Wolf (9 page)

She was inclined to dismiss all of it, found it hard to swallow anything she’d seen or heard, and yet the military had to have had some reason for holding them, experimenting on them, and then deciding to just terminate the ‘project’ by killing them.

That part, she had no trouble believing. They’d filled her stepfather’s boat so full of holes she was surprised it had stayed afloat. It was nothing short of amazing that they’d managed to elude them, although she knew her stepfather had specifically had the boat custom fitted for more speed. He’d wanted to take her mother around the world on it. He hadn’t wanted to chance being hijacked by pirates.

Mac and Hawk appeared out of the darkness in that unnerving way they had about them. She winced inwardly when she got a good look at them as they crouched down on either side of the fire, but she didn’t say anything. They made it a point not to look at her or each other.

Guilt and sympathy flickered through her when she saw that they both looked so badly battered, but she strove to dismiss both. She felt ill-used by both of them. She still didn’t understand why Mac had behaved the way he had—and then had the gall to order Hawk to leave her alone, but she wasn’t particularly happy about Hawk’s behavior in retrospect.

Not when the things he’d said seemed to indicate he’d been giving her ‘pity kisses’. She should’ve known there must be some reason he’d been thinking in terms of a pity fuck. He’d probably been offering, not asking for it.

They sure knew how to annihilate a woman’s self-esteem! She’d give them that!

Of course, she thought angrily, men were very good at that in general. It seemed to her that every man she’d ever been with had had the uncanny ability to zero in on every flaw, real or imagined, and optimize her self-consciousness about it. She supposed it wasn’t surprising given the fact that women in general, and her in particular, were prone toward self-analysis and stayed on the hunt for their own flaws.

Young women didn’t seem to have that problem, though. She wondered if they just had that much more confidence in themselves or if it was because youth had become the ultimate beauty product. Young was beautiful by itself—and skinny! It didn’t matter if they weren’t special in any other way, or looked like a starving Ethiopian, as long as they were young and skinny they were beautiful!

She sighed inwardly. She hadn’t noticed that she’d been particularly touchy about her age before. It was being around virile, hunky young men that was making her paranoid, she decided. When she hung around people her own age, she felt perfectly
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comfortable—even confident.

The meat the men had cooked—and she didn’t want to know what it was—was surprisingly good—maybe because she was starving. Unfortunately, it was finger food due to their circumstances and she was left with a greasy mouth and hands that drove her bats. If she was obsessive-compulsive about anything, it was keeping her face and hands clean!

Ignoring the disapproving look she didn’t doubt Mac sent her way, she poured a little of her water in one palm and did her best to clean with it, using her shirt as a towel.

She just wished she’d been given the opportunity and the warning to grab supplies herself. She would’ve stuffed a bag with toiletries—at least soap and shampoo—and tissue paper!

There wasn’t any point in complaining about it now. It couldn’t be changed. The only thing complaining would do would be to make the men sorrier that they’d allowed her to tag along and maybe convince them to leave her somewhere!

She felt like hell when she finally lay down to try to sleep, though. As regularly as she worked out—three times a week like clockwork—she was sore in muscles she hadn’t even known she had, and just about crippled. She’d lost her shoes when she went in the water, though. There hadn’t been any chance of retrieving them. Not that she thought sneakers would’ve been all that helpful in the jungle. Military boots probably wouldn’t have been.

She’d finally gotten comfortable enough to begin drifting toward sleep when someone settled behind and in front of her. She searched with her senses to determine who it was. Surprise flickered through her when she realized it wasn’t either Mac or Hawk, which left Beau and Cavanaugh. She wondered drowsily where Mac and Hawk were but decided it was too much effort to try to figure it out.

“Warm enough,
Chère
?” Beau asked in a low murmur, apparently realizing she wasn’t completely asleep.

Unwilling to stir herself to talk, she nodded, but realized she wasn’t particularly comfortable in that sense. Wiggling toward the sound of his voice, she burrowed against his warmth as if he’d invited her. He tensed slightly, but settled an arm along her waist, holding her. After a moment, Cavanaugh also shifted closer, planting his back against hers. Being sandwiched between them was like having an electric blanket, she thought dreamily.

* * * *

“Time to rise and shine, sweetheart,” Hawk murmured in her ear, his voice rough and husky from sleep. Sylvie drew in a deep breath, inhaling essence of Hawk, and opened her eyes to discover her nose burrowed against his chest. Instantly disoriented when she vaguely remembered cuddling up against Beau when she’d fallen asleep, she struggled to resolve the confusion and finally gave up. Rolling onto her back, she stretched all over and finally opened her eyes.

