Wolfsbane (25 page)

N
o more outsiders!”

Bayani stood before the chief, his hat and humility in hand. “Chief, please—they will only be here a short while. My people want me to train them, to teach them how to live in the jungle.”

“No! Already the Higanti seek to burn our village to the ground, steal our women, and slaughter our men.”

“Then I must leave,” Bayani said
.

“Is that your will?” Awa demanded. “I gave you shelter, taught you our ways, and gave you my daughter. And you will leave because I will not allow more outsiders to threaten my people; because I do not bend to your will.”

“It is not my will.” Lips tight and eyes downcast, Bayani fisted his hands. “I am ordered to train these men. Will does not matter, unless it is I will train these men.”

“No. I have given my answer.”

Shoulders pressing down, as if rocks weighted his strong back, Bayani stilled. “Then, I must leave, Chief.”

“No!” Chesa leapt from the side and threw herself at Bayani. “You cannot leave me. Please, Father.”

“Silence.”

Bayani removed Chesa’s arms from around his neck. “Chief, I say that not to force your hand but to explain that I have no choice. They own me, sir.”

Within two weeks, eight more outsiders camped outside our village. The compromise pleased Bayani, who did not have to leave Chesa or the village—which to my surprise seemed as important to him as his men. The new men were dark-skinned, though not dark like Africans. More like from Spain. And they were trouble
.

“What’re you doing?” Bayani’s shout pulled me from the creek. I rushed
up the bank toward the sound of shouts
.

A scream. Heavy thuds
.

Finally I broke through some brush and stopped short
.

Bayani punched one of the new men, whom he had pinned to the ground. “I’ll kill you if you do that again!”

I saw Tortia cowering to the side, her eyes wide and streaked with tears. Chesa rushed across the space and drew her friend into her arms
.

Jabbing a finger at the man with the now-bloodied lip, Bayani said, “Hands off. Am I clear?”

The downed man nodded
.

“What has happened here?”

Maut came forward. “He seized Tortia and kissed her.”

Awa’s rage grew. “You must take her at once. Her honor!”

Bayani jumped up. “No.” He stepped between Awa and the dark man. “I won’t let this happen.”

My husband stared at Bayani. “What do you mean? He must take her. You know—”

Bayani glared at the dark man. “He has no honor. He’s leaving at first light.”

CHAPTER 15

W
edged between the back and front seat, Canyon waited. Expecting the jolt that would launch him into next week. He anticipated what would happen. How he’d need to act. “Loosen yourself from the belt!”

Roark fumbled to get free.

CRACK!

Whiplash had nothing on this. His head felt as if a sledgehammer had rammed it backward while his body went forward.
Crack!
Fire leapt through his skull at the impact.

Like a missile fired, they shot off the cliff. After the initial jolt—nothing. Absolutely nothing. No movement. No deafening scream from Roark. No roar of the elements. Silence. Freakish silence that snatched courage from his chest one beat at a time.

Until the unmistakable sensation of a twenty-foot free fall.

Exhilarating.

Terrifying.

The Hummer’s front end flopped down. An anvil slamming toward the water. Despite it being water, at this speed and distance, it’d feel like they hit concrete.

Feet braced against the front seats, he peered down the length of his body. Over the front seats. Past the dash. Out the windshield. A churning river of brown writhed as if in anticipation of their plunge.

His senses snapped to life. A roar punched him in the chest. No, not a roar. A scream. Short but sharp. Roark! She clamped her mouth shut and grabbed her shoulder. The belt had tangled around her wrist. Probably pulled her arm or shoulder out of socket, maybe tore the cuff or ligaments.

“Roark?” The howl of the elements swallowed her name.

He stole another peek at the river. Despite feeling like minutes, the time it took to penetrate the water was only seconds. Hummers didn’t float, but their sealed interior would keep them buoyant. But going straight in? They’d submerge. They’d bob back up, right? Whatever happened, he’d have to act fast.

Water rushed them.

Smack!

The impact threw him into the front seat. He flipped. His face hit the console between the front seats. Pain darted across his cheek. Water gushed around him, swirling and taunting. He strained to keep his chin above the H
₂
O. In the din, he heard Roark coughing and gagging.

He pushed himself backward, toward the sound, toward Roark, battling the powerful force of gravity and the weight of water. Reorienting himself, he twisted around.

Water, tepid and hurried, seeped through the back window. As long as it held—

Crack!

The windshield gave. A torrent of muddy water shoved him back down, feeling like a sucker punch to the chest. Tempted to gasp, he had to bite down hard, remind himself he’d drown. He launched upward, breath held.

The SUV bobbed upward. He squinted through the now-grimy windows. Trees waved in the distance.

Canyon swished around and locked on to Roark, who shoved dark hair from her face and sputtered. “You okay?”

More coughing. A strained, “yes.”

The SUV bobbed downward again. “We need to get out of here.” Then lifted and tilted back, leveling out. Their gear … Oh man. Gear. They didn’t have any gear. He’d unloaded the supplies from the Hummer before the mudslide. What did he have with him?
Think!
Mentally he traced the pockets. Paracord, SOG knife, waterproof matches, rudimentary first-aid kit.

