CHAPTER NINETEEN

 

Zoë dove toward Quent as he leapt to catch the crystal, but she was too late.

He tumbled to the ground, his hands curled around it, holding it against his chest. Now, as she knelt next to him, she bit back a curse at his quick reaction. “Come on, genius,” she muttered desperately, trying to pry his fingers from the stone. “Wake up.”

A glance up at Fielding indicated his mild interest, but he made no move to assist, or to keep her from her task. Instead, he stood at the now-empty pedestal and seemed to be occupied with something on the platform.

Zoë managed to tug Quent’s fingers free and the crystal plunked to the floor. At last. “Come on, Quent,” she said. “Wake the fuck up.”

But this time, when he dropped the object that pulled him into the dark pit, he didn’t open his eyes. Fear spiked through her as she noticed his breathing was shallow and fast. His eyes moved beneath closed lids and she saw a trickle of sweat roll from beneath his hair as he seemed to struggle against some unseen assault. His legs and arms, fingers and face, convulsed as if he were battling a nightmare.

She shook him, hard, and then slapped his face as she’d done before. “What the hell,” she moaned in frustration that edged into stark fear. She glanced up at Fielding just as he stepped away from the pedestal.

A smug smile tipped his lips and she braced herself for him to come at her now. She still had his gun, but he was an Elite, and would be much stronger than she.

But he didn’t move in her direction. “I had no idea that would happen,” he said conversationally. She noticed he staggered a bit. “What’s wrong with him?”

“You bastard,” Zoë hissed up at him as she knelt there, an increasing fear swarming her. “Quent, what the fuck? Come on!”

“It’s probably better that way,” Fielding said, just as the room gave a great lurch. “Ah. There it is.” His smile grew wider and he turned to look around him. “It won’t be long now.”

“What?” Zoë demanded, her heart sinking. That lurch hadn’t been a good sign, and now she felt an underlying vibration beneath her cold bare feet and knees.

“This is my escape plan,” Fielding said. She saw that his neck had begun to darken above the collar of his shirt, and the Dark Syndrome had spread beyond the cuffs to his hands. It was moving frighteningly fast. “I always needed a way to leave them behind, but I didn’t expect I’d be dying as I did. So I made a bit of an adjustment to my original plan.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Zoë cried, and then she felt Quent shift beneath her. It was a smooth movement, not the agitated ones from the nightmare. He drew in a deep, shuddering breath, then eased into some calmer rhythm.

“We’re in a little pod that’s about to be released from its moorings. In perhaps ten minutes, it’ll pull free and sink to the depths of the ocean where you and my son and I will remain in this spacious coffin. I didn’t expect to have company in my tomb,” Fielding said, his voice rasping a bit now. He couldn’t get to the crystal for a new surge of energy, for it was next to Zoë. “But in retrospect, I think it’s only fitting. Like the pharaohs, I’ll have my own companions with me for my travels to the other side.”

“I don’t think we’re going to the same damn place on the other side,” Zoë snapped. Come on, Quent! She felt him move again, and looked down. His eyelids fluttered, then sank closed. “What the fuck,” she muttered, growing more desperate and frightened at his lack of responsiveness. “Please!” If he could wake up, he’d be able to figure out how to get out of this place through the glass-paneled door.

“And when the pod sinks,” Fielding continued, “did I mention that Mecca will implode as well?”

That caught Zoë’s attention. “What?”

“You don’t think I’d leave all of my work behind for Hegelsen, do you? He was planning to destroy me anyway, but as always, I’m one step ahead of him.”

“You’re going to die,” Zoë spat. Quent moved, and suddenly she felt his fingers close around her wrist. Yes.

“Of course I’m going to die. But so is he,” Fielding replied. He staggered more heavily, nearly falling as the pod gave another great lurch. “When we finally dislodge, the water will rush up through this hole in the center of the floating island and it’ll collapse, and sink.” He frowned as if contemplating some great mystery, but the effect was ruined by his blackened hand and labored breathing. “I wonder…who will…reach the bottom…first.”

Zoë looked down and saw Quent’s eyes open. Foggy and lost, they fluttered closed again. She bent toward him. “Wake up,” she murmured, kissing his cheek, caressing his face. “Please. Or I’m going to kill you.”

He moved suddenly, his hands grasping and suddenly closing around her arm and a hand. He gripped her tightly and she felt him struggling, his breathing sharp and hard, his mouth flattening as if in concentration.

