Maurice gets his hands on them they’ll be too hot to eat!” Maurice shot him a bird. Without glancing at him, Cole returned the salute and urged Sylvie onward. Sylvie frowned. “You think it was a good idea for us all to have the same last name? I mean, they act like your brothers, but there’s really no resemblance.” Cole shrugged. “So—we’re half brothers, same father, different mothers.” Sylvie thought it over. “That would work.” “The beauty of this place is that it’s convenient enough to everything and we won’t have anyone right under us watching every move and taking notes when and if we screw up.” “Hmm,” Sylvie commented. Cole flicked a questioning look at her. “You said you loved this place. It was perfect.” “I do and it is.” She sighed. “It’s almost an hour’s drive from the hospital, though. That’s the only thing that worries me.” “Thirty minutes. Tops,” Cole disputed. “You are NOT making that drive with me in labor in thirty minutes, Cole Tyler!” He studied her expression for a moment. “I meant to the city limits. Maybe fifteen to the hospital from there.” She knew better, but she left it at that. He guided her to a huge rock outcropping after they’d walked across the back yard and through a thicket of woods. Sylvie felt her stomach go weightless as she stared out over the valley. The sun was setting as he’d said and it was spectacular. “It’s beautiful!” she breathed. They settled down to watch the sky change colors, cuddling companionably. “You don’t think you’re going to miss being a soldier?” Sylvie asked after a little bit.

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Cole sent her a look of surprise and snorted. “I didn’t like it that much! No. I think my new life is going to be exciting enough. The boys are bound to be a handful.” Sylvie sent him a reproachful look. “Maybe they’re girls?” “You going to be upset when it’s turns out I’m right?” She thought about it and finally smiled. “No. I’ll love cuddling a baby Cole and watching him grow up.” He grinned. “You say that now. I have it on authority, though—from my mother—that I was a hellion. Ditto Gabe, Remy, and Maury.” “You didn’t know them then,” she pointed out. “No, but I’ve heard the tales.” “Well, I’m not worried about it. I’ll have you, Gabe, Remy, and Maury to help me with our little hellions.” He grinned. “I’ve been thinking about naming mine Angus.” Sylvie gaped at him. “You’re not serious?” He laughed. “Sure I am! It’s a nice manly name.” She shook her head at him. She never knew, for sure, when Cole was teasing. “We’re not naming him Angus! The kids will all tease him and call him bull or something like that.” “Bull’s a good name ….” She punched his arm playfully. Rising, he pulled her to her feet. “We should get back. I smell steak.” Sylvie chuckled. The guys obviously had a super metabolism to go with their super everything else. Food was never far from their minds and they wanted lots of it! Fortunately, they didn’t mind helping out in the kitchen, especially when it meant getting to the food faster. Cole stiffened as they passed the backyard. Since his arm was still around her, Sylvie sensed it immediately. “Go inside—around the back,” he said curtly, releasing her and walking briskly toward the front. Sylvie heard it then, the sound of an engine. Her heart fluttered uncomfortably and dismay assailed her. They hadn’t even had the chance to settle in! Gabriel passed her. “Get inside, baby.” Frowning at his back, she turned and headed around to the back of the house, passing Remy and Maury, both headed toward the front. Grabbing the railing, she mounted the steps as quickly as she could, crossed the wide back porch and went inside. She didn’t stop there, however, she crossed the great room and found a position at a front window to peer out through a crack in the curtains. She couldn’t see anyone but Cole and wondered where the others had gotten off to. Dismissing it after a moment, she shifted to look down the drive. A truck appeared within a few moments. The light was already failing, but she could see three people. The truck pulled up to the front and the driver turned off the engine. He studied Cole a moment and finally opened the door and got out. “Name’s Bowie … Bain Bowie,” he said in a deep voice. “We’re your neighbors. My wife thought we should drive down and introduce ourselves and welcome you.” Cole felt his hackles rise the moment the man stepped out of the truck. After staring at him a long moment, however, he flicked a speculative glance at the interior of the truck at the man and woman still inside.

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The woman was pregnant. He relaxed fractionally. “Cole Tyler.” Bowie studied him hard for several moments. “You aren’t were and you sure as hell aren’t wolfen. What are you?” Cole felt his pulse race. He hadn’t been able to entirely identify the scent, but the question was as much as a confirmation that the wild thoughts that had run through his mind weren’t wild at all. “Wolf.” Bowie frowned. “That still puts you in the brotherhood—if that’s where you want to be.” And if he didn’t? Almost as if the man had read his mind, he spoke again. “It’s a hard life … outside tribal law. Before you decide, you might want to speak to the council.” Cole nodded. “I suppose you’re head of the council.” For the first time, the man smiled. “Nope—not even a member. I belong to the brotherhood, though.” Again, Cole nodded. “Guess there’s always somebody that wants to be in charge,” he said grimly. Bowie shrugged. “They don’t breathe down your neck, if that’s what you’re thinking. They keep order. You might say they enforce the code of conduct considered acceptable. I’m pack alpha. That’s my woman, Marie, and my pack brother, Louis,” he said, using the French pronunciation ‘Louie’. “We’re wolfen.” Cole relaxed. Turning, he looked at the house, frowned, and motioned for Sylvie to come out. Unnerved that he seemed to realize she’d been at the window, Sylvie straightened, but she was relieved that the neighbors didn’t seem to be a threat. Opening the door, she crossed the porch. Cole met her at the foot of the stairs with a chiding look, but he merely slipped an arm around her and led her closer. “My woman, Sylvie.” The woman in the truck smiled in delight and wiggled across the seat to get out the driver’s door. “I’m Marie. Isn’t this great? We’re both expecting! How far along are you?” Sylvie glanced a question at Cole. He nodded slightly. “Why don’t y’all come in so we can visit?” Sylvie didn’t know what delighted her more—having a woman to talk to, discovering they were ‘neighbors’, or the discovery that the men with Marie—her men— were like her own and Marie was as human as she was. It got better. They were close to the same age and Marie had a doctor who was also wolfen—whatever that was. The men weren’t quite as enthusiastic about the visit. Sylvie didn’t think any of them really relaxed the entire time they visited, but they seemed willing enough to be peaceable. They stayed to dine with them. Marie offered to take Sylvie with her when she went for her next doctor’s visit and Bain invited Cole and the others to a local meeting of the brotherhood. All in all, Sylvie was thrilled. They’d found a new home and discovered there were families just like their own—at least similar—people she could interact with without worrying that she would say something she ought not.

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**** Sylvie was propped up in bed between Cole and Gabe when Remy and Maury let themselves into the room quietly, studied the already full bed and then moved around to either side. Sylvie lowered her book. “They’re already asleep?” she asked in surprise. “Sound asleep,” Maury confirmed, settling on the bed next to Cole. “You’re sure they weren’t feigning?” Cole asked. “I read them a bed time story. They were sleeping like angels when we left,” Remy said a little irritably. “What about the boys?” Gabe asked. “They were asleep before the girls.” Shrugging, Cole took the book out of Sylvie’s hands, took her reading glasses and handed them to Maury. Maury frowned at them, but turned over to put them on the bedside table. Cole settled to exploring Sylvie’s breasts. She closed her eyes, savoring it. As much as she’d enjoyed breast feeding her babies, she was glad to have her favorite erogenous zone back for her own pleasure. It was just starting to get really good when the door knob rattled. Sylvie and Cole both tensed immediately. Cole lifted his head and Sylvie sat up. “I thought you said they were sleeping like angels,” Cole said in a low growl of irritation. “They can’t open the door,” Sylvie whispered a little uneasily. The knob rattled again. There was scratching at the door and then a whimper. “It’s one of the girls!” Sylvie whispered. A snicker came from under the bed. It was followed by a scuffling noise and another giggle. Maury and Remy rolled off of the bed at the same time and hit the floor on their bellies. “Out!” Remy growled. Sylvie leaned up to see which of her hellions had crawled under the bed, wondering when and how they’d managed it. Probably while she was in the shower with Cole and Gabe, she decided. Jacob, Hadrian, and Nicholas crawled out from under the bed and lined up beside it, studying the adults owl-eyed. Gabe, Remy, and Maury scowled at their sons. “Where’s Pierce?” Sylvie demanded. Jacob squirmed. “Seepin’.” “Which is where the three of you should be!” Cole said, a note of complacency in his voice that his son, at least, was where he was supposed to be. Muttering irritably, Gabe got out of the bed and took Hadrian’s hand. When he opened the door, his two year old daughter fell inside. “You, too, Danika?” he said irritably, bending down to scoop her up from the floor. “Sleeping like angels, my ass! Where’s Gracie?” Danika plugged her thumb in her mouth and began sucking on it. Gabe pulled her thumb out of her mouth. “Where is she?” “Seep.” Throwing a glare over his shoulder at Cole, Gabe hauled his off-spring out.

