Bo, who clearly didn’t like the sound of the aircraft any more than Leo did, scurried into the woods, hunched close to the ground. She barked once, as if to say,Come on, you silly bastards! Hide from the big scary thing!
Whatever he said next couldn’t be heard above the sound of the helo, though she assumed it was something likeWhatever, lady, because he followed her up the rocky lake’s edge, toward the woods. It wasn’t until they’d made shelter that she spotted her pack. It sat right beside the water, about twenty-five yards from where they stood, disgorging items like some kind of beached monster.
If the team in the helicopter spotted the bag, they were dead.
Without a second thought, she dropped the big pack and sprinted—barefoot and half-dressed—to the bag, which she picked up, shoving the loose items inside and hauling it up onto her shoulder with a cold, wet slap, while she raced back uphill.
The rotors boomed now—above, in front, all around. The once-comforting sound suddenly screamed doom. She trained her eyes on the ground, focused everything she had on keeping upright and on the move.
She barreled under the trees and into Elias, who caught her around the waist, spun her, and pressed her against a trunk, covering her body with his. Throwing her head back, she saw nothing but pine needles and then—shit, that was close—the ship flew directly overhead, close enough to make out the seams in the metal.
Elias bent low, put his mouth against her ear, and yelled. “Almost gave me a heart attack.”
The helicopter flew past, over the lake, and away. Still, he didn’t move. And she didn’t want him to.
As she caught her breath, details emerged—like the hard press of his muscles and the rough scrape of bark, the heat of his deep exhalations. His neck was still bent, she realized, his face still pressed to her cheek. She should move.Theyshould move.
But, hell, she didn’t want to.
By the time her pulse was back to something approaching normal, the aircraft was probably close to a mile away, hovering over the center of the lake. Running a rescue operation, she’d guess. Though killing the enemy wasn’t something she took pleasure in, it was hard to feel regret for the people who’d been caught out there last night.
She turned and rose up on tiptoe, getting her mouth as close to his ear as possible. “Don’t do that again, okay, Elias?”
“What?”
“Try to take one for the team. We’re in this together now, got it? Survive together, get out together.” Her nose grazed his jaw and she pretended not to notice how good he smelled. “Go down together.”
He sighed, shifting away. “You’re a pain in the ass, Eddowes.”
She smirked. “Takes one to know one, Thorne.”
Chapter 20
Heart thumping, Leo picked up the backpack and followed Elias into the woods, sticking to what cover there was in the sparse early spring taiga forest. Conscious of the continued risk of being seen from above, they climbed up a steep slope covered with brush that was almost impassible but provided more than adequate cover. Which was a good thing, since the aircraft was clearly searching for them.
After three hours’ slow slog, Leo stopped to wipe her dripping forehead and cast a look at the sky, wondering if maybe she should throw up her arms and beg the enemy crew for an emergency evacuation.
Wading through the underbrush had saved their lives, yeah, but as she picked devil’s club thorns from her hands and sleeves and gritted her teeth against the ones elsewhere, all she had to give was hate. She’d been through some shit, some long-ass hauls, some pretty gnarly rescues in the world’s legitimately deadliest places, but she’d never hated anything more than thick, spiny devil’s club.
They’d been at it for three hours and there wasn’t an end in sight.
“Shouldn’t this stuff be dead? Dormant?”
Elias’s back lifted and fell in response. Right. No point arguing withmothereffingnature.
“Bitch,” she muttered under her breath.
Yeah, she’d lost it.
Hilarious, wasn’t it, that after everything, it was the thorns that sent her over the edge?
She narrowed her eyes on the man in front of her. Another Thorne entirely.
All it took to break her spirit was a couple of hours of slogging through swampy, frigid, thorn-studded snowmelt, with those assholes above—searching, withnointent to rescue—and the yeti leading the way with absolute stoicism.
Okay. So, maybe she wasn’t broken. But she was tired and pissed. Her spirit was angry. It wanted potato chips. And a tall, frosty glass of rosé. A damn bottle. Or one of those boxes so she wouldn’t have to leave her place for a while. Her spirit wanted to curl up in front of a nice fire with chips and wine and maybe a taste of that man in front of her.
She came to a dead stop.
