Chapter 18

18

Bea

B ea’s toes caught on an exposed root, sending her flying forward.

She caught herself at the last instant and regained her footing, clamping her teeth together to stop herself from crying out loud.

“You okay?” Slate asked gruffly from behind her. No, not gruffly. He’s just tired.

When he’d said he’d take care of Rogue, what he meant was, he’d carry Rogue on his shoulders. So that’s what he’d been doing. Bea didn’t know how long they’d been running and was too afraid to ask. But it felt like hours. And the entire time Rogue had lain there, unconscious, draped against his friend’s back. He hadn’t stirred, which scared Bea more than she wanted to admit.

What if he dies. What if ? —

She stifled a sob.

“You okay?”

Bea wiped at her eyes with the back of her hands clumsily before turning back to look at Slate.

They’d stopped only once, for a few minutes—not nearly long enough for her to catch her breath but long enough for him to take off his priest’s cassock, which he’d rolled up and stuffed in a slim black backpack he’d been wearing on his back.

Now, he was dressed all in black. A black T-shirt, straining around his thick pecs and shoulders, pants that hugged his muscled legs. A black belt around his hips held two guns.

In any other situation, Bea would have been scared of the man. But Rogue trusted him. And right now, she was just grateful he was strong enough to carry Rogue.

He seemed to be waiting for an answer from her.

Am I okay?

Her feet were killing her. She eyed his boots enviously. Her shoes were not designed for traipsing around a jungle that was becoming thicker with every step they took. Thicker and darker .

She didn’t want to admit how much the dark scared her. This was the second time in a matter of days that she found herself in the jungle. But the last time had been less scary. She’d been walking with Rogue. She’d felt safe … protected.

This time, Rogue was hurt. Because of her. If her uncle and Aguilar caught up with them, they wouldn’t take them back to the house. They’d shoot them and leave their bodies here for animals to feast on. She stumbled again. This time, she wasn’t able to stifle her cry of pain.

“We’ve gone far enough for now,” Slate said, sighing. “Let’s stop here.”

“I can keep going,” she said. She wasn’t sure she was telling the truth, but she didn’t want to be the reason Rogue died.

“You need to rest. I can’t carry both of you out of here. Besides, I need to look at Rogue’s wounds. Out here, infection can set in fast.”

Infection.

Slate set Rogue down gently on the ground and proceeded to poke, prod and disinfect each of Rogue’s wounds. Through it all, Rogue didn’t stir.

“Shouldn’t he be?—”

“It’s okay,” Slate said. “His body needs rest. He’ll wake up when he’s ready.”

Bea bit her lower lip. “I want to help,” she said. “How can I help?”

Slate’s cold blue gaze looked her up and down. “Spread this antibiotic salve on the worst burns. I’ll set up the tent in the meantime.”

Tent. The word sent a chill through her.

He expects us to sleep out here.

“We will spend the night here. Rogue’s running a fever. We need to bring it down.”

“If my uncle find us, he’ll kill us.”

He’ll kill Rogue.

Somehow, that seemed the more intolerable thought. Rogue deserved to live.

“They won’t find us,” Slate said. Bea tried to take courage from the certainty in his voice. “I’ve been covering our tracks, and we’re heading in the opposite direction of the one they’d expect us to go in.”

“But where do we go afterwards? How will we get out of here? Any villages we go to, there will be people who are loyal to my uncle.”

“We’re not going to any villages. Tomorrow morning, we’ll be picked up by the helicopter.”

Helicopter? Just who the hell are these people?

Bea shook her head. It didn’t matter. They would save Rogue, and whatever happened to her afterwards was less important somehow.

“You okay?” he asked again. He was getting annoying with his questions.

Bea nodded. A lie, but she was good at lying. She’d been doing it for a long time. And the man wasn’t really asking her if she was okay . He was asking if he could leave her alone with Rogue, or if she was going to break apart the moment he left.

“I’m okay,” she said firmly.

A t some point, she was going to have to admit she wasn’t okay.

Her eyes scratchy with fear and lack of sleep, Bea dipped the warm rag with the only vaguely cooler water from her water bottle, using it to bathe Rogue’s forehead.

She’d been at it for hours now and, beyond a soft groan here or there, he hadn’t woken up or made a sound. In the soft light from the lantern hanging in one corner of the tent, his skin had an almost grayish tint.