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Remy and Maury followed him, leading their own sons. “Now, where was I?” Cole murmured, turning over and burrowing his face between Sylvie’s breasts. Sylvie had just begun to drift in a hazy, glorious cloud of desire when the door opened again. She lifted one eyelid with an effort. Both eyes popped open, however, at the sight that greeted her and she sat up abruptly, shoving Cole off. “Oh my god! Gracie! What have you done to your hair?” “She cut it all off, that’s what your little angel was doing when I found her!” Gabe announced, plunking Gracie on her father’s lap. Cole let out a grunt and jackknifed upright. “God damn it, Gabe!” Gracie’s face primped. Her chin wobbled threateningly. Sylvie bit her lip when Cole lifted the baby from his lap, settled her on his shoulder and rubbed his injured appendage. “It’s alright, sweety! Daddy wasn’t yelling at you. He’s going to kill Uncle Gabe—but he isn’t angry with you.” “Yes you are!” Sylvie snapped. “Bad girl! Bad, bad girl! Look at her hair, Cole! Where in the world did she find the scissors? It’s a wonder she didn’t cut off her ears!” Remy was back with Pierce before Cole could get out of the bed with Gracie. His entire face was black with chocolate syrup. Sylvie covered her mouth to keep from laughing. “Wuz tirsy,” he said. Cole glared at him. Shaking his head, he planted a hand on top of Pierce’s head and led him out. Sylvie stared at the door for a few moments and leaned over to get her glasses and her book. She’d almost finished the chapter she’d been reading when Cole and Gabe returned and dove into the bed. Cole grabbed her book and glasses and tossed them in the general direction of the bedside table. “The children are asleep … already?” Cole, who’d already settled his mouth on her breast, grunted. “They have guard duty until we’re done,” Gabe said, settling to playing with her other breast. Cole glared at him, uttering a growl deep in his chest. Sylvie stroked his head placatingly. “This is starting to get interesting.” Cole lifted his head and gave her a look. “I mean, it was already interesting, but we could do a three way and then everybody would be happy, right?” Cole studied Gabe a moment and finally shrugged. “Everybody will not be happy!” Remy called from the hallway. “Then someone else will be happy on ‘next’ night,” Sylvie promised, settling down to enjoy herself thoroughly. The End.

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Also available from NCP by Madelaine Montage

Hunger of the Wolf Call of the Wolf Wolfen Nocturnal Feline Heat Breeding Ground Darkling Seas Hierarchy

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Read an excerpt from Madelaine Montague’s Breed Ground, also available from NCP.

Breeding Ground

Chapter One He awakened slowly, reluctantly, uncertain at first what had sent ripples through his psyche to disturb his slumber. He had been drifting so long that awareness of his surroundings had slowly but surely eroded until only some event of magnitude, he knew, would have penetrated the deep, dreamless sleep that he’d sought. It was that realization that encouraged him to shake off the temptation to ignore the ripples, and he roused himself to see what it was. People, he thought, surprised, not pleased, but it was not merely ‘the people’, he discovered, those he had once walked among, called brother—come to despise. Others were among them, pale skinned, pale eyed. This tribe he had no familiarity with. He wavered, torn between curiosity about these others and the hate that had sent him into his slumberous state long, long ago, so long ago that the hate had become little more than apathy. Rising finally, he stretched, expanding his psyche outward, and then he walked among them, studying the others, watching them. They were digging, he discovered, for what he could not determine, but it answered the question. This had caused the ripple, the disturbance that had shaken him from his rest. His curiosity waned. He had no idea what they were about, but he had no real interest either. Then he saw her. Intrigued, he settled to watch her and he discovered that the longer he watched her, the more absorbed he was. This one was different. **** “Look out!” “Rock slide!”

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“Run!” The ominous sound of colliding, rolling, bouncing rocks rapidly built from a warning rumble to a deafening roar punctuated by the shouts that first drew her attention and the screams of fear and pain that quickly followed the first shouts. Gabrielle LaPlante lifted her head like an animal sensing danger at the first rumble, freezing as her gaze swept the dig site and finally focused on the threat. Her eyes widened as she saw the wave of dirt and rocks racing down the mountain side like a black tide, but everything inside of her seized, even her breath in her lungs. It was over almost before anyone had realized what was happening. Through the cloud of dust that rose from the foot of the mountain where the debris settled, Gabrielle saw a twisted human arm jutting skyward. Coated with dirt from the soil dislodged by the falling rocks, she stared at it for many moments before her brain finally registered that it actually was an arm, not a bizarre, twisted tree root that resembled a human arm. Released finally from the shock that had rooted her to the spot, she surged forward, launched into a run as the workers that had scattered halted and turned to race back. She was among the last to reach the downed worker, but it wouldn’t have mattered, she saw, if she’d been the first. The man hadn’t suffocated. A rock twice the size of his head had crushed his skull. As short as she was, the native South Americans that made up the bulk of the laborers for the dig were as short, or shorter, and she had no trouble seeing over the men that clustered in front of her. She was sorry that was the case. The image seemed to burn itself inside her mind. Nausea rolled over her. She stumbled back, turned, looked numbly around the dig site for several moments and fled to the tent that had been assigned to her as her temporary home away from home. A forensic anthropologist on loan from the Dade Museum of Human History to investigate the first, and only, skeletal remains found at the scene, which turned out to be the body of a two hundred year old Indian who’d died while hunting not an ancient settler of the area, she had never considered herself superstitious. She’d learned to appreciate and respect the customs and beliefs of various cultures and ancient civilizations, but she didn’t believe. She’d been uneasy ever since she’d arrived at the dig, however. She’d dismissed it. This was her first field operation and a certain amount of trepidation was to be understood, particularly considering the remote location. They were miles and miles from the nearest speck of civilization, and even that couldn’t be truly categorized as civilization, not in her book, anyway. The village was a throw back, virtually untouched by modern civilization. She’d regretted taking the assignment almost as soon as she’d agreed to it. She regretted it even more as they left the tiny airstrip and set off in ancient vehicles down narrow twisting roads, traveling deeper and deeper into thick, twisted jungle filled with more poisonous creeping, slithering reptiles and insects than any other part of the world. The trip alone had been enough of a jolt to her system to account for her jitteriness—paddling for miles and miles in canoes that sat barely above water level and watching snakes and crocodiles slither past. It had comforted her somewhat when she’d arrived to find the dig well in progress. The jungle had been cut back. The dig site was populated with a dozen scientists and students and about twice or three times that many native workers. A tent village had dotted the periphery of the site—but the tents were the

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best money could buy and filled with every modern convenience that could be lugged this deeply into the jungle. The conditions were still ungodly primitive, and she didn’t especially like the speculative gazes of the dark eyed natives—apparently fair women fascinated them. Not that she qualified as a ‘real blond’ in the real world. Her hair had darkened as she’d matured to a color closer to brown than blond, but she still had the blue eyes, pale skin, and freckles of a true blond and that seemed sufficient to the brown skinned pigmies that made up the bulk of the tent village to earn her more hungry male glances in the few weeks she’d been there than she’d had in her entire life before. Loathe to encourage them to believe she might welcome their sexual overtures— and she didn’t think she was imagining that they looked her over like a particularly choice piece of ass—she spent most of her time pretending they were invisible, which was another thing that made her uncomfortable. She’d been accused of being frank to the point of bluntness—which no one seemed to consider a virtue—but part of that frankness was the tendency to meet everyone eye to eye. She’d been taught that ‘shifty eyed’ was a trait that spelled untrustworthy. She wasn’t a liar, a cheat, or a fraud, and she was as good as, if no better than, anyone. It made her feel dishonest to avoid eye contact. Beyond the physical discomforts, though, beyond the uneasiness at having short, dark men staring at her as if she was Venus incarnate, beyond the very real dangers that lurked beneath every leaf, shrub, and tree limb, there was something about the ancient city they’d uncovered that was just plain otherworldly creepy. She’d tried to convince herself it was nothing more than the real threats she sensed around her that was playing havoc with her imagination, but the fine hairs on her body—those primal sensors of danger—prickled as if the dormant animal inside of her knew something her conscious mind couldn’t detect. The natives were uneasy, too. Her Spanish wasn’t all that great, but she didn’t need to understand the language to assess the behavior. They were superstitious, though. They believed the tales of ghosts they scared themselves with. She didn’t believe in ghosts, or spirits, or ancient gods that were going to be displeased about having their temples violated. She hadn’t before she’d arrived at the grave site of the ancient, unnamed city. Now, she was trying to convince herself she still didn’t. And yet the death toll was rising. More than a dozen workers had died since the dig had begun, eleven before her arrival, two since, and three of the original party of scientists and archeology students had come down with a mysterious ailment that had required them to be shipped back stateside. They’d unearthed great segments of what promised to be a huge city that predated anything found before by at least a thousand years. And they still hadn’t found the remains of a single occupant of that city. That was almost the creepiest part of it. They should have found something by now that would warrant her presence here. If they didn’t find something damned soon, she thought angrily, she was going to high tail it back to her museum! “What happened, Gaby? Who got hurt?” Sheila Lyndon demanded as Gabrielle neared the tent they shared.