Swollen and enraged at their survival, the river tossed the vehicle around. Canyon pressed himself toward Roark. Slumped against the seat, she clamped a hand over her right shoulder, face screwed tight. Her long fingers tracked down her arm to the belt that still held her in its tangled grasp.

As he sloshed closer, water splashed his face. More tumbled through the back. Still contorted, her face betrayed the agony that stretched her
lips taut. He drew out his SOG and sawed through the belt, freeing her arm.

Amid the torrent racing past them and the thrashing inside, he thought he heard her yelp as her arm flopped down. She gripped it tightly and grimaced.

“You okay to swim?” He tucked the knife back in his pocket.

“No … no,” she said with a whimper.

She wasn’t focused on survival. He gripped her face with both hands. “Roark.”

Wild, frantic eyes. “He can’t find me …” she mumbled.

“Look at me!”

She blinked. Focused.

“We have to get out of the Hummer.” He wrangled out of his paracord survival bracelet and unthreaded it.

“Why? We’re floating.”

“Water’s coming in. The Hummer will sink.”

She looked around, comprehension dawning on her face. “What’re you doing?”

“It’s twenty feet of paracord.” He strung it out, then knotted it around the carabiner before tethering himself to her.

“Together?” Straightening, she winced as her gaze hit the rapids outside. “Is that a good idea?”

“Dangerous but it’s better than getting separated.”
Or losing you
. With her shoulder injury and the distant expression in her eyes, he wasn’t sure she could manage the rapids on her own. At least this way he could drag her to shore if need be. “There.” He tugged to test its integrity. “Ready?”

“Okay.”

Canyon gripped a portion of the window that swung inward and ripped it free. After flinging it toward the front of the vehicle, he crawled through the gaping maw in the back. The steel frame sandwiched his body, rubbing along his spine, then he dragged his legs out. He wedged a boot along the bumper, the other a few inches away. Braced, he turned and motioned to Roark.

She reached for him with only her left hand. He’d had a dislocated shoulder more than once. He wasn’t sure if the thought of her in pain or the thought of having to pop it back into place was worse. Hand coiled around her belt, he maintained the grip as she scooted into place, shifted around.

“Got it?”

Roark nodded as she clung to the vehicle, again favoring the arm. One wrong jolt and she’d pitch into the frenzied waters.

Still holding her, he scanned the tree line. They were closer to the southern portion of the river. A tree limb hung over the water, dipping its branches into the tumbling chaos.
Almost as if waving us to safety
. “There,” he shouted over the tumult. “Aim for that.”

She nodded and turned, digging her fingers along the drag straps of his pants.

“On three.”

Her gaze traced the waves.

“Roark.” Between the pain he knew to be blinding and her fear of the river, he understood that she didn’t answer. But they didn’t have time for this. “Roark.”

Resolve slid into a hard edge. A nod.

“One … two …”

Bam!

Roark flipped backward. Off the car. Broke their hold.

Even as the tether yanked him into the water, Canyon saw that a tree had slammed the Hummer out from under them. He turned the flail into a determined dive, reaching for Roark.

They sunk into gurgling, roiling water.

Canyon kicked back up. Breached the top and hauled in a long breath. The cord pulled taut. He grabbed it, tugging. Soon it slackened.

Waiting for her to surface proved excruciating. “Roark?” Glancing behind didn’t help. “Roark!” To the side—nothing. Couldn’t be more than fifteen feet away, considering the length it took to tie off. He treaded water, waiting, his heart in his throat.

The cord tightened again.

His chest spasmed—she’d gotten too far away. He’d have to go in and find her. After a deep breath, he dove forward.

Thrashing stopped him. Arms. Hands. Flashes of her face above the water. Then a wave dunked her again. Her yelp clawed at him. Canyon lunged for her, his arm slapping the angry water. He caught an arm. He dragged her up.

Roark popped up. Agony rippled through her face. Gagging and crying, she struggled to keep her head up. Using the paracord, he pulled her closer. To him.

An arm coiled around his neck. She buried her face against it. Coughing. Whimpering.

“It’s okay; it’s okay. Just hold on. I’ll get us out of here.” Holding her
with one arm, he used his right for long strokes, watching the dangling limb wave them to the bank. Though he’d like to think they were safe, this river had a demonic force behind it. They weren’t safe till they got to shore. Then they’d have other things to counteract that notion of “safe.”

Halfway across the river, Roark released him.

Canyon hesitated, then saw her swimming on her own. Yeah. She was tough. Killer survival instincts. It’s what he loved about her.

Liked. He
liked
that about her. A mental snapshot of her and Range the night of the Coast Guard gala smacked his thoughts straight. No, not mental snapshots—the photos his mom had propped on the mantel already.

Roark would never be his.
Get used to it
.

Battling the water was the easy part. Battling the horrific memories of captivity with Bruzon nearly drowned her. Each swell that drenched her had brought different thoughts—the dogs that chased her off the cliff. Bruzon’s foul liquor breath. The choppy sea that nearly sent her to its depths.

Then Canyon was there. Holding her. His strength reassuring and commanding as he guided them to safety. When she’d finally told herself to gut it up and pushed off him to swim on her own, she’d seen pride in his expression. At least, that’s what she thought it was.

“Grab it!” Canyon’s voice sounded hoarse and distant.

She looked up just in time to see a branch dangling overhead, as if to say “here, catch hold.” Without thinking, she reached up—