She got an actual laugh that turned into a cough. Her breath caught in her throat. He really seemed worse off than she was.
“Willy-nilly?” There was more of that velvety masculine amusement. “I hear all kinds of phrases up here, use a few of them myself, but ‘willy-nilly’ coming out of your mouth was unexpected.”
“At random. I’m asking if you just go around shooting anyone at random. That’s what ‘willy-nilly’ means.” She did her best to sound snippy, but it was impossible when she wanted to laugh.
“Let me give this a little thought.”
“Usually, if a person is going to lie, they think things over. And I already know the answer. I’m going to keep you talking so you don’t fall asleep.”
“I’m not dead.”
“How would I know? You don’t make a sound. You don’t even snore. Can’t you at least do that? You’re gorgeous. You killed those five men trying to rape and kill me in like under five seconds, prepared us a shelter, gave me blood, operated and set everything up for me so I’d have anything I needed at my fingertips. That’s brilliant in my opinion.”
“You’re good for my soul, Warrior Woman. Coming from you, who I have all the respect in the world for, it means something that you think I’m brilliant.”
He fell silent again, and she listened to his breathing. Just the sound, like his heartbeat, was reassuring to her, even when it continued to sound a little ragged. She wrapped herself up in his compliment. She had heard the honesty. He respected her and had no problem saying so. Meaning it. No one had ever complimented her. Not a single person. He called her “Warrior Woman,” and not in a sarcastic, demeaning way. He meant that title out of respect. Once she thought he might have used “my” in front of “Warrior Woman.” She would have liked that a lot if it was true. That made no sense at all to her, but she admitted she was a little screwed up at that moment. Still, she kept her hand on his wrist, staying connected to him.
“Forgot to tell you, old man Gunthrie perpetuated his own myth.”
That voice. Like black velvet caressing her skin. She needed it there in the darkness. She could even admit she was afraid. She rarely allowed herself to feel fear. It wasn’t of dying or being alone—she’d been alone all her life—but she felt totally vulnerable and helpless. She knew the other men in the unit sent after her would be returning, and they would never stop hunting her when they discovered the bodies of their companions.
“The gigantic hornet. It would come to his call and land in his meadow, that little clearing where he planted all the wildflowers for Lotty,” Diego continued in his mesmerizing voice.
Goose bumps formed on her skin, but it was the unfamiliar longing that made her want to turn her body toward his, wrap him in her arms and hold him close so he couldn’t possibly slip away from her.
“He had all the kids terrified, but we’d sneak out and try to make our way down the mountain to get a glimpse of the hornet when we knew it was around the time it was most likely to show up.”
She forced herself to go along with his story. She was interested, especially since it had to do with her uncle, but more to keep him alert and talking. “The hornet was on a schedule to greet my uncle?”
“Give or take a day or two. It was always risky to go, especially at night in the forest, even if you know it well. But we were boys and we had to be brave. Our courage may have been fueled by moonshine.”
His little grin revealed a crease at his mouth that intrigued her.
“We grew up on ghost stories and the various folklore from different parts of the Appalachians. The scarier, the better, and we all believed. Luther was a legend all by himself even without the giant hornet with its glowing eyes. Put those two together and his reputation grew until he was all but mythological himself.”
Not only did Diego sound amused, but he sounded respectful. She considered that he didn’t realize how much he admired her uncle.
“The rumors continued to grow that gigantic flying insects would land on the property, right in Lotty’s meadow, and Luther would duck his head to avoid it being bitten off, lean against the creature and pet it while he communed with it.”
A giggle slipped out. She hastily pressed her fingers over her mouth, shocked at the sound. She’d never giggled in her life. She didn’t even know how.
“Is that what everyone said?”
“Whispered. It was old man Gunthrie. He scared the bejesus out of everyone, adults and children alike. We were all told to stay clear of his land. He was likely to shoot and bury you so no one would ever find the body. Or some thought he might eat the bodies.”
“Eww.” She wrinkled her nose. “No one really believed that, did they?”
“Of course we did. At any event where the boys got together, we’d talk about Luther and the gigantic hornets. We were sneaking moonshine, and that added to our stories and courage. I was about eight or nine, so the idea of creeping up on the old man without being detected was the ultimate challenge, especially if he had his army of gigantic hornets.”
“You drank moonshine at eight or nine?” She didn’t know why that shocked her, but it did.
“Naturally. Did a lot of things at eight and nine.” The laughter faded from his voice.
She wanted it back. Clearly, his memories of his childhood weren’t all happy. “Did you ever manage to sneak up on him and catch him with the hornets?”
“I saw the hornet a time or two from a distance through trees and shrubs. It looked like a yellow-and-black body with a long tail that spun at the end. The front of him was a bubble of black and yellow. His wings were on top of his head and spun instead of flapped.”
“You said the eyes glowed. Every monster up here has glowing eyes.”