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Gaby simply stared at her blankly for several moments. “Got dead today, you mean? I didn’t know his name.” She didn’t know any of the natives’ names. She wasn’t certain she would have recognized the guy. A wave of shock crossed Sheila’s features. “Somebody got killed?” “There’s a shock,” Gaby said tightly, snatching open the tent flap and diving inside. “Someone getting killed on this dig.” “Hey! Accidents happen,” Sheila said, following her inside as Gaby threaded her way around obstructions and flopped onto the cot assigned to her without even thinking about checking the bedding for crawlies first. Gaby looked at the younger woman in outraged disbelief. “That’s callous, even for you.” Sheila glared at her. “I didn’t mean it that way, and you know it!” Right, Gaby thought, but she didn’t say it. She wasn’t up to an argument at the moment. She realized she might has well have voiced her opinion, though, because Sheila read it in her expression. “Don’t tell me you’re starting to believe that voodoo crap the natives are always whining about?” Gaby felt her face reddening in spite of all she could do. Since there was no hiding her reaction, she glared at Shelia, trying to pass off embarrassment for anger. Not that she wasn’t angry! “This isn’t Africa,” she said tightly, “or even the Caribbean. They don’t believe in voodoo around here.” “Whatever witchcraft mumbo jumbo they call it.” Gaby gave Shelia a once over, taking in the young woman’s better than average figure. “What did you say you were majoring in?” Sheila’s eyes narrowed. “I happen to be in the upper ten percentile of my class!” she snapped. “Yeah, but was it your brain that got you there? That’s the question!” Sheila’s eyes glittered. “Well, nobody could be in any doubt that it was your brains that got you your position!” she snarled through clenched teeth. “Now I’m going to cry!” Gaby shot back at her. “I’ll bet my brains stay sharp a lot longer than your tits and ass!” “You’d lose,” Sheila snapped, her expression abruptly going from fury to complacency. “Daddy’s got plenty of money to keep everything right where it is. You should check it out Ms LaPlante. What are you, thirty five now? Forty? Honey, it’s already hanging low! There’s just so much they can do, you know? You should take out a loan on your car or something.” Gaby glared at the woman’s back as she spun on her heel and sashayed out of the tent again. Ok, so Sheila wasn’t exactly stupid! She had plenty of ammunition to fight dirty. Cold blooded, self-centered, materialistic and, to Gaby’s way of thinking, probably a sociopath, but she wasn’t the bimbo her bleached blond hair and wide doe eyes implied. She didn’t hate Sheila just because she’d been fortunate enough to be born within a wealthy family, nor because she was better than average in looks, had straight, white teeth, a great figure, was probably ten years younger, and knew how to use all those assets. She hated Sheila because she was a bitch.

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Actually, hate was probably a little strong. Ordinarily, she just felt contempt or irritation. The tent was supposed to be big enough to accommodate two people in reasonable comfort, but Sheila had hauled half of all she owned with her and it was next to impossible to move inside the tent. They were in serious trouble if they ever had to exit it quickly! “Bitch!” she muttered, resisting the urge to drag out a mirror and check her reflection. She didn’t need to to know she looked like hell. What would the mirror do besides depress the shit out of her? She was thirty five. There was nothing wrong with it, or with looking one’s age! In fact most people seemed to think she looked as if she was in her twenties … late twenties, granted, but still twenty something. The snide Ms thing irked the shit out of her, too. She’d chosen to be single, damn Miss Hot Twat! It wasn’t like she hadn’t had opportunities to get married. She’d had a couple. Sighing, she rubbed her eyes and shifted to lay down on the cot. Remembering abruptly that she hadn’t checked the cot for scorpions or spiders, she sprang up and examined the bedding carefully before she settled again. She was hot, drained, and upset about the man’s death, but aside from venting her frustrations on Sheila, she couldn’t seem to let go of the tension pent up inside of her. As she lay staring up at the ceiling of the tent, trying to block out the distant sounds of the accident site, she found herself reflecting on the reason she’d decided not to marry, not to even look. What was the point? The ‘accident’ and subsequent infection she’d had before she even reached puberty had eliminated any chance of ever having children. Theses days there was some hope for women like her, of course. Despite the scaring on her fallopian tubes, she could probably get help from a fertility specialist, but that took money, a lot of money. And there were no guarantees with something like that. She could spend years, and every dime she’d worked so hard to put up for her retirement years, and still have nothing to show for it but heartbreak. She was reasonably content with her life. Why turn her life inside out over something she didn’t need to go through to feel fulfilled? Besides, as Miss Bitch had pointed out, she was beyond the prime age for child bearing. Women could, and often did, have children well into their thirties, even into their forties, but every year after thirty the odds got better for disaster and worse for a happy conclusion. She might spend most of her time studiously ignoring her biological clock, but she didn’t go around with her head in the sand. Here and there, she picked up little tidbits of information that encouraged her to just keep ignoring the tick tock of the clock. Morbid, she thought, sitting up abruptly, dropping her legs over the side of the cot and covering her face with her hands. It was the deaths. She had spent most of her life either with her nose in a book, or surrounded by objects of antiquity. She had no close friends, no close family, having been reared in an orphanage. It was easy to cocoon herself from the passing years, unmarked by painful losses that would have made it impossible to ignore the fact that life was just passing her by. Why else was she thinking, now, that she was going to live her entire life and pass completely unremarked by anyone? Why else was she thinking about being old and alone? She was alone now! It had never bothered her before.

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Not really. Dropping her hands, she huffed out an irritated breath and left the tent. The dead man had been borne off by the other workers. The archeology team was the only people at the dig site now. The students who’d been brought along were half-heartedly digging in the new area that Dr. Sheffield was certain concealed the temple that should have been the center of the community. Had the workers left for good, she wondered? Or only left to carry out whatever burial ritual their people observed? Drs. Sheffield and Oldman were kneeling in the pit, studying something she couldn’t make out from the distance that separated them. Or maybe they were only studying Sheila? She was on her knees, as well, bent over as if she was studying whatever it was they’d found, but more likely just so she could give both the professors a gratuitous view of her ample bosom, which was hanging half out of the shirt she was wearing tied at her waist. Gaby didn’t especially want to be anywhere near Sheila at the moment, but she didn’t want to be alone with her thoughts either. After a momentary hesitation, she decided to join the students and help with the digging. Shoveling and sifting and carting dirt was hard work. She needed something physical to work off her tension if she didn’t want her thoughts plaguing her tonight when she was supposed to be sleeping. **** He had drifted so long in the sea of apathy that he had felt more annoyed than anything else when they had first come. He considered that and finally decided annoyed was too strong a term—disturbed and unwilling to give up the sense of nothing he had surrounded himself with. Curiosity had stirred within him when they’d begun digging, unearthing the city that had been buried so long it lingered in no living memory, but it had not stirred him strongly enough to encourage him to do more than watch them whenever they came within his view. It had not stirred him enough to seek them out and study them. The others had awakened more curiosity. The aura of the pale skinned strangers was nothing like the ‘people’. They exuded energy, arrogance, excitement, purpose, and determination. They dressed strangely. They had brought strange things with them. They spoke a completely unfamiliar tongue, often in an excited babble that he found mildly annoying. Nevertheless, it drew his attention, prodded him to focus until the words ceased to be an annoying babble and began to make sense to him. But even when he began to understand what they saying, he still did not understand them. Why they labored day after day from sunrise to dusk with little trowels, and brushes, and sifters, and machines designed to pass sound through things to tell when they were hollow, he could not imagine. Why they grew so excited when they found broken bits of pottery or other equally useless trash, he could not fathom. But it amused him to watch their child-like excitement over these things. They seemed harmless enough. He was less pleased to have the ‘people’ in his city. They were not the ‘people’ he had known before. They were a pale shadow of those old ones and still contemptible to him, maybe more contemptible. They had changed, but he could not see that it had been for the better. The ‘people’ who’d come with the pale skinned others exuded

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excitement, too, but their enthusiasm was focused on the others, not the city that so thrilled the pale ones. And beneath that the stench of fear oozed from their pores because they felt his presence. He recognized it, and he found it caused an unpleasant ripple of memories to stir, and he would have withdrawn further from their presence—except for her. She stirred many, many things within him, drove the comforting apathy completely from his grasp and aroused—confusion, conflicting emotions, curiosity. She drew him from his comfortable shell of apathy before he had even quite grasped that he had left it behind and that it was not something he could easily regain if he found that she was not nearly as interesting as he had thought she would be. By the time he had realized that, though, it no longer mattered. She fascinated him. She was not quite like any other of her kind that he had ever known, either among the people or the others. Like a flower, she was complicated, an intricate puzzle that fascinated him more with each petal he plucked to examine her further. She was a study in contradictions, strong but delicate, wise but impetuous, hard and yet soft. Her façade appealed to him, pulled at him in a way that he could not entirely understand because when he studied her he could not detect a single feature or physical attribute that was extraordinary in any way. Her face was pretty, but not beautiful. Her body was pleasing—soft, and rounded, and womanly—but he had seen many women whose bodies were as pleasing or even more pleasingly shaped. He liked the pale skin. It reminded him of the soft glow of moonlight. He liked the pale hair for the same reason. The eyes were like a clear summer sky. But none of those traits were unique only to her. The others were all pale skinned, pale eyed, their hair darker or lighter than hers but still much the same—and those things were intriguing and appealing to him mostly because they were nothing like the people. His puzzlement over the strength of her appeal to him had finally drawn him closer, far closer than he had approached one of her kind in many, many years. But he had not regretted it, even though it had opened him to the world of pain he had sealed himself off from long ago. Because there he found her beauty, in her heart, her soul, her mind. It was so beautiful it took his breath away. And it aroused something within him that he had long forgotten … hunger. **** Leaving the tents behind, Gaby moved to the edge of the pit and carefully climbed down the first ladder. There were three. The city Dr. Sheffield had discovered was beneath ruins of an Incan village that had been discovered years earlier by Dr. Oldman. The original discovery had been somewhat disappointing. The village, it seemed, hadn’t been one of much consequence and had provided very little in the way of artifacts, mostly because more recent settlers had used whatever they’d found useful and disposed of everything else. The city beneath it had been found entirely by accident. Ordinarily, a good deal of research went into to tracking down the most likely location of cities mentioned in historical texts, found mentioned on other items of antiquity, or that had become a part of

