Midnight (41 page)

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Authors: Ellen Connor

Tags: #Science Fiction, #Romance, #Fantasy

BOOK: Midnight
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“I can do the math. My men are gone, and the minute I take a shot, I’m a dead man.” Peltz lowered his rifle a fraction. “But we have supplies buried all over. See, we put by a little something at each new campsite. We can make a deal, if you’re willing to do business.”
The need for ammo had been foremost on Rosa’s mind for months, but her face remained stony. Chris couldn’t imagine two more different leaders. There was no way she’d go for this. Not in a million years.
“What do you say,
Jefa
? Do we have a deal?”
As she pretended to consider, no doubt stalling, Falco spun, swinging Maryann away from danger. Peltz’s rifle sparked at the same time as Falco’s Colt. The scumbag toppled from the ridge, slamming onto the rocks below while the bravo dropped his pistol and clung to the rock wall, trying to break his own fall. Somehow he still tucked Maryann safely against his side.
“Falco!” Rosa raced to him, where he bled from his mouth and from a massive hole in his back. “
Dios
, he’s bad.”
Singer pushed past, urging the women to move. “Rosa, we’re getting the truck. I’ll bring it as close as I can.”
Chris knelt, stripping Falco’s shirt, and covered the wound with wadded cloth. Blood spilled out like a fountain, staining the fabric. “I don’t know what else I can do.”
In truth, it was a kill shot, severing his spine. The bullet was probably lodged in one of his internal organs. Even before the Change, it would have taken a blood transfusion and hours in surgery—and he still might not walk again. Now, Chris could only try to make him comfortable.
Rosa choked on a sob. “Don’t die. We just figured things out, you and me.”
Above them, the horn blared, skidding to a stop some twenty meters away on the ridge above. With help from the uninjured women, bravos loaded their stolen provisions into the back of the truck. They hadn’t found all of the caches yet, but there would be time for exploration. He and Ex could check things out, once this hellish night ended. Chris watched the movement, one hand still applying pressure to Falco’s wound. Everyone fit inside, with a sickening amount of room to spare. They’d lost so many.
At Singer’s orders, Rio jogged over to help get Falco up to the truck. Chris and Rio made a chair of their arms and carried the man as best they could. Falco bore the motion with gritted teeth, though it had to be agonizing. As they reached the vehicle, a wolverine, its muzzle coated with the scarlet of his kills, emerged from the shadows.
With Rio’s help, Chris settled Falco into the passenger seat.
“Mount up,” Rosa called.
Ex shifted. Chris tried not to stare, but it never lost that unnerving quality, even though he’d lived through the process. Then he was looking at a naked man, who had a slash in his shoulder. The wound had already scabbed over. Chris remembered Jenna’s uncanny healing powers after she’d first shifted and wondered if that useful trait applied to all skinwalkers. He’d like that to be true, if only for the sake of his own singed back.
“You with us, man?”
Ex grunted. “Where’s Allison?”
His woman called his name and ran to him, still wielding a machete she must have grabbed off a raider. They hugged, and Chris leaned in to check on Falco, fingers against his wrist.
Pulse thready. This is
not
good.
“I don’t mean to impose,” Ex said, “but I could use some pants.”
Chris handed him the backpack, urgency firing in his veins. “We gotta move.”
Rosa leaned out from the cab, where she sat with one arm supporting Falco, the other on his wound. “Ex, can you ride?”
“Sure thing.”
“Circle the camp. Kill anybody still moving, then come home.”
Home,
Chris thought.
Soon.
His gaze sharp on every night shadow, Chris put his hands on the rear lift. “Someone find me a lantern. Anything. I’ll need it for Falco as soon as we’re back in Valle. And I want to know injuries, so look yourselves over and assess the worst.” He shut the lift and raced to the driver’s seat. “Everyone hold on! We’re going!”
The pickup surged into motion. He fought the steering wheel across every bump, every pit, every rough desert bush.
“He’s dying,” Rosa whispered.
Chris gunned the engine. The headlamps did little to combat the pitch-black emptiness. Only his animal sense of direction told him where to go. They were halfway back to Valle when Falco seized, his whole body trembling.
“I’m stopping,” Chris said.
Brakes squealed as he fought to slow down, conscious of the men in back. The vehicle bucked like a wild horse, and Chris’s chest slammed into the steering wheel. He groaned. But adrenaline still burned, keeping him moving. One of the women handed him a pocket flashlight before he even asked.
“Falco,” he said, circling the light. Though he’d once been a rival and a pain in the ass, now he was a bravo on the brink of death. Light didn’t matter. There was nothing he could do.
Falco’s eyes closed. “Shut up,
hombre
. Rosa was singing to me.”
Easing back toward the driver’s side, Rosa cradled the bravo’s head in her lap. “Falco, look at me, damn it.”
She wept, tears streaming, her face beatific. She smoothed Falco’s hair while singing a low Spanish lullaby. Deciding to give them some privacy, Chris opened the driver’s side door, but she clasped his hand, keeping him nearby.
“Stay.” Her expression said she didn’t want to do this alone.
The fallen bravo’s breath came in shallow rasps that carried a watery gurgle. He gazed up into Rosa’s face as she whispered an unfamiliar prayer. Chris saw that, whatever his faults, Falco had loved her. He’d loved Valle too, never pushing the fragile town past its breaking point. He’d backed down rather than fragment what they’d built, and he’d kept his word when he promised no more trouble.
Falco gazed over Rosa’s shoulder, his blue eyes filming with gray. “Take care of her, Doc.”
Through her tears, Rosa smiled. “We’ll take care of each other. Keep a light on for us,
mano
. We’ll see you again someday.”
“Count on it.” And he closed his eyes forever.
FORTY-ONE
 