“Zoë,” he whispered. 

“I’m here, genius,” she said. “Get the fuck out of that pit,” she added desperately. “I need you.” This was one mess she couldn’t get out of on her own.

His mouth twitched in a smile and he tightened his fingers. “Trying.”

“You don’t have any damned time to try,” she told him furiously, glancing over at Fielding. He’d sagged against one of the glass walls and slid to the floor. The black had crept up over his jaw and was beginning to color his face. Shiny and solid, his flesh hardened. His breathing rasped like that evil overlord from the Star Wars movies, filling the room with an eerie sound beneath the rumbling movements around them.

“We’ve got less than ten minutes to get the hell out of here and off this island. Or we’re going to the bottom of the ocean,” she said, looking back down at Quent.

His eyes were open. A rush of relief blasted her and Zoë bent to kiss him. “Thank you,” she said to whatever higher power had listened to her pleadings.

Now that he was back, Quent recovered quickly. He glanced over at Fielding as Zoë helped him to his feet and explained, “Got to find a way out of here. We’re going to sink and the whole island is going with us.”

His face was set and his eyes clear of cobwebs as he rushed to the glass panel that served as a door. “Be careful,” Zoë ordered. “Don’t fall back in again.”

“Come here,” he said, holding out his hand. She rushed to his side as an anchor even as the pod trembled more violently beneath their feet. “How much time?” he demanded.

“I don’t know,” she said. She glanced at Fielding, but his eyes were closed and his face was nearly black. Shiny and stiff, like a mask. He was going to be no help, even if she had a way to force the information from him. “Seven minutes, maybe?”

“Okay,” he said. Grasping her fingers tightly he reached for the glass panel. She held on, mentally sending energy to him as his hand convulsed and his breathing twitched and rasped. His elegant fingers, solid and long, textured with tendons and veins, curved warm and strong inside hers. She felt a wave of regret, and one of some earth-shattering emotion. Damn it, she loved the idiot. She not only loved him, but she wanted a life with him. Hurry up she thought, and curled her other hand around his too.

A moment later, he opened his eyes. Clear and beautiful, ready and intense. “Got it. Get the damned crystal.”

She dashed over to gather it up, her feet slapping hard on the floor. Wrapping it in the white cloth from her dress, she shoved the crystal in his pack as he moved his hands over the seam of the door. It swung open, revealing a crooked floor—as if an elevator had stopped at an angle halfway between levels.

“Let’s go,” he said, starting through the entrance. “We have plenty of time to get to the walkway. This hall’s a straight fucking shot to the outside of the building. Then run to the bridge.”

She was out the door and after him in the narrow corridor, still holding his hand as they ran. The walls trembled and the floor shifted and tilted beneath her feet. And then suddenly he stopped. She nearly ran into him and he caught her with his arms.

“Fuck it, I can’t,” he said, turning abruptly. He slung off his pack and shoved it at her. “Take this. Go. I’m going back to see if I can stop this whole thing. Innocent people are going to die.”

“Quent,” she began, her fingers closing automatically around the heavy pack, warm from the crystal inside. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. I’m not going without you.” She turned, but he was already starting back to the pod room.

“Get out of here. Get the crystal to safety,” he said, pushing firmly at her. “I want you to be safe, Zoë,” he shouted over a loud rumble, but she’d moved past him, back toward the pod. The noise of the trembling world was louder now, and in the distance, she could hear shouts and pounding feet above.

“I’m not going any damn where without you, genius,” she shouted over her shoulder, running haphazardly as the world shook and tipped. “ You’ve got to be crazy if you think I would. Fucking idiot. And besides, you can’t do it without me.”

Inside the pod, she saw cracks in the glass that worried the shit out of her for their safety, but she was with Quent. She was prepared to go to the bottom of the ocean with him. He needed her to ground him…and she—she needed him too.

“How’d he do it?” he demanded, looking around. “What did he—”

“The thing there,” she said, pointing at the pedestal. For the first time, she saw a flat panel on its surface. A clear pad of buttons and a little screen, set flush into the glass, had been hidden by the crystal on top of it.

He rushed over and she followed him, grabbing his hand as he planted his other one on the clear glass. “Okay,” he said. He looked at her, their eyes meeting in the rickety, dim room. “Hold on to me, Zoë. Hold on.”

“I’m here, genius. You can do it. See you on the other side.” She pressed a kiss to the back of his neck.