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folklore. This city shouldn’t exist at all. No mention of anything like it had ever been discovered anywhere, and beyond that, it appeared to date back much further than any known civilization in this part of the world—further even than the Toltecs. Drs. Oldman’s and Sheffield’s reputations were on the line. The initial speculation on the date of the site had already sent ripples through the scientific community and brought back flack. No one believed the city could possibly date back as far as they’d speculated because it was an accepted theory that man had barely been walking upright at the time, little more than animals, and certainly not capable of building a city. It had been the possibility of finding skeletal remains that would bust that theory wide open that had generated enough excitement in her to entice her from her nice, comfy museum into … hell. Because the conditions could only be termed hellish. Having managed the last ladder, Gaby pushed the thoughts from her mind. At the moment, all she wanted was distraction from the latest accident. Her excitement had waned long since, along with her belief that they were going to find skeletal remains of any kind, much less … prehistoric Einsteins that existed at a time when man was supposed to be little more than an ape. The students glanced at her disinterestedly when she joined them. It shouldn’t have bothered her. They were hardly Indiana Jones types and way too young to interest her even if any of the bunch had been better than average looking, but she supposed she was still smarting from Sheila’s cutting remarks. Ignoring the skepticism she caught in several of the glances, she picked up a trowel, chose a spot and began to carefully scrape at the dirt. She might not, ordinarily, be a field scientist, but she knew what she was doing … the uppity shirt tailed snots! She’d only been working maybe twenty minutes and had just gotten deeply enough into her work to shrug off her irritation when the trowel she was wielding scraped against something that sent back the sound of stone. She sensed rather than saw several of the young men glance up at the sound. Setting the trowel aside, she grabbed up a brush and dusted at the stone so that she could see it better to determine whether she’d actually found something more than just a buried rock. The stone she’d unearthed was smooth, but rounded. It appeared to be worked stone. Frowning, she took up the trowel again and worked at the dirt surrounding the stone, trying to contain the spark of excitement that surged through her. It looked like a section of carving, but it was too small an area to be certain. It could still just be a rock, rounded by movement of water over it. Sweat had begun to roll down her forehead and sting her eyes by the time she’d removed the bulk of the dirt over a section approximately two foot square. Absently, she brushed at the moisture with the back of her forearm, dropped the trowel and picked up the brush again. A face began to emerge from the centuries of dirt that had settled over the stone carving. “Hey! I’ve found something!” she exclaimed, allowing the excitement she’d been holding at bay to quicken her heartbeat. “A part of a frieze, I think … maybe.” “Hold on! Let me have a look at it!” Dr. Sheffield called from somewhere behind

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her. Irritation flickered through her and she glanced around to see him hurrying toward her. Before she could spit, or object, she was surrounded by rubber-neckers blocking her light. Dr. Sheffield shoved his way through the students and shouldered her aside. “It’s a face. You might be right!” he said, excitement threading his voice. “What do you think, Richard?” The crowd parted for Dr. Richard Oldman, who winced as he settled on his knees beside his younger colleague and peered at the segment of stone. “Could be Toltec, Carl,” he muttered. “It’s hard to say at this point. But it certainly isn’t Incan. Look at the tool marks here.” Slowly but surely edged out of the way, Gaby stood behind them, craning her neck to see as they carefully worked at the dirt around the spot she’d cleared. “There’s a crevice here,” Mark, one of the students pronounced excitedly. “Regular … I think it might be a door.” Dr. Oldman chuckled good naturedly. “There wouldn’t be a door … not made of stone. It’s probably just a fissure, either from shifting of the structure or possibly where the stones were joined.” Mark reddened, his face tightening with anger, but he didn’t argue with Oldman. Instead, he pursued the crack he’d found until he had managed to reveal a perfectly straight line about eighteen inches long. No one said anything when he’d uncovered it. After staring at it for several moments, Oldman and Sheffield got to their feet. “Get shovels and get this dirt removed here. Carefully, though. This may be part of a much larger structure.” Gaby watched them for a while, debating with herself. She didn’t know if she was more irritated that they’d taken over her find and shoved her out of the way, or if it was simply that she was tired of being on the outside looking in. She discovered it didn’t matter, though. As tempted as she was to do as she usually did and simply walk away, she stayed—watching mostly like the born spectator she was—but she at least meant to stick around and see what it was that she’d found and not learn of it second hand down the road when they were discussing it. The diggers struck stone only a few feet below the section she’d found, ruling out the possibility that the segment was a door … unless it had been designed for midgets. The sun had settled well below the tree tops by the time the men had cleared a section large enough for them to see that the rock wasn’t just bedrock. It was worked stone, revealing that the structure jutted outward some six feet before dropping away again. Pyramid like, Gaby wondered? The Aztecs had built those, though, and if it was a pyramid it might well blow Sheffield’s theory out the window … unless it transpired that the Aztecs weren’t actually the first to build pyramids in South America? Mark had doggedly pursued his door theory, she saw, scraping at the dirt and following the line he’d found until he’d discovered perpendicular lines at the top and bottom. Gaby watched him, or rather the relief he was slowly revealing despite the fact that his focus was obviously on tracking down the function of the piece to prove his theory. She wasn’t an expert. Her field was bones, but the style of the carving didn’t look like anything that had previously been attributed to any of the known architects of South

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American civilization. There were symbols around the outer edges of the block, forming a decorative border around the strange face, which she finally decided might not be intended as a face at all, but rather a mask. Deteriorated with age and weather, the symbols weren’t easy to identify, but it looked like all sorts of two headed, many legged beasts. It wasn’t until Mark had briskly brushed the dirt from the surface that she saw it wasn’t monstrous two headed beasts at all. The depictions were of men and women in various sexual positions. Ancient porn? Gaby wondered, feeling a jolt of shock. Setting his brush aside once he’d finished cleaning the piece, Mark began to move his hands over it, pushing along the sides and corners. It clicked in Gaby’s mind that he was trying to pull it loose. Surging toward him, she stepped on a piece of stone that had a hollow ring to it when her boots struck it. She barely had time to register the sound, certainly not enough to time to assimilate the implications of a hollow beneath her. Mark braced himself and shoved at one edge and almost instantaneously the ground beneath her opened. Gaby sucked in a sharp breath as she dropped. Her brain, like the shutter of a camera, registered a still impression of light and still-life people wearing frozen, startled expressions, and then darkness. Her heart leapt into her throat, choking off the ability to scream, and her stomach went weightless as she plummeted downward.

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Chapter Two The freefall was blessedly brief. Gaby’s mind had barely grasped the horrific possibilities when she collided solidly with a smooth, cold surface. She didn’t stop moving, however. She slid down and down, so quickly that it seemed she was sliding at a breath taking speed. It did take her breath. It closed off brain function for many, many dangerous moments before she could even command her body to struggle to stop the slide. For all the good it did. She clawed ineffectually at the slick surface, finding no purchase at all. Her screams, when she finally recalled the breath and inspiration to utter them, echoed back at her at a deafening volume that drowned out every other sound. She didn’t even realize the shaft was curved until the gently curving shaft took a sharp turn that slowed her descent. She’d just had time to register that when the surface beneath her disappeared altogether. She was airborne again for a split second before she slammed into a hard surface, skidded several feet, and stopped. She lay perfectly still once she’d finally stopped moving, trying to gather her wits to mentally inventory her body for injury. Pain finally registered, but it was nothing unbearable. Her palms stung from friction burns. Twinges registered from her chin, one arm, and one knee. She pushed herself up and looked around. Profound blackness so thick it seemed tangible surrounded her. A dim light in front of her was all she could see, but it took her several moments to realize that it was the weak light of a failing day above her, channeled downward by the curving shaft she’d slid down. Grunting, she pushed herself up on her hands and knees and crawled toward the light and the sound of voices. “Are you injured?” It was Dr. Sheffield’s voice, she realized. “I don’t think so,” she gasped, her voice still shaky and hoarse from fright. “No,” she added after a moment. “Just shaken up and scratches. Nothing broken.” Her ankle, she discovered when she tried to get up, hurt like a son-of-a-bitch, but she could put her weight on it. She’d twisted it, but not enough to break or sprain. “Can you climb back up?” She thought about her attempts to halt her fall. “I’ll try.” She did, for all she was worth, keenly conscious of the blackness behind her and the rapidly diminishing light from above. As soon as the shock had begun to subside, her skin had begun to prickle with uneasiness, especially the skin along her back and neck, as if she could feel eyes boring into her. She tried not to think about the possibility of snakes and spiders and scorpions in the pit with her, but her ears pricked for any furtive movements that could be interpreted as death on legs or the slither of a serpent. She managed to crawl up the nearly flat area of the shaft, but she could get no higher. Each time she tried, she slid down again until she was wet with sweat, her