Mac, she discovered, feeling even more confusion, was directly beside her, which meant his was the warmth she’d felt at her back. After studying her face a long moment, he flicked a gaze down to her breasts and rolled into a sitting position.

Sylvie pushed herself up with an effort, looking around. It was still night—

mostly. The shadows had lifted enough to discern everything close by fairly clearly but
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the jungle was still dark with shadows.

She felt like a decrepit old woman when she struggled to get up, clumsy, stiff, and every muscle and joint protesting loud. She wavered a little drunkenly when she’d gained her feet, looking around blankly. Hawk caught her shoulders, turned her in a half circle and gave a little push. “River’s that way, Baby,” he murmured with a chuckle, and then swatted her ass with the palm of one hand to give her a little extra giddy-up in her step. “Make it quick.”

Rubbing her stinging cheek, she wove a path through the brush in the direction Hawk had indicated, her mind so sluggish she almost forgot to check for livestock before she squatted. She also didn’t think about possibly harmful microbes before she used her finger to take a stab at brushing her teeth.

Mac appeared on the riverbank beside her just as she’d finished her haphazard morning grooming ritual and pulled her sweat pants back on. She stared blankly at the toothbrush he held out, wondering what he was doing with her toothbrush, but decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth. He’d very thoughtfully squeezed a dollop of toothpaste on it, too, she discovered.

She was a little self-conscious about him being so close while she was brushing her teeth, but since he seemed focused on brushing his own she managed to pretty well ignore him.

“About last night …,” he said hesitantly when she’d finished and started to rise.

She held up her hand. “
Don’t
throw me in the water! I don’t feel like being playful this early in the day. Anyway, you said we were even.”

He frowned, making a sound of impatience. “I wasn’t talking about that …. It’s hard to explain.”

Sylvie stared at him in dismay, realizing abruptly what he was getting at. “Oh.

Well don’t try because I have a hard enough time understanding simple things this early in the day.” She thought about it. “To tell you the truth, I don’t think I want to talk about it at all. Let’s just forget it. OK?”

His lips tightened. “If that’s the way you want to be about it,” he said angrily.

“I think I do,” she retorted, surging to her feet and stalking back toward the camp.

Mac was right on her heels and she thought he might have considered pushing the issue, but since they met up with the rest of the group, he seemed to reconsider.

She might have been wrong, but she didn’t feel like taking the chance that she’d correctly assessed his mood. She supposed it was ungracious not to allow him to apologize when it would’ve made him feel better, but she rather thought that if his conscience was bothering him he deserved the discomfort. An apology, now, wasn’t going to make
her
feel any better.

She thought it was going to be a very long time before she got over the embarrassment of having a guy ask her to strip for him, look her over like a piece of meat, and then saying ‘nah, not interested’. She didn’t think it would’ve been as bad if she hadn’t had any interest in him. Maybe it would still have stung, but she was madly attracted to Mac, for all that she hadn’t even admitted it to herself before.

And, of course, she shouldn’t be. Well, she supposed any red-blooded female would be attracted to the hunks she had to look at all day, would want them to find her desirable, but wanting something out of reach never panned out well. It was far better to keep things in perspective and keep one’s feet firmly on the ground, as harsh as reality
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was sometimes.

She was almost old enough to be their mother! Well, not really. She hadn’t been sexually active that young or reproductively developed enough, but too damned close for comfort. She was just going to have to keep thinking ‘adorable kids’ and not let herself be swept away by the fact that they were four of the manliest men she’d ever run across in her life.

How unfair was it that there hadn’t been men like them around when she’d been fresh and pretty? She couldn’t remember a single guy that had been built even nearly as well or that was half as good-looking.

She was distracted enough by her thoughts that it was a while before she realized they seemed to be moving much faster than they had the day before—either that or the humidity was really getting to her. She was so worn out by the time they stopped to rest the first time that she didn’t even have the energy to try to pretend she wasn’t half dead—

or to care that she must look half dead!

Hawk stopped her before they’d walked too far when they resumed the march.

She stared at him dully when he turned his back to her and bent over. “Come on. Up on my back.”

She reddened. “You don’t have to do that! I’m fine.”

He glared at her. “Don’t give me a hard time about it, Baby. Just jump up.”

