Prey: A Novel Read online

  He moved the propane camp heater closer to their feet, but not so close that he could accidentally kick it, then turned off the lantern and in the deep shadows stretched out on the mattress beside her. His feet hung off; it was a double-sized mattress, which was damn small by his standards but it was what fit best inside the sleeping stalls, and he usually slept on the diagonal just to give himself a little more length. Sometimes he folded his dirty clothes and placed them on the floor at the bottom of the mattress so he’d have something to rest his feet on, but right now he was too tired to get up and he didn’t give a shit whether his feet hung off or not.

  He’d thought he would drop right off to sleep, but he didn’t. Even as tired as he was, he could still feel the burn of adrenaline pumping through his system. The ordeal wasn’t over. They were safe, for now, and relatively comfortable, but this situation wasn’t over by a long shot. There was still a killer out there, and a bear that would have to be hunted down and eliminated. The storm was over, but heavy rain was still complicating everything. He wouldn’t be walking anywhere until the weather cleared, however long that took.

  “Dare.” His name floated into the shadows, just a whisper, as if she thought he might be asleep and didn’t want to wake him if he was.

  “What?” he responded. God, if she had to piss, he was going to cry. The portable toilet was behind the cabin, and not only was the rain still pouring down, but he’d have to get her down the ladder, into the toilet, back up the ladder … it boggled the mind. Hell, he’d make her pee in a cup if that was the problem.

  She didn’t need anything like that, though. Instead she said, “I can’t get warm. I’m so cold.”

  “Do you want some more sugar water to drink?” Everything in him protested at the idea of getting up, but he’d make the effort.

  “No. I—” She broke off, was silent for a few moments, then she took a shuddering breath. “Would you get … would you get under the cover with me? You’re so warm, and I’m so cold I hurt.” She sighed, made a sound from deep in her throat that was a cross between a moan and a gasp, and then she said one more word:

  “Please.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  As little as ten hours ago, if anyone had even suggested to Angie that she’d ever, under any circumstances, ask Dare Callahan to get in a sleeping bag with her, she’d have thought about seeing if that person could be committed for his or her own safety, because obviously said person was nutty as a fruitcake. But just eight hours ago she’d been peacefully asleep in her own camp, and the night’s hellish events hadn’t yet begun.

  A lot of water had gone under the bridge since then, literally as well as figuratively. There had been times when she hadn’t been certain she’d live another minute, but her only option had been to keep pushing, keep trying. Even after Dare had found her the pain and miserable cold had seemed unending; the only difference was that she hadn’t been alone. He’d been there, strong and never-faltering even though she’d known, in the part of her brain that wasn’t preoccupied with the struggle to survive, that the cold and rain and relentless effort were all wearing him down, too.

  She had been so terrified that she felt as if some part of her soul had been permanently altered, in a way she couldn’t yet fully comprehend. She had been smashed down to a tiny portion of herself, all of her resources pulled inward and devoted to survival, and only now could she feel herself begin to unfold again, feel her mind and body trying to resettle into normalcy.

  There was, as yet, a disorienting sense of unreality about the whole situation that allowed her to ask Dare to get under the cover with her and share his body warmth, and to be unsurprised when he didn’t hesitate.

  “Just lie there,” he said, getting on his knees and unzipping the bag all the way around so it would lie flat. “You don’t have to do a thing. I’ll pull the bag from under you.”

  She gave a brief nod, held herself in silence as he moved her around, pulling the sleeping bag free as he went. Every movement jarred her ankle, even with the elastic bandage snugly supporting it. Dare hadn’t said anything while he was wrapping it, and she hadn’t asked, but now her brain was reengaging. When he gently cupped her right calf and lifted her leg, she said, “Is it broken?”

  He gave her a quick glance, the expression in his blue eyes sharp despite his obvious fatigue. “I don’t know. If it is, it’s just a simple fracture or a hairline crack, nothing major.”

  Good news, bad news, though she’d heard all her life that a simple break in the bone would heal a lot faster than a severe sprain. If her ankle was better tomorrow, then she’d know it was nothing more than a sprain. There was nothing she could do to change the situation one way or the other.

  He spread the sleeping bag out over her and the mattress; she moved restlessly, trying to adjust her foot so the weight of the down was pressing down on her toes, which made her ankle throb. Damn, this was going to be a pain in the ass, in more ways than one. “I hate being helpless,” she grumbled, then wished she hadn’t complained.

  “Yeah, it sucks,” he said bluntly, not bothering with a pep talk or even sympathy, which was okay with her. He’d carried her on his back for hours, so she figured she should at least deal with the pain and inconvenience of a hurt ankle. He then moved on to the business at hand. “Okay, let’s figure out the best way to do this, considering your ankle. We can try the spoon position, with you on your left side.”

  That sounded reasonable; she shifted onto her left side, curled into the smallest ball possible, and gingerly placed her right foot on top of her left one. Dare slid under the sleeping bag with her, tucked himself firmly against her and draped his right arm over her waist. They had spent so many hours in constant physical contact that she had felt a little adrift when they weren’t touching; now, feeling him all along her back, his thighs against her butt and legs, something deep inside her relaxed, as if a previously unrecognized need had been fed.

  If only the cold would go away. Shivering, she pulled the sleeping bag almost to the top of her head again, hoping their shared body heat would soon begin to seep into her. If she had a hair dryer for her hair … but she didn’t, and having a damp head was making it even more difficult to get warm. Being so exhausted that all she wanted to do was sleep, and not being able to go to sleep because she was so cold, was miserable.

  He gave a weary sigh and she felt his arm get heavier. Evidently he wasn’t having the same trouble going to sleep. Angie tried to hold herself still, so her shivering wouldn’t disturb him. She must not have been successful, because after a minute he muttered, “Go ahead and let your teeth chatter; it’ll warm you up faster.”

  So she did. She let the bone-rattling shudders shake her from head to toe; her teeth clattered together like castanets. Wave after wave swept through her; she’d relax, thinking they were over, only to be seized by another. Dare held her through the quakes, and gradually the time between them lengthened as her body generated heat and Dare’s warmth began to create a snug haven under the down-filled sleeping bag. With the cold banished, heavy lassitude melted her bones and she felt herself sinking from consciousness.

  Just before she went out, Dare’s rough, sleepy voice rumbled grumpily, “I’ll wake up with a hard-on, so don’t give me any shit about it.”

  “That’s okay,” Angie mumbled. “It’s too little for me to worry about.” He’d said so, hadn’t he? Then she nestled her face against the mattress and went to sleep as suddenly and deeply as if she’d been dropped over a cliff.

  Chad Krugman huddled miserably under the rocky overhang, watching the gray sheets of rain and wondering if it was ever going to stop. During the night the lightning storm had moved on and he’d begun to hope the storm was over, then another wave of thunder and lightning had arrived and the second was even worse than the first. He’d had to spend his time going from horse to horse, settling the bastards down, until that storm, too, had rolled on down the mountains.

  That had been the pattern all night long.