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clothes clinging to her all over. “I can’t,” she acknowledged finally. “The surface is too smooth.” “I’ll look for rope!” someone above announced, though she could tell he wasn’t talking to her but rather someone up top. “Get some lights while you’re at it!” Oldman commanded, his voice raised as if whoever had gone for rope had already moved off. “Could somebody drop a light to me?” Gaby called up. “It’s really, really dark in here.” “Just hold on, Dr. LaPlante! We’ll get you out.” “What do you see?” That was Shelia—not hard to figure out even if she hadn’t been familiar with the voice. There were only two women on the dig. “I can’t see a fucking thing!” Gaby snarled. “Try to stay calm,” Dr. Sheffield said in a soothing voice, reminding her that she had an audience above that consisted of the entire dig team. She didn’t care. Ordinarily, she watched her language, but she’d grown up around rough, streetwise kids at the orphanage. Fostering was like a revolving door. Just about everybody made it out of the orphanage, but they almost always came back, usually more fucked up than before they’d left, angrier, more rebellious, sometimes quieter and more withdrawn, and sometimes sporting bandages and casts. Fuck had been everyone’s favorite word, probably mostly because it sent the dorm mothers into gobbling spasms of shocked outrage every time one of them uttered it. When she’d been very young, she’d envied the ones that got homes. She hadn’t been cute, though. She’d been fat, had flat, listless hair that was so fine it refused to lay down. And she’d had allergies, most of which she’d finally outgrown, but just enough health issues that nobody wanted to be bothered with her. Later, when she’d finally realized what the behavior of the others meant, she was just as glad to stay where she was. She was ignored for the most part, but that beat the hell out of trying to fight off nasty old men looking for sexual playthings, women looking for live-in baby sitters and domestic slaves, and foster parents who took out their frustrations on the children entrusted to their care by beating the living shit out of them whenever they were in a bad mood—or drunk, or high. She didn’t like dark, closed in spaces, though. She tried to tell herself that was why she felt the prickling all over her skin as if eyes were crawling over her. “Is it a large chamber?” That was Dr. Sheffield again. She couldn’t decide whether he thought talking to her would calm her down or if he was more fucking interested in what she’d found than her predicament. “A tomb, you think?” Sheila called down. She was going to plant her foot up that bitch’s ass when she got out, Gaby fumed inwardly. “If you want to know, send me a light down!” she yelled angrily. “Mark and Billy went to get some things. They’ll be back soon,” Carl Oldman told her. “We’ll have you out of there before you know it.” Gaby settled, not because she found his reassurance particularly comforting, but

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because her muscles were starting to ache from the tension of crouching in the narrow opening. The light was rapidly declining. She didn’t realize it at first because it was so bright compared to the thick blackness surrounding her, but as it dwindled she remembered that the sun had been well on its way to the horizon before she’d fallen in. It was twilight above her and before much more time passed it was going to be as black in the shaft as it was in the chamber behind her. Total darkness engulfed her before a bright spot of light appeared above. The light was moving and she realized they must be trying to set up light to see by. A scraping sound alerted her to movement. Her heart clenched painfully before she realized the sound was coming from above not behind her. “We’re lowering a light.” Timely. They could have said so before they scared the shit out of her! But maybe they didn’t realize just how frightening it was to find oneself in a deep, dark hole? She listened intently as the sound moved closer and closer and finally began to feel around for it. Relief flooded her when her hands at last closed around an object that she realized was a camp lantern. “Got it!” she announced, searching blindly for the switch. The light blinded her for a moment. Clamping the lantern between her thighs because she was afraid it would slide away and break, she struggled with the rope they’d used to lower it until she finally untied it. The rope was narrow. “You going to pull me up with this?” she asked doubtfully. “Just wait! I don’t think this one’s long enough.” “I’ve got the end,” she pointed out angrily. “But there isn’t enough left up here to tie it off.” Tie it off to what, she wondered, casting around in her mind to remember anything that had been close enough, and solid enough, to anchor the other end of the rope? Nothing came to mind and a sinking sensation settled in her stomach. Taking the lantern from between her thighs, she lifted it as she turned to survey the dark hole behind her. The light didn’t filter far, illuminating no more than a circle somewhere between five and six feet and not even that very well. She saw a pattern of stones on the floor that told her the floor had been lain tile-like but not much else. “I think this one will do it,” Mark called out just as something hit the side of the shaft above her head. Turning hopefully away from the dismal aspect behind her, Gaby peered up to see a length of rope slithering snake-like toward her. She lurched toward it, grabbing the end. “Can you tie it around your waist?” Gaby tugged at it. “Give it some slack.” Silence greeted that. “There isn’t any,” Mark said finally. “Goddamn it to hell,” Gaby muttered. “What was that?” “Nothing!” she said louder. “I’ve got enough to hold on to. Can you pull me up?” She didn’t get the chance to tell them she did have a firm grip on it yet. Whoever had the other end snatched it from her grip, burning her palm. “Not yet, damn it! I wasn’t ready!”

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From the thud she heard at the top, she deduced that whoever it was had fallen on their ass. The rope reappeared. “This time say ‘ready’ when you’re ready,” Mark called down angrily. A hysterical urge to giggle closed over her. Gaby fought it. “Give me a minute,” she said a little unsteadily. “I have to set the lantern down somewhere.” Scooting out of the shaft, she set the lantern to one side … just in case. If she didn’t make it out, she didn’t want to land on the damned lantern on her way back down. Without glancing around, because she really didn’t want to see what was around her at the moment, she crawled back up the shaft as far as she could, feeling blindly for the end of the rope. Her fingers brushed it. She surged upward with an effort and caught a firm hold on it. Struggling, grunting with effort, she inched upward again, trying to get enough slack to wrap the rope around one hand and grab a hold above that. “I think I’ve got a good grip,” she gasped out finally, adding, “pull slowly,” as she turned and tried to brace her back against one side and her feet against the other. The shaft was just wide enough to make it impossible to get much leverage. Grunting with effort, trying to ignore the burn in her palms from gripping the rope and the strain against her shoulder and elbow joints, Gaby inched upward as they pulled. She’d managed to get just high enough to see the square above her when the rope abruptly went slack. The moment it did, she lost what little leverage she had with her feet against the sides. Uttering a sharp cry, she slid down the shaft and landed on her belly on the hard stone floor at the bottom. “Are you all right?” someone yelled. She didn’t recognize the voice—one of the students. “No, I’m not alright,” she muttered beneath her breath. Groaning, she pushed herself up onto her hands and knees and crawled to the opening. “Not hurt! What happened?” “The rope broke. Guess it’s rotted.” “Well get another one!” she snapped. Silence greeted that demand. She could hear a low voiced conversation above her, but she couldn’t make out what they were saying. Then someone, Mark she thought, muttered just loudly enough she could hear it, “There isn’t another one. I think the natives took the others.” Fear knotted in Gaby’s stomach, and anger. It didn’t seem to have occurred to anybody but her that the reason the Indians were so willing to work for the pittance they were paid was because they helped themselves to whatever supplies appealed to them whenever they pleased. It wasn’t unusual, at all, to go to get something and discover it had mysteriously vanished. The rope that had broken had probably rotted like everything else did in the damned jungle because of the heat and humidity. What the hell was she supposed to do now? “Dr. LaPlante?” “What?” she asked sullenly. “I’m afraid we’re going to have to wait for daylight to try again. Do you think you’ll be all right?” Did she have a fucking choice, she thought a little hysterically? She felt like screaming and cursing them for every low down thing she could think of. It might help her feelings, but it wasn’t likely to alter her situation. “Is there an alternative?” she

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demanded ungraciously. “I don’t think so.” “I guess I’ll have to be, then, won’t I?” “Why don’t you take the lantern and explore the area?” Dr. Oldman suggested, not unkindly. “I’ll make you feel more comfortable, I think, to assure yourself there’s nothing down there to worry about. We’ll be back in a few minutes and drop some things down to you to make you as comfortable as possible.” A ladder was the only thing she could think of that would make her more comfortable. But she knew the ladders, even stacked end to end wouldn’t work. They were straight. The shaft was curved. They didn’t wait for answer. She heard the shuffle above her and the retreat of sounds that left her completely alone. She went limp, resisting the urge to cry like a child abandoned in the dark. When she’d mastered the useless urge, she shimmied down the shaft and picked up the lantern. Lifting the light, she peered around, but she could see nothing but darkness beyond the range of the light. Giving up, she lowered the light and scanned the floor. Reassured when she saw nothing scurrying away, she moved cautiously across the stone floor, testing each two foot square with the toe of her boot before she placed her weight on it. It seemed doubtful there would be another trap within the chamber, but she wasn’t taking any chances. She was deep beneath the surface of the ground, but she could still feel air wafting through the shaft, chasing the mustiness from the stale air that had been trapped inside the temple, or whatever it was, for countless centuries. A pitiful amount of light filtered down through that shaft at the moment, only a less deep gloom from the light of the stars, but it was better than nothing … better than falling down another hole and breaking something. When she paused the third time and lifted the light to look around, she froze in awe. Just at the edge of the ring of light, she saw color, shape, the dim impression of an intricate mosaic. Forgetting the possible hazard of the floor, she held the light up and moved closer. The entire wall was covered in tiny, colored stones. As she moved closer, she lost the perspective to view the design, but she was far more interested in inspecting the stones at the moment. She saw, when she reached the wall and lifted a hand to inspect the surface with her palm and fingertips, that the stones were amazingly crafted, almost as regular as machine cut, or maybe formed tiles. The surface was as smooth as glass. They couldn’t be pottery tiles, she decided. The color was too vivid. Time would have dulled almost anything they could have thought of to use to color them, even if they’d fired the tiles. It had to be naturally colored stones, but it was still amazing that they’d processed them into neat, almost perfectly symmetrical squares, and flat, as if they’d been cut by machinery. The feat of producing the tiles alone seemed impossibly beyond the culture that would have made them. She moved back again after a moment, slowly, until the image began to take form. She could see then that the frieze was like the one on the stone she’d found. Naked couples, entwined in various sexual acts lined the wall as the light revealed image after image. It wasn’t stick-like figures, either. The stones limited the possibility of rounded, more natural looking figures, but these didn’t look primitive, boxy, angular, or disproportionate.

