He dispatched the man with a single slice of the knife, disappearing back into the shadows as the bandit’s death gurgle alerted the men around him that a Reaper was in their midst.
Manuel jumped back from the spray of blood, crossing himself.
“Madre de Dios!”
“Holy shit!”
The curses floated on the cold air, sharp pinpoints of terror. Satisfaction filled Isaiah as they scrambled about. No one caught the man as he fell, as if touching him would seal their fate. As if that fate hadn’t already been determined the moment they’d taken
her
.
Isaiah took stock of the situation. Nine men left and eight hours until daylight. He pulled his throwing knife, took aim across the camp, and let fly, ducking behind a tree as men spun and fired and then thought to cover their own asses. Too little, too late. They were scared, scattered in loyalties, every man focused on his own survival. Easy pickings.
He glanced to where he’d last seen
her
. The area was empty. Even the glow from the discarded smoke was gone. Only a Reaper could do that. Billings had taken her. Isaiah palmed another throwing knife and glided back along the edge of the camp, moving soundlessly through the gloom toward where Billings and Adelaide had stood, knowing there’d be sign. Maybe not enough for human eyes, but enough for his. Dragging the woman would make a seamless escape into the environment impossible. Isaiah got to the spot where Billings had slipped through the brush with Adelaide. A broken branch at eye level screamed a message.
Follow me
.
He glanced back over his shoulder. The men were regrouping. Leaving them now meant losing the advantage. Leaving them alive went against everything inside that screamed for retribution, but
she
wasn’t there anymore. She was with someone as deadly as he, someone as unstable as he, her fate left to an unreliable force that could be either threat or salvation, depending on his mood. And moods in Reapers were notoriously unstable things.
The moon crested the trees. A howl echoed across the valley. A challenge and a dare.
With a lift of his lip and a flex of muscle, Isaiah tilted his head back and answered.
THE howl came out of the darkness, sending shivers down Adelaide’s spine. Dark and compelling, it connected with something primitive inside her. She turned back toward the sound. Goose bumps raced down her arms.
“Come on.” Billings tugged her forward. She stumbled. “Move.”
She tripped over a branch as he dragged her forward, her feet tangling in her skirt. “I would if you’d let me get my feet before hauling me around.”
There was a grunt, another yank. “I don’t have time for hysterics.”
“Who’s being hysterical?” She yanked at her skirt with her free hand. A bridle jangled. A horse snorted. They were near the horses? “I’m just pointing out the illogic of expecting me to see in pitch blackness.”
“I’ll do the seeing.”
The “trust me” was implied. She wasn’t trusting anyone. “As if you can see any better.”
“I can.” From the way he hauled her the next ten feet, maneuvering them around obstacles, maybe he could.
“How is that possible?”
“I’m special.”
He was something, but she wasn’t sure “special” was it. She ran into his back, bumping her nose, as he came to a dead stop.
“Ow.”
“Quiet.”
Rubbing her nose, she glared at his back. “Then stop hauling me around.” Billings put his arm around her waist. She pushed at his arm. “Hey! Let me go.”
“In a minute.”
“But—” She reached out and bumped something warm, alive. The horse. Bracing herself against his side, she pushed backward.
Billings didn’t even acknowledge her protest with a grunt. “No buts. He’ll catch up to us later.”
He would?
With a simple shift, Billings foiled her defiance. She would have fallen if he hadn’t been holding her so tightly. Darn it. Falling would have at least broken his hold. While she was fussing, he lifted her. She let her legs dangle. They bumped against the horse. He couldn’t make her sit.
“Who are you?” she asked over her shoulder.
“The only friend you’ve got right now, and if you want to live long enough for him to catch up, you’ll stop being a fool and put your leg over that horse’s back.”
“Why would I want that?”
“Because your kidnappers will regroup quickly. And because he’s the best protection you’ll ever have.”
That was something to consider. She let him seat her in the saddle. She grabbed the saddle horn as the horse stomped his foot. Her skirt was uncomfortably twisted. She yanked at it. “Better than you?”
“Yeah.”
The lump under her butt came free. “How so?”
“Because I don’t give a shit.”
The man certainly believed in blunt speaking. The horse shifted sideways as Billings took the reins. The howl came again. Just as dark, just as compelling. Just as irresistible. There was a sadness to it that made her want to reach out and touch, a determination that gave her confidence, and a feral edge that sent goose bumps chasing over her skin. Billings swung up behind her. His arms came around her. A shiver slid over her skin, and not the good kind. He didn’t give a hoot, which only left one question. “So why are you helping me now?”
“Because I owe him.”
Him.
The one who howled rather than shouted. She didn’t know whether to kick the horse in the direction of that howl or to turn around and run. Billings took the decision out of her hands. Kneeing the horse forward, he rode into the veil of darkness before them. She clutched the saddle horn, praying that if the horse couldn’t see, it would at least follow Billings’s directions and they wouldn’t end up sprawled at the bottom of a ravine with their necks broken. She prayed for that with every breath. And with every prayer, she fought the need to turn back toward that mournful howl. She pushed the hair off her face and grimaced as her finger snagged in a snarl. She hated snarls. Hated untidiness. She started finger combing the snarl out, blowing out a breath as she accepted that her hair was the least of her problems. Her neat and orderly life was a rat’s nest of chaos, from the kidnappers on her trail to the strange men who’d rescued her. And there wasn’t a thing she could do about either.
Could her life get any crazier?