She shrugged, too tired to argue with him even if she was embarrassed. Looping her arms around his shoulders, she lifted her legs to his waist. He hooked his arms beneath her knees and started out again.

Mac glared at both of them when Hawk caught up, but Hawk passed him without a glance. Resisting the juvenile urge to inform him that it was Hawk’s idea, Sylvie just hid her face.

She knew he was thinking about her glib promise that she’d keep up and not cause any trouble and here they were, day two, and she was already a burden. Poor Hawk didn’t complain, but she knew his back and arms had to be killing him from lugging her fat ass through the jungle.
She
was in pain just from being carried and could hardly put her legs together and walk when he finally put her down when they stopped at the noon break.

She tried, surreptitiously, to massage her inner thighs but discovered Hawk was watching her with a mixture of amusement and sympathy when she looked up.

“I can take care of that for you, if you like,” he murmured teasingly.

“Ha! Ha! As if I’d let you put those hams of yours anywhere near anything delicate!” she retorted, smiling at him.

He cocked his head, lifted his hands to look them over, and sent her a scorching look. “You’d be surprised at how good I am with delicate things.”

She scanned his handsome, grinning face and felt a pang. There must be some very sad girls in Texas since he’d been gone. It made her wonder who was waiting and hoping he’d come back. “Actually, I’d be surprised if you weren’t,” she said solemnly.

His gaze sharpened, but instead of responding, he merely handed her the bottle of water he’d brought her and another pack of peanut butter crackers.

“Don’t throw the bottle away when you empty it—or the wrapper,” Mac said laconically. “We’re going to need something to carry water in before much longer and trash just leaves a trail.”

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Sylvie merely nodded although she was vaguely insulted. She might not be trained like they were, but she wasn’t stupid. Anyway, she wasn’t in the habit of trashing her environment.

She held up a little better during the afternoon trek since Hawk had allowed her to ride and rest, but she was already flagging again when they stopped for the mid-afternoon rest. Apparently, they’d drawn straws or something, although she hadn’t heard them confer on it, but Cavanaugh helped her onto his back and carried her almost from the time they set out again until they stopped near dusk to make camp.

It was near the watering hole they’d found that Sylvie had her first really nasty encounter with the wildlife.

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It took Mac a while to figure out what he’d done. He’d had his problems figuring women out but no more, he figured, than the next man. And since he wasn’t usually quite that dense, he wondered uneasily if their worst fears, or at least his, was happening, if he was regressing into a beast, ruled by his instincts and incapable of much in the way of ‘higher’ thought.

Despite those fears, it seemed unlikely to him that he would get any worse after all this time than he had been, but what did he know about it? Damned little more than the fucking assholes that had been experimenting on him!

Maybe it had been nothing more than the raging lust? In his line of work, he’d grown somewhat accustomed to the feast or famine scenario that went with it. They were sent out on a mission. They spent whatever length of time it took to complete said mission, and then, once they’d completed it and been debriefed, they were released on the hapless female population and nailed any woman that didn’t run fast enough. They partied like there was no tomorrow because they knew, sooner or later, if they continued in Special Ops, their number was going to come up and there wouldn’t be a tomorrow.

The fact that their last mission had gone totally screwy and they’d ended up in confinement for months had resulted in a bit more of a dry spell than he’d experienced before, but did that account for his desperation to get his hands on Sylvie? It certainly could, but did it?

It unnerved him that he didn’t think it did. They had, in effect, missed party time and launched another mission, this one of their own making. He should be in warrior mode, which meant his mind should be totally focused on the mission regardless of what distractions he had to deal with.

Except it wasn’t and he couldn’t seem to focus more than a fraction of his mind on the problem at hand. Most of it was on Sylvie, or at least the fact that he, and all the others, were putting her at risk. Part of that risk was just being with them when they were being hunted, but that had been out of his hands from the moment they’d spied her boat and headed for it. They’d made her a person of interest in that moment and the people that were after them were going to be just as determined to snag her as they were them. She was a witness, a potential carrier now that she’d been exposed to them, and they couldn’t do a thorough cleanup unless they included her.

Part of the risk was exposure, though, and that was the only part he had any control over at all at this point—minimizing her exposure.

He shouldn’t have kissed her. For more reasons than he could count, he should’ve resisted that urge. It might not be passed through the transference of bodily fluids, but what were the odds it wouldn’t be?