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Some of the positions seemed wildly improbable, but otherwise the picture seemed a determined rendering of nature in action rather than a simple effort to suggest the general idea. She came at last to a corner. Frowning, she tried to remember how many steps she’d taken, but discovered she’d been too preoccupied by the depiction to spare a thought to counting. Her stride was approximately a yard heel to toe, she decided, maybe closer to two feet. She decided to count by twos. She’d taken ten steps when she came abruptly to a darkened alcove. That wasn’t what halted her in her tracks, however. The figure seated on a great stone throne sent a painful shaft knifing through her chest, as if she’d just discovered a living being in the room with her. Carved from some dark stone that was a close enough approximation of brown skin tones to give her heart palpitations, the figure looked to be every bit of ten foot high, seated. She couldn’t see a lot more than the muscular legs and the impressive erection sprouting from his lap, however. The upper portion of the figure remained in darkness. The mammoth erection was a blatant clue of her whereabouts, even if she’d been inclined to dismiss the depictions on the frieze. She’d landed in the temple of some ancient fertility god. A noise behind her jerked her attention from the colossal cock. Whirling, she peered into the darkness. Something thudded against the stone floor. “Gaby?” Irritation went through her when she recognized Mark’s voice. It dawned on her abruptly that he was the asshole that had gotten her into this predicament to start with. He’d been shoving on the stone. It had to be some sort of trigger for the trap door she’d fallen through. And now he was getting all chummy? “Feel free to call me Dr. LaPlante!” she snapped, holding the light out and stalking toward the dim square of light she could see far into the distance as her sight adjusted. The room must be forty feet square, maybe more. No wonder she hadn’t been able to see anything from where she’d landed! Her rush proved imprudent. She slammed into an object sprouting from the floor and nearly chest high, almost losing her grip on the lantern. Uttering an inelegant grunt as her impact forced the air from her lungs, she fell back a step. “Hold on!” she called louder. It wasn’t a wall. By her reckoning the thing was roughly six feet wide and six to eight feet long, approximately three feet high, and flat on top. An altar? A shiver chased its way down her spine. Visions of live, human sacrifices danced in her head. Deciding to ignore the thing for the moment, she moved around it, focused on the square that indicated the opening of the shaft. She nearly fell over the bundle at the bottom. “I dropped a sleeping bag down. There’s another light, a canteen, and food wrapped inside. Did it make it all the way down?” She’d kicked something hard inside. It was a good thing she was wearing boots!

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“Yes.” “Anything else you want or need?” Aside from getting out? “I can’t think of anything,” she said after a moment’s thought. She wasn’t really hungry, despite the fact that she hadn’t eaten since the noon meal and it was already past the time, she was pretty sure, when they usually ate supper. She was thirsty, though. She’d been sweating like a pig while she’d struggled to get out, and panting with fear besides. Her throat and mouth felt like they’d been stuffed with cotton that had soaked up every drop of moisture. She would’ve liked more light, just in case, but they didn’t have a lot of artificial light and they had to conserve it. It was too hard to get batteries for the handheld lights or fuel for the generator that ran everything else so deep in the jungle. “I’ll be fine,” she said finally, hoping she would be and that they wouldn’t find her dead body the next morning. Or find her blubbering like an idiot. “I could stay here for a little while and keep you company if you’d like.” Surprise flickered through her. Guilty conscience, she wondered? “The mosquitoes will carry you off—or suck you dry. But thanks anyway. I think I’ll explore this room a little more now that I have more light.” “You need to be careful with batteries,” he cautioned. “If I have to sit in the dark, I’d like to know what, if anything, is in here with me before the lights go out,” she pointed out. “You sure you don’t want company for a while?” Gaby sighed. “Not unless you want to join me down here,” she muttered under her breath. She decided not to voice the comment loud enough for him to hear it, though. He might take it as a different sort of invitation. “It’s hard to talk like this, but thanks anyway.” She didn’t wait to see if she could hear him leave. Kneeling, she untied the bundle to examine the contents. As she’d hoped, he’d tossed in the small bag of personal items she’d brought with her that included a small jar of petroleum jelly, which she used for everything from chapped lips to scrapes and minor cuts. This was not the sort of place where one wanted to ignore even minor injuries. They were too prone to infection. Settling on top of the bag once she’d emptied it, she examined herself carefully and discovered her pants had torn at the knee on the trip down, which explained the stinging knee. When she’d cleaned the scraped areas—chin, knee, elbow, and palms-with a moist wipe, she carefully applied a thin later of petroleum jelly and then topped it with self-stick bandages to keep from smearing jelly everywhere. It soothed the minor discomfort at once, which brought her mind to another discomfort. She was going to have to squat. She didn’t want to and it had nothing to do with discomfort of desecrating a holy place, pagan or not. But she’d bust a bladder if she tried to hold it till she was rescued. Grabbing the lantern and her tissues, she moved down the wall to the corner, examined the floor and the walls and finally shucked her pants and backed into it. She began to get the prickling sensation of being watched the moment she took her pants off. She cast several glances toward the statute at the other end of the room, certain that must be what was giving her the feeling of being watched. She couldn’t see it of course. The lantern light didn’t reach even nearly that far.

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It made her wonder how and why she’d gotten the sensation of being watched before. She hadn’t known the thing was there at that time. And it wasn’t as if it was a live person. When she’d finished and put her panties back on, she decided against the pants. No one was coming down tonight, and it was too damned hot to wear them when she didn’t feel she needed the protection. Folding them instead, she returned to her sleeping bag. She hadn’t seen a sign of crawlies, but she didn’t like the idea of sitting flat on the floor, or sleeping on it, and laying awake all night so that she’d know if anything crawled on her. The flashlight Mark had sent down to her, she discovered with her first touch of pleasure, was a floodlight. Setting it up, she switched it on and got her first good look at her surroundings, because this light was powerful enough to chase the shadows all the way into the corners and even the shadows weren’t dark and deep—except around the alcove where the horny god sat. After staring at the altar—she knew that must be what it was—that was blocking a good bit of the light, she took the lantern and went to examine it more closely. It was a solid slab, she discovered when she’d waved the lantern over the top. She didn’t see any signs of dark stains that told of a gruesome usage for the thing. Setting the lantern down on top, she went back to gather the rest of her things. When she’d carefully examined each article to make certain nothing had crawled into it, she set them all on top of the altar, then walked around the thing in search of a foot hold to climb up. If it was an altar, she reasoned, it would have a way up. There were several steep stairs carved into the stone on one side, she discovered. Climbing up, she opened her ‘cosmetic’ pouch and pulled out the can of aerosol lubricant she’d brought on the advice of one of her co-workers at the museum. It wasn’t a lovely smell, but by the time she’d sprayed a narrow barrier all the way around the edges of the altar she felt secure in the knowledge that there wasn’t a crawling thing alive that could climb slick stone further slickened with oil. She could sleep. If she could just ignore the god staring down at her. She tried. Climbing up again, she arranged her sleeping bag and drank a little water. The packaged food they usually ate wasn’t great, but it wasn’t bad either. She kept glancing toward the temple god while she ate, still feeling that peculiar sensation of being watched. The floodlight threw the upper portion of his body into bold relief. He was wearing a mask, but instead of blank orbs where the eye holes were in the mask, she could see winking green gems set into carved eyes. Why, she wondered, would any people from this region give their god green eyes? It defied reason when the aborigines were dark skinned and had dark eyes. The mask seemed off, for that matter. Instead of the bizarre faces primitives generally created, the mask was perfectly blank, and the face behind it looked human. The whole lower half of his face was exposed and the nose, mouth, jaw and chin looked like a normal human face. Actually, a better than average handsome human face, she decided. That was strange enough since primitives usually feared their gods and made

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them ‘terrible’ to behold. But the mask seemed to be decorated with peacock feathers. She doubted peacocks had been around that long. They weren’t even native to the continent. Maybe it was just the plumes of a similar bird, though? She wasn’t a wild life specialist. There were probably hundreds of animals that existed now, or had in the past, that she didn’t have any clue about. For that matter, it might not be ‘natural’ feathers. The mask—and she knew the stone mask was very likely a depiction of a mask actually used at some point—might have had eyes painted on it to represent their god’s omnipotence. Shaking her head, she finished her meal, drank a little more water and finally settled in the sleeping bag, staring up at the darkened ceiling above her. Everything about the temple seemed strange. Nothing inside it seemed to follow any of the ‘rules’. Of course they didn’t know that the temple was pyramid in shape since they hadn’t uncovered the whole thing, but the art wasn’t primitive. It looked more modern than Aztec. The god wasn’t clunky and primitive looking. It was all very, very bizarre, she thought feeling strangely tired, foggy headed, almost as if she’d been drinking liquor instead of water. She was just tired, she assured herself. She’d had a shock. It stood to reason after all that emotional upheaval that she’d be exhausted the moment she settled and it all caught up with her. She didn’t actually feel tired and sleepy, though. She felt … drugged.