At that moment, the whole space jerked, and Zoë felt it drop as if an elevator had been cut loose, then caught. Stifling a little scream, she curled herself into his back, sliding one arm under his shirts to curve around the warm skin of his torso, and with the other, she held his hand. She didn’t want to drown. She didn’t want to sink into the black depths of the sea.

She pressed her face against his back, burying her eyes in his shirt, and felt him trembling with tension beneath her.  “Come on, Quent,” she pleaded softly. “You can do it. I’m here. I’m with you. And if you don’t, I’m going to fucking kill you,” she added in a whisper. 

The room lurched again, this time to one side, and she saw Fielding tip to the ground. He was dead, or at least beyond awareness. She waited, chafing, feeling every shift of the room, listening for the ominous crack of glass that would send water cascading in. She braced herself against the constant trembling and tried to block out the loud rumbles. Hurry, hurry!

“Got it,” Quent said at last in a tight voice, indicating that he had the procedure. “Now…” He began to move, tugging his hand free of her grip so he had two to work with to implement whatever he could to stop the disaster.

Zoë stepped to the side, watching his fingers fly over the key pad. Green words and numbers showed on the dark screen, flying past so quickly she had no idea how he could read them. At the sound of a low pop, she glanced up at the ever-lengthening cracks in the glass. From the look of it, Fielding’s tomb wouldn’t make it to the bottom of the ocean before the damn thing shattered. 

She’d heard that drowning was painless. And fairly quick. She hoped to hell that was true.

Come on! She breathed silently, aware of the heavy weight on her back from the pack, and the ever-trembling floor beneath her feet, and Quent typing furiously. His mouth tight, his handsome face set into something dark and intense.

Suddenly, he looked up at her. “That’s it,” he said, even as the pod jerked violently. “That’s it.”

“Let’s go,” she said, grabbing for his arm. 

“Zoë,” he said, jerking her toward him. She flew into his arms and he wrapped her, held her closely as the place shifted and trembled around them. One of her feet rested on top of his boot. “It’s either going to stop it, or everything’s going to the bottom. See?” He pointed to the top and she saw that a wedge had appeared between the pod and its moorings. The pod had already loosened. “When it cracks, we get out of here and swim up, okay? It’s our only chance.”

“Okay,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. She could swim. She loved to swim. She just feared the fathomless depths of the dark sea.

“Zoë, I have to tell you something,” he began, crushing her harder to his solid chest.   “I—”

And then, suddenly, everything stopped.

Silence. Stillness.

“Hot damn!” she crowed. “You fucking genius.” She yanked him down for a big, quick kiss, a wave of hopefulness blasting through her.

“Couldn’t have done it without you,” he told her, holding her tightly, refusing to release her from being plastered against him. “Thank you for grounding me.”

“So what were you going to say?” she asked, a blast of warmth and giddiness swarming her. “Don’t tell me you were going to tell me you love me.”

“Uh.” His mouth opened then closed. “What’s wrong with that?”

 She rolled her eyes. “Isn’t that the most clichéd thing in the world? Wait to tell the girl you love her until you’re about to die?”

She pulled away and adjusted the pack on her shoulders, avoiding his eyes. “Look, if it’s true, I’d rather hear it when you’re not about to die. People say a lot of things when they’re about to die, and when they’re lying in bed after having just had good sex. You know?” she looked up at him, keeping her expression easy and bright. “And besides, we’re not exactly safe yet. We still have to get off this damned island. But first, I’m stealing his shoes. My feet are freezing.”

Quent realized his mouth was hanging slightly open as she went over to his father and yanked off the man’s leather shoes. 

Without putting them on, she started off through the open entrance, which was wet and had become smaller and irregular as the pod began to detach. He looked closer as he followed her, and an ugly shiver tremored through his belly. They’d come too damn close to pulling away and sinking into the dark waters. Too damn close.

He hurried after Zoë, wanting nothing more than to get his hands on her and kiss the hell out of her. And to really tell her he loved her this time.

The corridor was solid dark. If there had been any lights, the power had been knocked out during the trembling and shaking. This necessitated them going more slowly than he would have liked, although they had a bit of illumination from the crystal on Fielding’s gun. It cast a bit of an orange-yellow glow, just enough to keep them from running into a wall. And he wasn’t about to pull out the big blue crystal after what had happened last time.