He was relieved when he hadn’t seen any sign that either he or Hawk had given her whatever they had. The one thing he was certain of was that it didn’t take long to show the symptoms.
They
had gone through their first transition within a couple of hours. It hadn’t even taken that long for it to affect the pickup squad.

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And, if kissing her hadn’t infected her ….

He couldn’t shake the thought and the others were struggling with the same thought—if they weren’t likely to expose her, why not? She’d as much as said she was willing to accommodate.

Ordinarily that would’ve been enough, that subtle ‘come and get it boys’. He wanted it. They all wanted it, and she’d said she wouldn’t fight them.

She’d been scared half to death at the time, though, and he knew why she’d offered—‘save me and I’ll do anything you want’. If he could just set his conscience aside and let his dick rule, he could get a piece and have a little peace. He hadn’t quite reached that point … yet, but he was getting close.

Unfortunately, the longer he was with her the more that bothered him. When she’d been a complete stranger, somebody he didn’t know and wasn’t going to get to know, there’d been more of a possibility of using her and still putting his conscience to bed. He’d had the chance of nailing her and coming away with nothing but fond memories and maybe a twinge of conscience that he
might
have given her whatever he was carrying.

She had the most beautiful body of any woman he’d ever seen except, possibly, in a porn magazine. He’d seen some damned fine ones, but hers was still the most perfect to his mind.

Except she wasn’t a porn queen, and she wasn’t the exotic dancer he’d convinced himself she must be. She wasn’t a slut and he didn’t think he could bring himself to treat her like she was one and not have it nagging on his conscience longer than he wanted to live with it.

Before
, he just hadn’t wanted to hurt anyone or put anyone else at risk. Now, he didn’t want to hurt her.

When he’d asked her to strip for him, he hadn’t thought beyond getting a good look at her when he’d only had glimpses before to drive him crazy. Looking, he’d figured, couldn’t hurt. It would give him something to think about when he was taking care of business and it wouldn’t hurt her.

Except it had. He’d been in such a hurry to put some distance between them before he lost it and did something they would both regret that it hadn’t occurred to him how it might seem to her.

Now she wouldn’t even let him fucking explain!

He’d tried to convince himself that it was for the best. She was pissed off at him now, probably hated his guts, and that was a good thing—for her. She’d keep her distance and that would make it easier for him to keep his hands off of her.

It was hard to hold that thought, though, when Hawk was making a play for her every fucking chance he got and Beau and Cavanaugh stared at her all the time like a pair of starving mongrels just waiting for somebody to drop a scrap off the table.

And that was another problem, a new display of the beasts within them that made him uneasy. Their discipline was crumbling—his and theirs. Hawk would never have challenged him so openly before, let alone attacked—certainly not for a woman. The military designated pecking order by rank, a situation that was rarely challenged because of the consequences, but also because they were all aware that ranks were earned. A man proved himself before he advanced in rank.

It was possible that it was Sylvie alone. It was also possible that it was the fact
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that they were now operating outside military protocol—and getting further from it all the time. He had the sense, though, that they were rapidly approaching a turning point where he was going to have to exert his superiority physically if he wanted to remain top dog.

The contest the night before had resulted in a draw—mostly because Beau had pointed out that they’d picked a bad time and place to resolve their issues. He was confident that he could have won it, but he didn’t think Hawk had been completely convinced and that meant he and his best buddy were going to have another showdown.

Not that he didn’t agree that he’d needed his ass kicked for hurting Sylvie—even though he hadn’t meant to—but that was between them and for them to resolve.

As far as settling who was boss, he was going to push it if Hawk didn’t, because he sure as fuck wasn’t going to stand aside and let him walk off with Sylvie. Top dog got first dibs and if anyone was going to be first with Sylvie, it was damned well going to be him! Beau and Cavanaugh could scrap it out for third and fourth place if he felt like letting them have a taste and Sylvie was willing, but he was going to be one calling the shots and he was going to be the one to decide whether to share or not for the good of the pack.

He shook his thoughts to the back of his mind when it finally dawned on him that he’d pushed until it was already dusk. As much as it had pissed him off that Hawk had decided to carry Sylvie, he’d seen the sense of it, even though he knew Hawk had thought of it as yet another ruse to rub all over her. There was no denying the fact that she wasn’t nearly as strong as they had been
before
the change, though.
She certainly wasn’t close now and carrying her had made it possible to makeup the time they’d lost the day before pacing themselves to accommodate her.