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Chapter Three He sensed her fear, smelled it even above the musty, stale air of the chamber. It disturbed him that she was afraid, but not enough to make him regret drawing her to him. They were always afraid. He had come to accept that they always would be … of him because he was not as they were and they feared and hated anything that was different from them. They wanted the things that only he could give them, though. They fawned upon him and flattered him until they had convinced him to give it to them, but underneath the smiles and adulteration, beneath the earnest entreaties and promises of appreciation, they still feared him and they hated him. In any case, it was the fear that drew the best, or worst, from them and he had determined long ago that he would never allow himself to be moved by one of them to help again unless he found that they were truly worthy. It did not matter if she feared him. It did not matter if she hated him because he made her afraid. It only mattered that she prove to him that she was worthy of the gift he was inclined to give her. It only mattered if he knew that she would cherish it as it should be cherished. Now he would know if she was as beautiful as he believed she was, or if she had enthralled him, blinding him to ugliness she hid so deeply inside that even he could not see it until she brought it to the light. As she had. The thought rippled through his psyche in a disturbing, unpleasant current, bringing memories with it that he had thought he had buried long ago, memories he had thought had long ago lost their power to bring pain. He was at fault. He had finally had to accept that no one was more to blame than he was for the evil that was done. He had allowed her to blind him. Truth be told, he had wanted her to because he had not wanted to look beyond the beauty of her façade. He had become so enamored with the passion she stirred in him, he had allowed his desire for her to blind him, ignored the instincts that had tried to warn him that it was nothing but a thin façade, poorly disguised at best. And he had entrusted her with the one thing most precious in all the world to him and she had not valued it, had not protected it, had drawn down upon herself the violence that had taken it from him. It made him ill that he had even mourned her loss at all. It annoyed him that the moment he had emerged from the nothingness he had cultivated so long that the memories crept back to haunt him. But they did not have the power they had once had to wound. Time had dulled the ache and Gabrielle had given him something else to focus upon, something that breathed the energy of life and purpose into him. Dismissing the unpleasant memories after only a moment, he watched her and was pleased with her determination to hold her fear at bay, pleased that she mastered it

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and did not allow it to master her, waiting for the moment when she would at last look upon the form he had discarded long ago with the memories he had tried to discard. How would she perceive him? he wondered, feeling a burgeoning sense of anticipation that he did not even recognize for what it was, at first. Would that shell please her as it had seemed to please the others? Or would she find it too … alien to her? It seemed likely, he realized, annoyed at the disappointment that realization spawned within him. She had not liked the people, he realized, and he was once much as they were now. She had distrusted … with good reason. He had not liked the thoughts that flickered through their minds as they watched her either. He had almost been tempted to divert their minds in a wholly unpleasant way. But he had refrained … at least from anything overt. Mostly because he found the thought of entering their minds was far too distasteful, not because he was not tempted to punish them. Gabrielle was a different matter altogether. She drew him like a lodestone. She surprised him when she came at last to study the graven image of the man he once was. He sensed no revulsion in her, no distaste. Instead, he saw that she was curious, intrigued, found pleasure in gazing at the form. She always surprised him. And it was always in a way that pleased him. She’d been afraid long enough. He gave her peace, separation from the fear, because he didn’t want her to be afraid when he came to her. **** A twisting thread of blue light appeared near the ceiling. Gaby stared at the thin string of light in confusion. It must be from the floodlight, she decided, wondering why she hadn’t noticed the effect before now. The impulse struck her to sit up and see if it was a dust mote or something of that sort that caused the effect, but somehow she just wasn’t that interested. When she blinked and opened her eyes again, another thread had joined the first. Now, instead of merely dancing and wiggling, the two lights moved together, entwining sinuously. After watching the strange lights for several moments, she glanced around the ceiling to see if she could determine what was moving to cause the lights to seem to dance. She saw then that there were others, many others, and they were moving around her, rotating almost like a child’s mobile. She followed the movement as far as she could doing nothing more than turn her head and roll her eyes in their direction and then turned to see if the lights she’d first noticed had moved as the other lights had. The lights were longer now, broader. She stared at the bands of light as they drifted downward from the ceiling and began to move along the floor. As the lower tips touched the floor, the lights began to change color, change shape. Blurring, Gaby decided. She closed her eyes, lifting her hands with a great effort and rubbing them. Maybe there were no lights at all, she thought? Her eyes felt gritty with weariness. It could just be her eyes. Or maybe it was her brain? Some sort of spell, low sugar? Low blood pressure? The rhythmic pounding of her blood in her eardrums seemed to alter, ever so

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slightly at first, to a sound more like drums—not blood pulsing through her veins, but hands patting lightly against stretched hide—and then she heard a tinkling sort of noise join the first, rather like a tambourine, in counter to the drums, and a rattle, like seeds shaken inside a gourd. Voices, chanting low at first, joined the beat that was rising steadily, making her pulse quicken. Alarm should have filled her, consternation. Instead, warm currents stirred within her as her heart quickened with burgeoning excitement. A sense almost of breathless anticipation gripped her. Her skin began to prickle with alertness. When she finally opened her eyes again, she saw without either surprise or alarm that the lights were no longer merely lights. People moved around her. They glowed, that same, strange blue light dancing over their naked skin as they writhed together in a beautiful, erotic imitation of acts of lovemaking. The woman she found herself staring at turned to look at her. “Call him. Summon him. He will give you your heart’s desire.” Gaby stared. The woman’s lips hadn’t moved. Summon who, she wondered? Him. Anka. The god of fertility. Anka. Anka. Anka. Call him. He will come to you. Did she want him to come? she wondered as the dancers moved around her, encouraging her … demanding that she respond. The vague sense of excitement and anticipation became more pronounced as she watched them, listened to the chant. It became a sense of urgency. Heat seemed to well within her in waves that grew stronger and stronger. Her skin ached, burned … to be touched, she realized. Her breath, sawing in and out of her lungs became more labored until she was panting for breath, felt heated, dizzying waves washing through her mind. “Anka, Anka,” she whispered, realizing finally that he was what she needed, wanted desperately. Her mouth and lips were dry from her panting breaths. She moistened them with her tongue, tried to gather moisture into her dry mouth. “Anka come to me.” He was standing over her, staring down at her when she managed to pry her eyelids open a fraction. As she stared up at him, her eyes widening, every drop of moisture in her body seemed to gather within her woman’s channel. It wept with need. That nether throat closed with want, thirsted for his caress. He was … magnificent. Dark, golden brown skin stretched over a body of beautifully molded muscle. A leather loin cloth covered his groin and narrow hips. His body V’d outward above his narrow waist and hips to form a broad, well defined chest. Thin strips of leather formed gauntlets from wrist to elbow, accentuating the broad palms and long tapered fingers of his hands and the bulging muscles of his upper arms. Long, impossibly silky looking blue, black hair shifted and moved along his shoulders and chest with each ragged breath he pulled into his lungs almost like the hair was a live thing. The upper portion of his face was hidden beneath a mask, but the sensual curve of his lips made her belly tremble.

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Those lips curled as her gaze finally made its way to them, parting to reveal even, white teeth. Slowly, he sank to his knees until she could feel the weight of his buttocks settle on her upper thighs, could feel the nudge of his engorged cock beneath the loincloth against her mound. Pain and pleasure shot through her in a jolt when he rocked against her. This form pleases you, Moonflower? Confusion flickered through her. Form? And how could she understand him? And why would he call her Moonflower? He leaned toward her, grasping her upper arms lightly and then allowing his hands to skim downward along her arms as he straightened again. A shiver of pleasure skated through her as she felt the faintly rough texture of his skin against her. Surprised to feel anything at all, Gaby looked down at herself and received yet another surprise. She was bare. She’d been wearing her shirt, hadn’t she? She didn’t remember taking it off. He chuckled. I am Anka. With me anything is possible, little Moonflower. Gaby found herself smiling back, felt happiness joining the steaming desire within her. This is just a dream, she realized, a fantastic, erotic dream, but still a dream. He leaned toward her again. This time, though, he braced his palms against the stone on either side of her. She looked up into his eyes, mesmerized by the emerald glints in the thin band that surrounded the wide black pupils of his eyes. A harder wave of heat suffused her. Her nipples, already erect and engorged with blood, began to tingle and throb, sending hard currents of need arrowing through her body to her womb. She caught her breath, groaned as the sensations intensified, spread all over her body with the weight of a touch that wasn’t a touch, as if invisible hands were stroking her all over. Tension coiled in her body. She welcomed it, wanted it, and at the same time, disappointment flickered through her dazed, clouded mind. She wanted his touch. She wanted to feel his hands and mouth on her. She wanted to feel his engorged flesh filling her, stroking the weeping walls of her sex, delving deeply inside of her. He pushed the thoughts from her mind. She wasn’t certain how she knew that he had done it, but she did. She forgot it in the next moment, gasping as she felt his flesh pressing against the mouth of her sex, felt the aching emptiness filled almost to the point of pain, the stroke of his hard flesh along the yielding flesh of her channel. Dizziness swept through her with the intensity of the sensations pounding through her. “You please me, little Moonflower,” he breathed against her ear as he surged into her again, filling her with a trembling urgency that threatened to explode into rapture, “the delicate scent of your flesh, your taste, the softness of your body. The desire you feel for me … stirs a … yearning within me I have not felt in … many years.” “Anka,” Gaby breathed rapturously, struggling against the climax she could feel building toward release. It felt too good to stop. She wanted it to last forever. “What is your heart’s desire, Moonflower? Ask me and I will give it to you.” She couldn’t think. Her mind was a confusing whirl of disjointed thoughts, churning with heat, sparking with fiery, intense sensation. She sensed a demand for an answer, though. “You,” she gasped, realizing the moment she voice it aloud that that was what she wanted more than anything.

