Читать книгу Her Last Protector - Jeanie London, Jeanie London - Страница 11

CHAPTER THREE

“DAMN,” DREW SAID ALOUD, not bothering to rein in his frustration.

The tracks were fresh, and the snow came down so hard and fast, he had almost missed them. Inspecting the ruts, he followed the trail until determining that four snowmobiles had passed along this ridge. Probably not more than ten minutes ago.

Given the altitude and climate conditions, Drew was willing to bet no sports enthusiast would be up here snowmobiling for kicks. No, he was looking at a second group of thugs patrolling points of egress. The terrain was difficult, essentially ineffective for launching a surprise attack on a funeral procession. Most likely these snowmobiles had carried scouts searching for the missing princess.

Did they know about the tunnel? Would they be back?

These were the only questions that interested Drew right now. And who was behind these well-organized thugs? Were they Slovakian, too? Drew didn’t have a clue and knew General Bogdanovich likely wouldn’t, either.

“Damn, damn, damn.”

Gusting wind drowned out his frustration. Heading back to the tunnel, he used a branch to sweep away his tracks. Not that anything would be visible for long with this storm, but his boots were doing a helluva job marking his trail. He would have to assume the snowmobiles would be back, but with any luck the storm might slow them down a little.

It was certainly deterring him, and his options were narrowing by the second. He couldn’t use his two-way radio to contact the general. He would be lucky if he could transmit over a mile in these conditions, and couldn’t risk an intercepted transmission anywhere close to these snowmobile tracks.

As near as he could tell, the snowmobiles had headed in the most direct route back to civilization, which left him with the next problem—Mirie wouldn’t last long in this weather. They had dressed for a funeral, not for prolonged exposure to the elements, and she had already been fighting the effects of shock when he’d left her. He needed to get her safe and warm because he didn’t see any alternative but riding out the time it took the general to secure the area and retrieve them. Drew needed an alternate plan B.

Shoving up his coat sleeve, he glanced at his watch and made out the compass display. Visibility was getting crappier by the second. There was a place where they might hole up safely, but he would have to get Mirie there, and that wouldn’t be easy. The terrain was tough in good weather. Of course the storm would complicate travel for the enemy, too. That much was a plus.

Drew trudged back, unhappy with his choices. He hadn’t been gone five minutes total, but after crawling back inside the tunnel, he took in the sight of Mirie, safe, like a punch to the gut.

She still stood with her arms wrapped tightly across her chest, as if trying to fold in on herself to contain warmth. But Drew knew by one glimpse of her lovely face that she struggled. She would hide it. She would strap on her courage like Kevlar, but she was struggling hard right now. He could see it in the raw edges of her expression, the haunted eyes she lifted to his, the shuddering breath that echoed between them.

He had to get her to safety.

“Any problems?” he asked.

She shook her head, sending wisps of hair dragging along the fur collar, but she didn’t reply.

She couldn’t. Not without revealing her chattering teeth.

Crossing the distance between them with a few strides, Drew yanked off his own gloves and dug into his pocket.

“Any word from the general?” he asked.

She shook her head again. He hadn’t expected a transmission, but Mirie could use a distraction. He found the package of heat packs. They were small, the perfect size to fit inside a glove or a boot. He had hoped to conserve their few supplies, since these heat packs only had a short life span. Six minutes tops. She couldn’t wait.

Not optimum since she hadn’t been outside yet. She watched him curiously as he worked the packet to create a chemical reaction that activated the heat.

“Put this inside your glove.” He handed her the first, then went to work on the next. “It’ll help.”

She did as instructed and gave a small smile. “S-so what’s the plan?”

“How are you holding up?”

“Fine.” Her teeth let out an audible chatter and she rolled her eyes. “Freezing to death, b-but that’s because I’m standing around waiting to get shot.”

Drew eyed her narrowly and made the decision. “If you can handle a bit of a hike, then we should go for it. I’m not much for standing around waiting to get shot, either.”