HOURS later she had her answer. Maybe it couldn’t get crazier, but it could get worse. She sat on that horse with nothing to do but feel her thighs rub raw against the leather of the saddle, and let her mind race over all the possibilities of what could happen. Hours in which her mental and physical misery multiplied until she wanted to jump out of her skin. And then, as a final insult, the clouds opened up. Cold rain poured over her, plastering her hair to her head, chilling her to the bone. The man behind her on the horse didn’t seem affected at all by the elements. Didn’t seem affected at all by her shivers. Didn’t seem affected by anything. He just kept the horse pointed the way he wanted to go and rode in miserable, irritating silence.
She groaned as a cramp seized the muscle in her calf. Taking her foot from the stirrup, she tried to ease the ache. It didn’t help. The cramp grew right along with her misery. Another shiver went down her spine. She clenched her teeth against the chill. When was this going to end? Another chill shook her from head to toe, leaving her exhausted. Oh God, she didn’t even care anymore how this ended. She was just so miserable she only needed to know when.
Gray light pierced the horizon and a few birds chirped. Morning was coming. Did that mean the nightmare was going to end? A glance over her shoulder revealed the truth. Not if she left it to her rescuer. His gaze was set straight ahead and the expression on his lean face said he was prepared to go for hours. She rubbed her thumb over her worry stone in her pocket, searching for courage. She found it in the next hope-killing shiver.
“We need to stop.”
“No.”
At least he was predictable. She grabbed the reins and hauled back. “Yes.”
The horse snorted and sidestepped. “Son of a bitch.” With a soft whisper, Billings quieted the animal. “Don’t do that again.”
She ignored her instinctive flinch of fear. Misery loved company and he was too complacent for her peace of mind. “Then listen to me.”
“You don’t want to stop now.”
“Yes, I do.”
“It’s too soon.”
“For what?”
“Reapers are unstable after a battle.”
So they were Reapers. Those legendary shadowy figures that haunted the hills surrounding the town. She didn’t know whether to be comforted or panicked. All she knew of Reapers were the whispers that floated out of the saloons. Some said they were demons sent to earth. Other’s said they were God’s avenging angels. No one said they were safe. And she was riding with one. Dear heavens, her luck was nothing but bad. “Rumor is, Reapers aren’t that stable
before
a battle, either. Or any time in between.”
That twitch of his mouth might be a smile. “That’s true.”
“But what does that matter to me?”
“Beyond the fact that you’re riding with one?”
“Yes.” Beyond his physical stoicism, she didn’t see much difference between him and anyone else. He looked neither demon nor angel. He was certainly less expressive than her cousin. Cole wasn’t one for holding back when he thought someone was playing the fool.
“He’ll make his move when we stop.”
That sounded ominous. “He will?”
“He’ll take it as a sign.”
That sounded worse. She kicked the horse. Maybe she should heed the saying “Stick with the devil you know.” She knew Billings. “Let’s go then.”
Billings looked over his shoulder and stiffened. “Too late.”
“No, it’s not.”
Her nerves went taut in a flare of alarm that wasn’t the least soothed by his “You made the decision.”
“You didn’t give me all the information I needed.” A glance over her shoulder showed the guy’s jaw was set and his eyebrow cocked.
“Yet you made the decision anyway and now trouble’s come calling.”
Trouble? She didn’t need any more trouble. She said so.
He shrugged. “No one really cares.”
She cared.
He turned the horse around so it faced the way they’d come.
She looked back over her shoulder. “What are you doing?”
“He’d only run us down.”
A man who could run down a horse? She swallowed. “Who is
he
?”
Billings’s hand on the top of her head turned hers. In front of them, at the edge of the woods, stood something—someone—tall, big, and bulky. Menacing. Every horrible tale she’d been told of the demons and monsters that lived in the hills flooded her mind.
4
“HELLO, ISAIAH,” BILLINGS SAID.
At least this demon had a name.
The only response was a grunt that didn’t cross the line from beast to man. Adelaide rubbed her thumb over her worry stone, taking comfort from the smooth, rhythmic motion. Closing her eyes, she imagined she was home in her bed with its crisp white sheets, white-and-yellow-checked quilt, and fluffy pillows. She imagined she was warm and cozy under the covers. Safe.
“You’ve come looking for this, I suppose?” Billings’s hand in her hair snapped her eyes open. With a tug, he tipped her head back.
A growl rumbled out of the gloom and the figure took a step forward.
It was a man, she could see that now. Tall, broad shouldered, and unkempt. His hair was long and wavy, brown touched by sun at the ends swept back over his shoulders and anchored there by his dark Stetson. His beard was thick. Dark clothes covered his body down to his black boots, but nothing could hide the power beneath. Something gleamed dully in his hand. A knife? A gun? Whatever it was didn’t matter. It was always the man holding the weapon who radiated the threat.
As she studied Isaiah, Adelaide had the absurd thought that everything about him was a shadow. But then he took another step forward, and she took back the thought. He was substantial and she knew him. She’d seen him flitting away from her back door a time or two. A shiver that had nothing to do with cold went down her spine.
Reaper
. An icy rivulet of rain slid down under Adelaide’s hair, following her spine. It was bad. It was cold but no colder than the chill that shook her at the term. They were both Reapers. Isaiah was one of those strange men who had moved into the area last year after the end of the War. No, last year right before the War had been declared over. Shadowy figures whom the townsfolk feared and to whom they attributed all wrongs since they’d first noticed their arrival. She had, too, at first, but her own past had made her conscious of how rumor could distort fact. As time went on, she’d noticed that the number of wrongs had gone down since the Reapers had taken up residence in the hills. So when she’d seen the man hanging around outside her door, she’d started leaving out baked goods for him, the ones that hadn’t sold. It seemed such a paltry thing to do, she’d do the same for a stray dog, but she’d been compelled to do it.