As if reading his mind, she looked back and said, “Don’t even think about taking out the other crystal. I’m strongly tempted to chuck the fucking thing into the ocean, where it came from.”

Right.

At last, they came abruptly to a halt when they came around a corner and nearly slammed into a wall. He could hear her feeling around for a door, and Quent eased up next to her. 

“Be careful,” she admonished, holding onto his shoulder in the darkness. 

He hadn’t said a word since her little speech back in the pod, and that was just as well. He didn’t trust himself at that very moment. And she was right—they weren’t out of danger yet. Pushing away those thoughts, he shoved the gun into the back of his waistband then closed his eyes and concentrated on the wall in front of him. His fingers splayed wide, their tips centered lightly on the smooth surface. One hand grasping his life-line, Zoë, Quent allowed himself to ease into the memories. He’d become comfortable filtering through the emotions and other energy, and focusing on the actions history the object held. 

It took only a moment for him to discern Fielding’s hand movements—slip the fingers behind this little crevice…yes, there it was. Pull and lever the little switch, and…. “Ah.” The wall moved.

And they were outside, in the clean, fresh night air. But it was hardly the darkest part of night, for in the distance, a faint glow tinged the sky. The lack of shadows would make it more difficult for them to escape.

The remnants of the earthquake-like tremors had cracked and broken some of the buildings, for random bits of rubble littered the narrow street. A few random shouts and voices filled the air, people calling for each other, confirming safety and assuring each other that it was over.

Without a word, Quent grabbed Zoë’s hand once again and began to tow her through the warren of streets. To his mild surprise, she let him lead, pausing only once to stop and adjust something in her pack as she put on Fielding’s shoes. He stepped away, peering around the corner of a building as she crouched on the ground. No one down that street.

“How do they fit?” he asked, taking up her hand again.

“They’ll do,” she said, hurrying along faster now that her feet were protected.

Most of those who’d come from their beds and outside, seeking safety from the vibrating ground, seemed to have found their way back inside, for as they went on, Quent and Zoë met few people, and no one who seemed to take notice of them as they slinked through the streets. They stayed to the shortening shadows as much as they could, mindful of the ever-graying sky.

“We’re not out of here yet,” she said, again reading his mind. “I don’t trust any of them.”

He agreed, but was too focused, listening, mentally planning their route, to respond. The walkway was just to the right, no more than another block away. Or they could try for the docks and attempt to steal a protected boat, but that was on the other side of the island.

“The bridge is closer,” she said.

“But there’s nowhere to hide. It’s out in the open.”

“We can swim. And I have a feeling,” she said, leaning close enough for him to smell her hair, “that the damn crystal in my pack might keep the sharks away.”

“You want to risk being wrong?” He closed his eyes for a moment, sniffing, resisting the urge to bury his nose in her hair. God, he couldn’t wait to get her somewhere alone, when they weren’t running for their damn lives.

“It’s closer. I want to get the hell out of here. And we haven’t seen a soul.”

“Right. With you. And we’re running the whole damn way.”

And then the bridge was there in front of them, spanning and shifting long and white over the dark sea. As they stood in the shadow of two buildings, Quent looked around and listened for any sign of life. A single light flickered on the distant shore, and the world was silent but for the lapping of waves against Mecca’s edges. The graying dawn settled over the world, illuminating shapes, but little detail. 

Quent’s neck prickled at the thought of walking onto that long, exposed bridge and he looked down at Zoë. She met his eyes in the half-light. “Bend over and zigzag side to side as you run,” he told her, just as she said, “Don’t run straight, genius, or they’ll be able to nail your ass.

He caught his short huff of laughter and bent to kiss her, feeling surprisingly light and happy. “See you on the other side.” He released her hand and she darted forward, zigzagging like a linebacker past the large stone pillars on the shore and onto the floating walkway.

He pulled the gun from the back of his waistband and slipped out after her, watching for any sign of movement, his back to the bridge, his eyes scanning the shoreline.

A shout from behind grabbed his attention, and he turned. Zoë had stopped a few meters onto the bridge. What was left of her white dress glowed like a ghostly gown, her quiver and the pack odd-shaped lumps on her back. Her feet looked huge in the large black shoes. “Go,” he shouted, his throat burning. He brandished the gun to show her he was armed and backed up toward the walkway, still watching the shadows.

“That’s all right,” said a voice directly in front of him. “We didn’t want her anyway.”