By the time Valle came into view, fingers of light plucked at the far horizon. They crept over the mountains with seeming reluctance, as if the sun shouldn’t shine on this night’s work. Rosa felt the same way. She drove the truck, giving her hands and her mind something to do.
Yet, despite their losses, gratitude shimmered in her veins. She’d survived. So had Cristián.
Exhaustion weighed on the faces of those spilling out of the pickup. Some were injured, others spattered with the enemy’s blood. Everyone was filthy. No surprises there. But Rosa hadn’t expected to find a young raider crawling out of the back. In the confusion and darkness he must have slipped in, but she wondered why the hell he’d waited so long to act.
Rosa drew her weapon and pinned him with a look. “What are you doing?”
“Don’t,” Singer said, stepping between them. “He saved me. Helped me unlock the chains.”
“So you brought him with us?”
“He’s not like the others. When his dad died, he didn’t know where to go, and he ran into one of their patrols—”
“
Sí, pobrecito
, he has a sad story. I get it.”
If one of their own could turn traitor, then maybe a dust pirate could become a man of honor. The world she’d known, where all skinwalkers were the enemy, had ended. Time to build something new.
She turned to the young raider. “What’s your name?”
“Kyle.”
“Well, Kyle, we have rules here. Women are treated with respect. There’s no fighting or stealing. And
everyone
works. Can you live like that?”
“It sounds like heaven,” he said quietly.
So young.
A boy saved from the darkness.
“
Bueno
. Singer, you get him settled.”
Rio, she noticed, looked none too pleased, but the kids could sort it out.
Though Rosa’s eyes burned with exhaustion, much work remained. Falco went, like Manuel, with a quiet ceremony on the edge of town. They hadn’t been able to recover all of the fallen, so they honored him in their stead.
The numbers between men and women were now far more equal. That too would be different. She needed to find someone to take over the
taberna
and the general store. Such concerns could wait until they restored order.
The day dragged, and Rosa didn’t see much of Chris as he tended the wounded. After bathing, she caught a few hours of sleep in the hottest part of the day. Then she called the survivors, battered but better for the rest.
Once they assembled in the
taberna
, she climbed up onto a table. “This is the biggest victory we’ve ever known. Our territory is free from fear. We can rebuild and prosper, as we deserve. I think it fitting we celebrate with a proper Burning Night. Our lost ones would appreciate a celebration in their honor.”
Ragged cheers followed her announcement. Though tired and grieving, her people counted their blessings and rejoiced in their lives. That was Valle.
Allison sought her out afterward. “What can I do to help?”
“Can you cook?”
“Well enough.”
“Would you consider taking Viv’s place in the
taberna
?”
Allison gave a soft little sigh. “It would feel good to have a purpose again.”
Ex smiled, quiet pride suffusing his features, and Allison beckoned to Maryann, whom everyone had judged broken beyond all mending. The woman pushed to her feet and nodded her agreement.
Rosa stayed her with a gesture. “Are you sure you’re up to it?”
“Falco wanted me to survive,” Maryann answered fiercely. “He granted me this chance. I won’t waste it . . . or shame him by cowering.”
He would like this,
Rosa thought.
Being the hero who gave the girl a reason to live.
Hours later, at sundown, the lamps were lit and the stars came out. They devoured the usual refreshments, plenty of agave wine. The new boy, Kyle, showed some skill on the shopkeeper’s fiddle. His father had played, he said with a sad smile. Rosa enjoyed the music, even as she mourned Wicker.
The citizens of Valle filled the plaza, where a modest bonfire lit the sky—so unlike the terror of her town set alight. The mood was restrained at first because the loss remained fresh. But soon the melody got to them, as did the wine. Jolene sat beside Brick where he lay on a makeshift pallet, his chest still bound. She tapped her feet, and when other bravos requested her company, she simply smiled and shook her head. Singer only had eyes for Rio, apparently having convinced him Kyle wasn’t a threat.
For long moments Rosa merely watched: Tilly with Jameson and their baby, Ex with Allison. Others paired off for the night, though some of the women, like Maryann, sat stiffly near the warming bonfire while enjoying the music. It was enough. It was a start.
Things weren’t the same, of course. There weren’t enough bravos to assemble as they’d once done, dancing with the hope of attracting a female for the night. But customs could change. Valle would adapt and become stronger for it.
If Falco were there, he would have tried to drag her into the revelries. But he was gone, and the man she wanted hadn’t yet put in an appearance. For all she knew, Chris might be sleeping; she had no idea if he’d also snatched a siesta. With a half shrug at her thoughts, she took the food and drink tray from Singer and offered it around. The girl had no cause to be serving drinks when Rio waited for her to dance. Brick glowered a little because everyone knew what it meant, but the girl was old enough to make her own choices. The young couple kissed softly, tenderly, with Rio’s hands on her waist. Rosa’s heart surged at another beginning.
Tonight, Valle had hope for the future, and it sparkled like pyrite.
She felt someone’s gaze, her skin tingling with heat. Even before she turned, she knew. Cristián stood silhouetted in the darkness. That was all she needed to make the night perfect.
Mi corazón,
she mouthed.
Quite deliberately, she set down her tray.
Let people serve themselves.
As the music played, she undulated her hips with sensuous intent, arms up, back arched. Up and down, that slow, suggestive shimmy drew him. He showed no hesitation. Cutting through the revelers, his face colored by twisting flames and night shadows, he took his place with her. As it should be. Rosa danced for him, only him, her body telling him everything she had yet to say in words.
He pulled her close, a flattering tremor to his hands. “You’re dancing with me.”
He’d once complained that she would do so with anyone except him, but from that night forward, all of her dances belonged to Cristián. She smiled up at him, heart in her eyes.

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