That brought a smile to her lips, which hadn’t yet turned blue. A good sign.

“The village?” she asked.

“Not yet.”

She didn’t ask for details, didn’t want them. Mirie understood limitations better than most people. What did details matter right now when she couldn’t do anything to help?

He knew what her answer would be.

His own hands were warmer, so after giving her the second packet, he pressed his fingers to her chin. Her eyes widened in surprise, but she followed his urging and tilted her face to the side. Her skin was chilled and smooth beneath his touch, not waxen or stiff. No outward indication that her body temperature was dropping low enough to concern him. Yet.

Tucking the stray hairs into her hat, he withdrew the audio transmitter. “Thanks for hanging on to this for me.”

“Glad I didn’t need it.”

“Me, too.” He let his fingers trail from her face, forced his gaze to her gloved hands. “Any better?”

“Much. Do you want to use them, too?”

“You hang on to them. They can be reactivated with boiling water.” Which would require fire and a pot. There was definitely plenty of snow around to melt. Drew would save the rest of the heat packets for the other end of their hike to hold her over while he got a fire going. Hopefully they would be enough.

“Ready?” he asked.

“Rather dodge the bullets than wait for them.”

He liked that about her. Even as a young girl, she’d always been up for a challenge.

Drew surveyed the area again before he helped her out of the tunnel. Their path was clear and the snow fell steadily, no worse than before.

This was luck, and he would take all he could get. He shoveled debris against the hole to conceal their exit, trusting the snow to finish up the job. Using his belt, he created a leash of sorts to connect them, and then retrieved the branch he had used to cover his tracks.

He had to keep a close eye on his compass. This forbidding gorge wasn’t on the radar for people making their way through the mountains since it led to one of the highest peaks in the region. Not even sports enthusiasts appreciated this gorge, which was nearly impossible to descend without rappelling gear, and the narrow width made it hardly worth the effort. But there was shelter there, and a safe place to hide Mirie.

Drew had found it for exactly that reason. He had been trained by the man who had held the post of close-protection guard for two Ninselan kings. The man had been old, but he had taught Drew that the most important rule for protecting royals, was to know all the good hiding places.

Oskar would be rolling over in his grave right now because Drew hadn’t known about the altar. Or maybe Oskar was getting a good laugh, since he had probably been the one who had told Geta about the hideaway in the first place.

His former mentor had once delighted in sending Drew out to find the cleverest hiding places he could come up with. Then Oskar would shoot holes in every one.

He had liked the cave in the gorge, though.

He had shot holes in it, of course—too far away, too tough to access, not enough natural resources—but had also conceded that it would be a damned good hiding place if one could get to it.

Drew watched Mirie for outward signs of exhaustion. She trudged along with her head bowed against the weather, the weather cloak snapping around her as the winds picked up.

Their luck had held until now, but Drew finally abandoned the effort to cover their trail. Instead he motioned Mirie to grab the other side of the branch. Together they lifted it high enough to create a sort of windshield to block the falling snow and give him some visibility.

He couldn’t miss the outcroppings that would signal the entrance of the gorge. They were close. He could sense it even though he hadn’t been in these mountains in six years. And when they finally came upon it, Drew very nearly stumbled in. The snow concealed the sharp slope, and he took a step into nothingness. His feet shot out from underneath him and the branch went flying, jerked from Mirie’s grip. She gasped his name, and he would have dragged her over with him, if not for the tree limbs he managed to catch himself on.

“Grab the branches,” he shouted. “We have to climb down.”

Unfortunately, climbing down also meant dislodging snow. The snow seeped into the hood of his poncho like frigid fingers of ice. And they had to keep climbing until he could locate the cave ledge, which ran a good seven meters along the ridge. He had a strong sense of how far down it was, and when he caught the edge of it with his boots, he was relieved to discover that they had come down practically in the middle.

“Step down, but don’t let go of those branches,” he instructed Mirie.