Even so, he had only to glance at her to know she was exhausted. Struggling to ignore the anxiety that churned in his gut at the thought, he signaled a halt.

They needed food. There hadn’t been much on the boat that was suitable for their needs and, after dividing it so many ways, it had been really miniscule. The water supply was getting low, too.

“Beau—get an area cleared and a fire going. We need to boil some water and refill the bottles. The rest of you fan out and see what you can chase down to eat.”

Beau nodded, dropped his tote and pulled his knife from the leg pocket on his pants. Mac dropped his own tote to the ground and scratched around until he found the pot he’d thrown in. Pulling it out, he handed it to Sylvie. “The water’s just a few yards that way. Fill the pot and bring it to Beau.”

Nodding, Sylvie took the pot he was holding out and got up again, glanced around a little uncertainly and headed off in the direction he’d indicated. Mac watched her through narrowed eyes. The sexy sway of her hips was a little off due to the fact that she had to lift her legs so high to step over the brush—and also because she’d had those sexy legs of hers wrapped around Hawk and Cavanaugh about half the day. It was the latter thought that made his dick hard. It didn’t take a lot of imagination, not on his part, anyway, to produce an image of her riding him in a position he’d find a lot more satisfying.

Shaking his thoughts with an effort, he glanced at Beau, narrowing his eyes at the glazed look in his eyes as he, too, watched Sylvie. It was clear as a bell his thoughts were traveling pretty much the same road. “Keep an eye on her,” he said curtly. “I’m
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going to join the hunt. Those two ‘whatevers’ y’all brought back last night barely filled one tooth.”

Beau snorted. “We was lucky to catch dem,
mon ami
.” He frowned. “I tink they’d be easier to corner if we still smelled like humans.”

Mac sent him a sharp look. “You’re thinking we don’t?”

Beau focused on his task. “I know we don’t—because we ain’t human no more.

I don’t know what we are, but I know what we ain’t.”

Mac’s belly tightened, but he didn’t even try to dispute it. He felt it bone deep the same as Beau did. “Maybe we should focus on using what we are, then?”

“The most dangerous predators this old world’s ever seen,” Beau commented without glancing at him.

Mac considered that as he left, wondering, now that he’d brought it up himself, if they could actually use the changes in them as an advantage. Not that they hadn’t already—several times over. They would never have been able to break out of their cells at Guantanamo if they hadn’t used the inhuman strength it gave them. They wouldn’t have gotten out of the base itself if not for the speed and the little effect bullets had on them and they wouldn’t have been able to swim so far or so fast without it that they could reach Sylvie’s boat before their jailors caught up with them.

Could they call it, though? He’d spent every moment since it had happened trying to control it to keep it from controlling him and he couldn’t say he’d had a hell of a lot of luck with that. One sign of threat to the host and his parasites exploded into action to protect their territory, as often as not before he even sensed the threat himself.

He didn’t know if he
could
make it happen. He was pretty sure he wasn’t ready to try it, though—not with Sylvie any where around him. He didn’t believe he’d hurt her.

Even at the very worst, he’d been conscious of making most of the decisions. He’d been aware of
allowing
his instincts to maximize his killing potential.

He didn’t want to take the chance, though, that his lust, already hard to control, might not get the better of him if nothing else. He was already dangerously on edge.

Jacking off wasn’t doing it for him. If anything, that seemed to make it worse, because he always had an image of Sylvie in his head when he did. That worked well enough when the object of his desires was a picture in a fucking magazine that he couldn’t get hold of. It didn’t work worth a shit when he had to stare at the real thing all day long—

smell it.

He’d been trying hard to convince himself that, despite his heightened senses, he was just imagining he could smell her sweet perfume, but it didn’t matter whether it was so or not. He
thought
he could and that was enough to keep him as hard as rock almost constantly.

He had a bad feeling that he could—that they all could—and that was one of the reasons they stayed at a low boil. If they didn’t find some place safe to leave her before much longer, he wasn’t going to be accountable. The closest dot on the map that he could recall, though, was still a good four day’s march, and that was
if
they could keep the pace they’d set today.

And he wasn’t familiar with the terrain. He wouldn’t know until they got there if it was going to be a safe place to park her. Then he could focus on what they were going to do with their freedom.

One thing at the time, he told himself, settling in a position near the small stream.

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He tested the direction of the wind, turned to face it, and went still, waiting to see what would come along.