“I will.”
“You better.”
Regan leaned down from her saddle and took his face between her hands, kissing him hard and fast. Not Callumtic. Not pretty. A battlefield kiss. A vow with teeth.
Then she whispered something to him I couldn’t hear.
Whatever it was, it made Edge press his forehead to hers for one brutal second before he stepped back.
River opened the rear gate.
Beyond it, the desert waited.
No road.
No lights.
No witnesses.
Just brush, rock, old trails, and the last stretch of night.
We left before dawn.
The clubhouse disappeared behind us one slow hoofbeat at a time.
At first, I stayed awake because pain demanded attention like a spoiled rich girl with a wrecked Bronco.
Then the rhythm got me.
Hooves over dirt.
Dylan’s breathing behind me.
Regan’s horse moving somewhere to my right.
Nate muttering complaints under his breath until Regan threatened to shove him into a cactus if he didn’t let the desert have five minutes of peace.
The IV tube tugged gently against my arm.
The sky paled by inches.
Stars gave their last weak twinkle above the ridgeline as the first blue edge of morning lifted behind the mountains. The world softened into shapes: cactus arms raised like witnesses, scrub brush silver with dawn, red earth turning purple, then rust, then gold.
I drifted.
Came back.
Drifted again.
When my eyes fluttered open for real, Dylan was looking down at me.
Not checking the trail.
Not scanning the horizon.
Looking at me.
The unguarded expression on his face stopped my breath.