She clung to the boughs until he cleared the cave access, digging and kicking through hard-packed snow. When he could finally scramble inside, he used a laser for a cursory check of the interior, relieved to find the cave was empty and dry.

“Come on.” He helped Mirie disentangle herself from the branches and crawl safely across the ledge.

The access was low, and he crawled in behind her, paying attention to her movements, looking for signs of exposure.

She seemed to be moving normally as she sank back on her haunches and asked, “How on earth did you find this place?”

“Dumb luck.” Drew directed the light so he could see her face. “Everything wet has to come off right now.”

She nodded, her skin translucent, her lips pale. She was freezing. He reached for her hand, tugged off first one glove then the other before digging through his pockets for the last of the heat packets.

“Wet clothes off first. Then activate these. They’ll help until I get a fire going.” He searched her gaze. “Understand?”

“Yes.”

Drew headed outside to search for spruce branches his boot knife could handle. Mirie had called him prepared, but he wasn’t. He carried basic survival items necessary in these mountains and a few extras—training from growing up on a lot of acreage with several generations of Canadys.

“Drew boy, you never know what to expect. Life’s always throwing surprises at you, so be prepared,” his great-grandfather had told him back in his other life.

That early training had come in handy in the Marines Special Forces and as an agent stationed in a mountainous region, and Drew didn’t take long to shave the branches into kindling he could light with the fire striker he kept on his key ring. The sap from the spruce would burn despite the wet wood.

He returned to find Mirie sitting with her back against the wall. She had removed only her hat and cloak and was fumbling with her boots. Even in the dark, he could see that her pants were wet all the way to midthigh. Her eyes were heavy-lidded, her efforts sluggish. Her body temperature was dropping, and he had to get this fire going fast.

“Get those clothes off,” he barked more harshly than he’d intended. “Unless you want my help.”

She growled impatiently in reply and tugged off a boot with what appeared to be monumental effort.

Drew set down the kindling, ditched his outerwear and fished out the remaining weather cloak.

“Wrap this around you. I’ll have the fire going soon.”

They were deep enough into the gorge that the smoke should dissipate before reaching the top of the ridge. The storm should be grounding any aircraft. Even that transport copter. He was risking a fire regardless. If he didn’t get Mirie thawed out, he wouldn’t have a princess to keep safe until the NRPG came after them.

The fire took some coaxing, repeated efforts with wet branches that would only burn because of the sap.

“You doing okay?” he asked, prompting Mirie while he willed the flames to ignite. They needed heat and light fast.

Only when he had coaxed a small blaze to steady life did he dare turn his attention away. “Come on. Get warm.”

“Okay,” Mirie said, but made no move to get up. So Drew went to her and found her fists still wrapped around the heat packets. Her boots were off, but she hadn’t even removed the cloak from the packaging.

“Let me help.” He made quick work of the poncho, then began the exquisite torture of helping her undress.

“I can do it.” She resisted as he peeled a sock away.

“I know,” he said mildly, massaging her slim foot between his fire-warmed hands, feeling the smooth skin, watching her reaction. “But humor me. How does that feel? Any pain?”

She shook her head, but he didn’t believe her and shifted to view her foot in the firelight. Her skin was red and icy.

“We can handle frostnip, Your Royal Highness. Let’s get these wet pants off. Trust me, you’ll feel better.”

She struggled to keep her eyes open, and made a few fumbling efforts to unfasten her waistband.

Drew couldn’t wait. He moved in to help, and she didn’t resist this time, which told him everything he needed to know about her condition. He unfastened the hook, then worked the pants over her hips, dragging her thermals along for the ride. She made several halfhearted attempts to assist by lifting her hips, but Drew barely noticed. Not when his fingers brushed her sleek skin as he peeled away the fabric, revealing a barely there thong and never-ending pale legs.

His breath galvanized in his chest at the sight of her nearly naked from the waist down, and ended that particular torture fast by draping the cloak over her middle.