“Liam,” Quent said. His body didn’t react to the sight of his father’s rival holding a weapon similar to the one he had in his own hand. It was pointed at him, which was also no surprise—for he’d been under no illusions that they’d be able to leave unharmed. Keep going, Zoë. “I expected you to be long gone by now. You’re not the type to go down with a sinking ship. Or didn’t you realize the ship was sinking?” He took a step to the side and backwards, toward the bridge.

The flicker of surprise on Liam Hegelsen’s face was brief. Apparently, he hadn’t realized what was happening. “Where’s Fielding?”

“Dead.”

“Dead.” Again, the surprise was there and then gone in an instant. “What a pleasant surprise. And one less thing that I have to attend to.”

“You can thank me later,” Quent said, sidling back toward the bridge. “Or maybe not.”

“I’m sorry, but I’ve no intention of letting you leave. You’re the only one who knows where the crystal is, and how to use it. As you so readily informed me tonight at dinner.” Liam gave a little jerk of his head, and the two men with him each crouched next to the walkway. “You’ll need to come back with me or they’ll take down the bridge.”

Quent turned and saw that Zoë, instead of continuing on her way, had not only stopped but started to come back toward Mecca. “What the hell are you doing?” he shouted at her. “Get out of there!”

She lifted her hand and he saw, clearly outlined in the gray morning, her upright middle finger. 

And she started walking toward them, the pack swinging in her hand. Grinding his teeth, Quent turned back to Liam. “I’ll take you to the crystal once she’s safely on land.”

“As if I’d fall for that, Quentin. Where is it? I’ll go after it while you stay here with Hugo and Morris. And if I don’t return with it in ten minutes, they’ll toss her to the sharks.” He smoothed his hair, which tufted in the back as if he’d been roused from sleep. Which he probably had. “I’ve been trying to get to the crystal for years. Trying to get the bastard to show it to me for decades, and he refused. I’d have killed him long ago if I’d known where it was and how to get to it.”

“I’m the only one who can do it,” Quent told him, glancing at Zoë, who had stopped about twenty-five meters from shore. “I know the codes.”

“Tell me,” Liam said, and gestured to the two men who appeared to be Morris and Hugo.

They commenced with turning some levers on the edge of the bridge and the whole walkway began to shake on its suspension cables. Quent saw it shift and sag and, in desperation, pointed the crystal gun to his temple. Zoë had to escape with the crystal. “I’ll shoot if you don’t call them off, then you’ll never get it.”

But before Liam could respond, one of the men cranking the bridge’s suspension said, “Hey! Look!” He stopped cranking and pointed.

Zoë was standing there on the walkway, the water lapping gently over the top where her weight sagged it into the ocean. She was holding the blue-white crystal in her hands, high and proud above her head. “Don’t move or it goes in the ocean. Then you’ll never have it.”

Liam cursed, then he whipped toward Quent. “You lied, you bastard.”

Quent didn’t bother to respond, and it was just as well, for Zoë wasn’t finished. “Let him go, or I’ll chuck the damned thing,” she called. “You have till the count of three to get away from the bridge, or it’s gone.”

“Zoë, no!” Quent shouted, but she’d already started to count. 

“One,” she shouted, lifting up her pack. As they watched she crouched and dumped the crystal inside the bag—a clever move, so that its glow wouldn’t be seen in the water if she did indeed chuck it. “Two.”

“Wait!” shouted Liam. 

Zoë held up the pack by its straps and began to swing it around. “Let him go. Or this goes.”

Damn it Zoë. We need that crystal.

As if reading his mind she looked at him, meeting his eyes in the dim light. He felt their gazes connect and a rush of love swamped him. He stepped toward the bridge. The crystal or being with Zoë? 

Zoë would win every time.

“Wait,” Liam shouted. “How do I know you’ll give it to us once he’s there?”

Zoë bent to her quiver, which was lying on the bridge in front of her, and pulled an arrow out. She fitted the pack onto the tip of the arrow and jabbed it into the bridge. Then, hooking her foot around the quiver, she began to back up, lodging a different arrow onto her bow. “I’ll leave it there and you let him come. If you take one step onto the bridge before he’s at the halfway mark, I’ll shoot. Once he’s with me, you can get the pack.”

“And what’s to keep him from picking it up on his way?”

“You’ve got control of the bridge, dickhead. You can loosen it and dump us into the sharks.” She looked at Quent and he knew they were going to have to run like hell if this worked because Liam was going to dump them anyway.