The tent was small. Slate hadn’t come inside with them, and Bea had the feeling it was because he hadn’t wanted to crowd her.

Suddenly, Rogue stirred. For the first time since he’d lost consciousness, his gray eyes opened. Her heart hammered against her chest.

“Rogue!”

“Run … We have to run.”

He tried to sit up, but she pushed him back down, careful with the bandages on his chest. Even in his weakened state, it took all her strength to keep him down. “Don’t try to get up. We’re safe. Slate is right outside.”

He blinked, and some of the haziness left his eyes.

“How are you feeling?”

Bea’s eyes filled with tears. She blinked them back quickly, overwhelmed by his concern.

“Slate got us out. He’s the one who carried you all this way.”

Rogue swallowed. “The priest. I remember.”

That has to be a good sign. That has to be— She didn’t get any further before Rogue pulled her forward until she was lying on top of him. His arms wrapped around her, enveloping her in a cocoon of strength and safety.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said, pressing his lips to hers. It was the softest pressure, but it made her tingle all the way down to her toes. She’d thought often of what her first kiss would feel like but, now that it was happening, there was no thinking—only feeling. Everything she was, everything she could ever be, suddenly distilled into a closeness with another human being that she’d never imagined possible.

His tongue licked softly around her lips. She gave a little sigh, and her lips opened reflexively, letting him in. Pleasure soared. Nothing—nothing—had ever felt this right before.

Emboldened by the pleasure, her own tongue found its way inside his mouth. She took her time exploring. Then he deepened the kiss, and she realized she wasn’t in control. This wasn’t like in the books she’d stolen from the library, where kisses were gentle and friendly. This was a furnace of desire, awakening—It took her a moment to realize the heat wasn’t just desire. Rogue was burning up. His fever.

She pulled back and looked into his eyes. They were clear, but already hazier than they’d been moments earlier. He blinked, then blinked again, as if suddenly struggling to stay awake.

Embarrassment hit her, then. That the first kiss in her life, to which she was attaching such meaning, would be to a man who wouldn’t even remember it.

But oh, the man could kiss. If this was him now, what would he kiss like when he was healthy?

Throughout the night, Bea continued bathing his forehead with the damp cloth, aware that this might be more for her benefit than his. Every few hours, Slate poked his head inside and forced some pills into Rogue’s mouth but it felt right to bathe his forehead. And Rogue’s sighs whenever she touched him—and it was hard to find spots to touch him that weren’t marred by wounds or bruises—let her know she was doing the right thing.

At some point, she fell asleep, holding on to his hand—needing that contact more than air itself.

Slowly, light began filtering through the tent’s thick fabric. Rogue’s breathing was steadier now. She touched his forehead with the back of her hand and for the first time didn’t feel him burn.

The tent’s zipper pulled open. It’d startled her, the first few times it’d happened during the night, but not anymore. Bea moved to the side to make space for Slate’s head and shoulders.

She laughed to think she could ever have mistaken this huge beast of a man for a priest. And yet, he was gentle with Rogue. Gentle, calm, and efficient. She felt herself relax as she watched him.

“You’re a doctor?” she asked hopefully.

“A medic,” he replied.

“In the Army?”

He didn’t confirm, but his shoulders tensed visibly.

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to pry.”

“It’s okay. You’re not prying. I just can’t talk about it.”

Eventually, he looked up at her. For the first time, a slow smile tugged at his lips. “He’s doing better. We’ll let him sleep as long as possible, but we need to get going soon. I’ve identified a possible pickup spot for the team to meet us.” He spoke in a matter-of-fact tone, but his words made Bea shiver.

“How far do we have to go?” Bea asked. Her feet, in the soft slippers she’d been wearing, were killing her. The thought of having to walk much further made her want to cry.

Slate seemed to consider his answer for a long instant. “At the pace we were moving yesterday, four hours, give or take.”

Four hours. Tears appeared at the corners of her eyes. She blinked them away angrily and clenched her teeth together.

“We need to be there before the helicopter gets there. It would be dangerous for them to hover in the area any longer than the time it takes for us to get on.

Bea nodded bravely. “Okay.” She wasn’t going to be trouble. She wasn’t going to give this man a reason to leave her behind. Whatever happened, she wanted to stay with Rogue.