With a hand behind her shoulder, he urged her to lean forward. “The coat now.”

“Okay, okay.” She swatted at his hands.

Her impatience should have been a good sign, but he knew Mirie. She would have to be unconscious to accept help without resistance. And sure enough, she leaned forward and practically melted into his arms, boneless. Suddenly, he was overwhelmed by her, the feel of her body against him, the scent of her with his every sharp breath, the awareness of her bare legs so pale in the firelight.

Only knowledge of her weakness helped him focus on survival right now. Her collar was as wet as his own, so he tortured himself by dragging the shirt over her head, exposing the swell of her breasts and the sleek terrain of bare skin, her hair falling around her shoulders.

“Come on. Let’s get you closer to the fire. You’ll warm up. I promise.”

She only nodded, her teeth chattering audibly, so he sat back on his haunches and lifted her against him. Dragging the cloak around her, he carried her to the fire. She curled up in the warm glow, and he watched her, unsure how much of her sleepiness was exposure or shock.

He made quick work of his own wet clothes. Everything had to go. Thermals. Shirt. Pants. The lining of his coat was in fairly decent shape, so he kept that on. Mirie might not care now, but she would come back to life when she warmed up. He didn’t want their relationship to get weird. He counted on the professionalism between them. A lot.

After setting up a blockade of stripped branches at the cave’s entrance, he was content that they would be alerted to any disturbance. Then he went back to the fire.

Mirie was still curled in a pathetic ball, her teeth rattling louder than the crackling fire.

No, he hadn’t been adequately prepared, no matter what she thought. Not when all he had to protect her was a poncho and a small fire and himself. Not when all he could do was sit down beside her and say, “Let me in.”

He pulled her into his arms and curled his body around hers. She sighed, nestling against the meager warmth he offered, resting her head against his shoulder, burying her face in his throat. He dragged the cloak around them, tucked her fingers into his armpits and willed himself with every fiber of his considerable self-control not to react to the feel of this near-naked woman in his arms. No other woman would test him this way, only this woman. But he would not react.

Even if it killed him.

And with the feel of her soft curves against him, the scent of her hair filtering through him with every breath he took, Drew thought it probably would.

They had come to Alba Luncă for a funeral.

* * *

SUFFOCATING DARKNESS, THE KIND with the blackest shadows, was where fear liked to hide.

The soft voice that sang such sweet songs, the voice that brought love to life during those scary, drowsy moments before sleep, was suddenly ragged and hysterical, almost unrecognizable through the fear.

Even in Mirie’s worst nightmares, all the terrors Stefan and Petre said hid in the shadowy places under her bed had never hinted at this sort of fear that made her want to bury her head beneath the blankets and never come out. Not ever.

This was fear like she had never imagined.

How could she have? Her life was filled with laughter. The soft voice of her mama tinkled with laughter and scattered worries like the courtyard fountain splashed water on the tiles.

She had never, ever heard anyone scream with such fear.

That fear paralyzed Mirie, made her eyes squeeze shut and her hands shake. Choked her. No, that was Nanny, smothering her with knotted old fingers and a bony chest. Nanny’s hissing voice shushed Mirie in the darkness, demanded silence, but Mirie was sure she would never make a sound again, not with Mama’s hysterical pleas in her ears. Desperate, agonized screams.

“Not my babies. Not my babies.”

Tat-tat-tat-tat-tat.

Then silence.

* * *

MIRIE AWOKE. FOR A stunning moment, all she could see was red. Red so violently bright, swelling and dripping, as if the world had erupted in a geyser of blood.

With the breath locked tight in her chest, reality receded, and no matter how hard she tried to grasp it, there was distance between the scene before her eyes and the awareness in her head. She could only feel the rapid-fire thudding of her heart, ready to erupt in another geyser of blood.

Tat-tat-tat-tat-tat.

Her heart throbbed so hard it hurt, trapped with the breath in her chest, a weight crushing everything inside her, pressure so great she would die because she couldn’t breathe.