He started toward her, watching as she focused with her arrow on the men behind him. When he got to the arrow holding the pack steady on the bridge, he hesitated. A crystal from Atlantis. His fingers itched to snatch it up and run…but he knew they’d never make it.

He’d seen the terror on his brave Zoë’s face when they were in the pod. She’d come back with him, she’d come back twice now. He might risk his own life, grab the pack and make a run—and swim—for it. But he wouldn’t risk hers again.

So he walked on past.

He saw the relief in her shoulders, watched as she stooped to pick up her quiver, which was empty of arrows, and he realized she had her last one in the bow. Holy shit. They were fucked if she had to shoot.

He began to run and Zoë turned to do the same, heading for the shore.  The bridge swayed and sagged, and he felt the pounding of feet behind him as Liam and his men ran toward the crystal.

About the time he reached the shore, the gatehouse in sight, he heard a shout of rage from behind him, then the heavier pounding of feet. Quent didn’t dare look back, for the guards had come from the gatehouse and blocked Zoë’s path. She didn’t hesitate, but let her last arrow fly on the run.

It got one of the guards in the shoulder, and he tumbled away. As Quent ran up, he scooped the tazer from his pants pocket and zapped the second guard, just as he reached for Zoë.

Then Quent caught her arm and they ran off into the woods, her quiver bouncing heavily against her back.

“They’re going to be right behind us,” she gasped.

“What’d you do?” he said, holding her up as they jumped over a fallen tree. He was faster than she was, and worlds stronger, so he swooped her up in his arms. The quiver swung around her shoulder and banged against him and that’s when he realized what happened. “You kept the crystal?” 

She curled her arms around his neck as he bounded through the woods. The shouts behind them were still audible, but didn’t seem to be getting any closer. “Of course. We nearly died for the damn thing, and as frightening as it is, I couldn’t let them have it.”

“How?” he asked, keeping his side of the conversation short so as to conserve on breath. He saw a good climbing tree ahead of him and made a split decision. “We’re going up,” he said, stumbling to a halt next to it. “Then we can see, and be out of sight. They won’t find us up here.”

Zoë didn’t argue, and when he boosted her to a limb just above his head, she grabbed it and began to hike herself up like an expert. Pausing to take off her shoes and stick them into the crook of a branch, she scrambled up quickly and easily.

He was right behind her, resisting the urge to look up her short dress. There’d be plenty of time for that later. He hoped.

Once they settled on a large branch high among the leaves, he looked toward the skyline of Mecca. The bridge was in clear view, and he saw a large group of people hurrying toward the shore. Liam’s search party. He turned back to Zoë. “They’re coming, but we’ve got the advantage. If they come this way, we can move from tree to tree.”

“And once the sun’s up, we might be able to spot a few mustangs,” Zoë said. “I’m not worried. This is a damn sight better than being on that creepy island.”

“So how did you fool them? You had me fooled too.”

“I swapped a piece of rubble for the crystal. I’d picked one up when I put the shoes on, noticing it was about the size of the crystal. I figured it wouldn’t be a bad idea to have a decoy. When I put the crystal in my pack, when you were all watching, I really put it in my quiver. I was holding the bags next to each other and did a sleight of hand.”

“Hot damn, Zoë,” he said, and moved closer on the branch to brush a piece of bark from her cheek. “You’re fucking amazing.”

“I know that,” she said modestly. “But I had to dump the arrows out so they wouldn’t see that I was holding my quiver, so we’re shit out of ammunition. And whatever else was in your pack is gone.”

“I don’t care. I’ve got all that matters, right here,” he said, squeezing her close.

She turned toward him on the branch, straddling it in her ragged gown, and lifted her face for a kiss. “Too bad we had to hide way the fuck up here,” she said, pulling away with a soft release of his lips, but steadying her hands on his chest. “It’s not the best place for ‘thank God we escaped with our lives’ sex.”

He laughed and lifted her chin to look in her eyes. “Does it count if I tell you I love you now that we have escaped with our lives, and I know I’m not going to die?”

She settled back away from him, something odd in her gaze. Sadness? Tenderness? He couldn’t quite read it in the dim light. “Not so fast, genius,” she said. “We could fall out of the tree having ‘thank God we escaped with our lives’ sex and break our necks.”

He grinned. “Wanna try it?”

She smiled back. “Better fucking believe it.”