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The response startled him. She felt it in the sudden tension surrounding her. It was as if the very air crackled with electricity. She felt a gentle probing within her mind, sensed amusement gathering within him. “That would please me,” he murmured, almost meditively. “I will give you what you are afraid to ask for, believe you can not have.” The words had no sooner filtered into her mind than she felt fiery, almost painful heat flood her belly. Her body seized so hard it crushed the breath from her lungs and then jolt after jolt of rapture sizzled along every nerve ending until blackness welled up around her and swallowed her whole. Gaby’s first awareness was a sense of such supreme well being and happiness that bewilderment filtered through her sluggish mind as it slowly climbed to full awareness and she finally opened her eyes. Darkness surrounded her. Not a complete, profound darkness, but enough that her first thought was that she’d woken wide awake in the middle of the night. A pounding sound drifted to her, resurrecting flickers of memory that she couldn’t quite grasp. “Dr. LaPlante!” There was concern in the voice that struck Gaby as odd at first. Reluctantly yielding up the urge to curl up and enjoy the strange sense of completeness a little longer, Gaby pushed herself upright with an effort. Her eyes had adjusted to the dimness and she saw that she was wearing nothing but her panties and a shirt, lying on a stone platform instead of her cot. “Dr. LaPlante! Gaby! Are you all right?” Memory descended upon her in an avalanche of images. “Yes,” she called out, discovered her voice was hoarse, scratchy, barely audible and cleared her throat to try again. “I’m all right.” Except she had to pee. The thought reminded her of why she wasn’t wearing her pants. Relieved for some reason she couldn’t quite identify to discover she’d removed her pants herself, Gaby glanced around until she located them and moved to the edge of the altar near the steps that led up to it. The crotch of her panties, she discovered, embarrassed, was damp … more than damp, actually. The musky scent of sex tickled at her nostrils as she touched the space between her thighs. The outer lips of her sex tingled, sending a faint throb through her lower belly. My god, she thought in dismay! A wet dream? Frowning, probing her memory gently, she scooted to the edge of the platform until she could feel the cold stone of the first step beneath her toes. Her muscles protested the movements as she climbed stiffly down. Her inner thighs quivered. She’d dreamed … something … something bizarre, she remembered. Her skin prickled all over, the fine hairs on the back of her neck lifting. She glanced toward the darkened alcove where the god sat on his throne, but she found she couldn’t probe the deeper shadows that concealed him. Distracted by that discovery, she glanced toward the floodlight she’d left burning the night before. It was off. Guilt and dismay filled her. She’d left it on and the battery had gone dead. She didn’t know why she even bothered to check it. She supposed it was one of those mindless things one did when one didn’t want to believe, but when she’d pulled her pants on, she strode toward the light as she fastened up her pants. Squatting down, she peered at the thing in the gloom and finally reached for the switch, flicking it in the

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opposite direction. The light blinded her, startled her, and she sat backwards in the dust, twisting her face to one side to avoid the light. When had she turned it off, she wondered, jogging her mind for a memory that remained elusive? Shaking her head with the thought that she must have been far more upset than she’d realized to forget getting up to turn the thing off, she blindly sought the switch and turned it off again. It took many moments for her eyes to adjust to the dimness once more. She sat where she’d fallen, blinking, rubbing her eyes, testing her memory for flickering bits of information that teased at her but determinedly eluded her efforts to grasp them. “The men came back this morning. They’re working on a support we can use to wench you up.” Wench her up? Dismayed, feeling like a cow, Gaby pushed herself up right and got to her feet stiffly, brushing at the dust she’d collected on her pants when she sprawled out. “What about the rope?” she called up to Dr. Oldman when she reached the opening of the shaft. “Enrique found a piece of rope we missed last night,” he responded. There was just enough sarcasm in the statement to suggest the ‘found’ rope hadn’t been found where it was supposed to be. Not that she was going to quibble over it. At least someone had produced it and she could get out. The experience hadn’t been near as terrifying as she’d thought it would be, but she had no desire to spend another night in the temple. “I’m going to test the thing as soon as they have it rigged up … to make sure it will hold you when we pull you up,” Dr. Sheffield offered. Gaby’s lips twisted wryly. Right, she thought, in a pig’s eye. She could hear the excitement threading his voice. He was just anxious to get down and explore the chamber. She was surprised he hadn’t slithered down the shaft behind her the night before. No doubt he’d wanted to be sure there weren’t any dangerous traps in the chamber itself before risking his neck. She didn’t care. She just hoped they hurried. She had to pee and she didn’t want to be squatting in the corner when Dr. Sheffield arrived. She could just imagine his outrage if he discovered she’d pissed in his great find. To her relief, she heard sounds indicating Dr. Sheffield’s imminent arrival only a few minutes later. Moving back out of the way as his booted feet slid into view, she stood to one side as he extracted himself and got to his feet. He didn’t glance at her as he untied the rope that had been looped around each of his thighs to form a sling support. He merely dropped the rope, staring blank faced at the chamber. The rope was snatched upward again before Gaby could grab it. “Hey!” “Just a minute,” Mark called. “I’m coming down, too!” Gaby ground her teeth. Was the whole fucking team coming down, she wondered angrily, to ‘rescue’ her? They were. The moment Mark disentangled himself, he gave the rope a jerk and again it disappeared.

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“Fuck!” Gaby muttered under her breath before she thought better of it. She needn’t have worried. Neither Mark nor the professor gave any indication at all that they’d heard her. Dr. Sheffield had flicked on the floodlight and both men moved like zombies toward the frieze that covered the walls of the chamber. Gaby stared at them irritably for several moments before her gaze was drawn to the figure seated in the alcove. Without quite realizing it, she moved toward him, tilting her head back to stare into his glittering green gaze. Warmth flooded her as she stared up at him. With surprise and more than a little embarrassment, she realized it was desire stirring to life inside of her. Images flickered through her mind that built upon the burgeoning warmth. A shiver went through her as the images became so profound she could almost feel his skin brushing along hers, felt her belly clench as if she could feel his cock surging inside of her. “Anka,” she said on a breath of sound, unaware of the yearning in her voice. “What?” Jolted out of her absorption, Gaby glanced at Dr. Sheffield blankly, wondering when he’d come to stand next to her. “What?” “I thought you said something,” he said absently. “Anka?” Adjusting his glasses, he leaned forward slightly at the waist, as if trying to bring the image into focus. “Is that what he’s holding?” he asked doubtfully. “My god! I believe you’re right! This is … I don’t know what to make of this, to be honest.” Gaby glanced up at Anka’s eyes again, but the odd, almost electric current that had enveloped her before had vanished. “His name is Anka,” she said, rubbing at the ache between her eyes that hadn’t been there moments ago. The comment drew Dr. Sheffield’s attention to her again. He studied her thoughtfully. “You should go to your tent and try to get some rest. I know this has been an ordeal for you.” His concern would’ve been more touching if he’d seemed the least interested in helping her out of the chamber instead of coming down to explore and ignoring her as if she wasn’t even there, Gaby thought irritably. She didn’t argue with him, though, or address the implication that the experience had somehow ‘disturbed’ her mind. Turning away, she moved to the altar to gather up her belongings. She noticed when she climbed down again that Mark had followed her. He barely acknowledged her, however. He was focused on the altar. “What’s this?” Gaby noticed he’d touched the oily residue of the lubricant she’d sprayed on the stone. He was rubbing it between his fingertips. “Oil. I sprayed the stones down last night to make sure scorpions couldn’t crawl into my sleeping bag with me.” His eyes were bulging as he looked directly at her for the first time. “Oil?” She caught the disapproval in his tone. “It didn’t hurt the rocks,” she said dryly, turning and stalking to the shaft and securing her bundle in the rope. “You sprayed oil on the … in this …. You didn’t consider the possibility of damaging something irreplaceable?” Dr. Sheffield demanded, obviously outraged as he moved to examine the edges of the altar. Gaby turned to glare at the man as the workers began hauling her sleeping bag up in response to her tug on the rope. “I consider my health and well being of some importance,” she snapped.

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Instead of responding, he looked around as if searching the room. “I haven’t seen any scorpions in here.” “It’s dark in here,” Gaby responded testily. “Just because you haven’t seen any doesn’t mean there aren’t any.” “But the tomb was sealed,” Mark objected. “It isn’t a tomb,” Gaby shot back. “This is a temple to the fertility god, Anka, and this is the sacred breeding ground.” That statement caught the attention of everyone present. She glanced around at them, feeling more than a little defensive at their expressions. “How did you arrive at that?” Sheila demanded. Gaby gave her a look. “The frieze along the walls?” Sheila’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not stupid. Anyone can see the depictions suggest fertility rites. But how did you arrive at the conclusion that this was the chamber where the rituals were held? If this chamber is any indication, the temple must be massive and filled with dozens of chambers. And how did you get the idea he was called Anka? That’s Egyptian, isn’t it?” Frowning as it sank into her that she had no idea how she knew, Gaby searched for something to say. She’d dreamed it, she realized abruptly, feeling hot color begin to creep into her cheeks. Before she could embarrass herself further, Mark drew everyone’s attention. “Hey! I don’t think this is an altar at all! The slab of rock on top is just resting on the supports. I think this is a tomb!” She’d been sleeping on some dead person’s tomb, Gaby thought, horrified? Having sex on somebody’s tomb, her mind corrected. God! Was that worse than dancing on somebody’s grave?