But there was no death here. No!

One word finally penetrated her awareness, and the vision faded, bleaching the memory to dusty shades of gunmetal and smoke. The way she felt inside.

There was no impending eruption, just the pounding of blood in her ears.

And a long-ago nightmare.

Mirie drew a shuddering breath that dispelled the pressure the tiniest bit. She remembered.

Bunică. Men with guns. The dead priest.

And Drei. She felt his strong body tight around her, his arms holding her securely, the cloying warmth of heat and skin.

The pounding of another heartbeat beneath her cheek. Only his heart beat solid and steady, as if wanting to set the example for her own, reminding her not to panic.

But calm seemed beyond grasp, even though she was so much warmer now. There was no gunfire in the crackling quiet. Nothing to fear in Drei’s arms.

His face rested on the top of her head, so heavy her neck arched beneath the weight. Given the pace of his breathing, she thought he might be dozing.

She would do nothing to disturb him or this moment. Not until she had regained control of herself. The nightmares were no stranger. But she had not had one in a long time. She shouldn’t be surprised to have one now, back in this place of so many memories. A place where she had once had a life.

A life Mirie had once dreamed of, simple, intimate, but filled with so much love.

She should feel something for the loss, shouldn’t she?

She was wrapped nearly naked in a man’s arms. Such an occurrence hadn’t happened since her high-school boyfriend. She remembered the strong warmth of a man’s arms, the intimacy of skin against skin.

Shouldn’t she feel something?

Gratitude. Embarrassment. Awkwardness. Something.

Nothing.

A twig snapped, sending sparks raining over the flames, a swelling of light that made the surrounding darkness darker. Two people in a cave buried beneath a mountain of snow. They could be the only two people alive in the world. They could die here and who would find them before they withered to ash and bone?

Thanks to the media, many would notice her passing, but none would really care. Mirie didn’t even know if Drei would be missed. She had seen no evidence of a life in all these years they’d been together. She was his work, and his life it seemed.

Her heartbeat wouldn’t slow down. Her thoughts raced with what-might-have-beens and what-could-never-bes. Mirie had no patience for self-indulgence. Maybe the adrenaline that had fueled the nightmare had sparked this overwhelming loneliness, or maybe it was simply because Drei held her in his arms.

A man and woman mimicking intimacy.

She willed herself to calm down, but couldn’t grasp the edges of this panic. She was a woman who could lie in a man’s arms, surrounded in the warm cocoon of his hard body, smooth and settled with years of muscle, so unlike the boy in her memory. She remembered.

Drei held her like a man comfortable with a woman in his arms. Not too eager. Not overly impressed. Just easy.

But she only felt alone.

She didn’t want to be this woman, to pass from her life as Bunică had, only with many more years ahead, trudging through day after day, enduring, existing, knowing only duty, and obligation, and emptiness, feeling dead inside.

Until death claimed her for real.

Tat-tat-tat-tat-tat.

The fire sputtered, and Mirie stiffened at the sound. Drei exhaled heavily, a man who didn’t want to be disturbed, but who was attuned to her slightest motion, even in sleep.

Definitely asleep.

His breath fluttered against her ear, a slight burst of warmth she may not have noticed except for the way it caressed such sensitive skin. A velvet touch that reached down deep inside and drew the faintest reply.

A tingle low in her belly.

An echo of something she had forgotten.

She leaned into Drei, not wanting to disturb him yet desperate to know if the sensation was real or her imagination.

That one tiny feeling accomplished what she hadn’t been able to do on her own. Her breathing finally slowed, her pulse stilled, as if every fiber of her focused.

Drei’s breaths came soft and even, as solid as the man himself. But she felt nothing, heard only the crackling fire. Mirie held her breath and leaned in a bit more....

There it was again. A tingle that made her insides hum, a fragile tremor as if someplace deep inside her yawned, shrugging off a long sleep.

More like a coma, actually, but not death.

Not death.