Nightfall (22 page)

“As more than Mitch's daughter? More than a promise to be kept?”

He exhaled as if it hurt him. “Yeah. I don't have the words, Jenna, but ... damn, wanting you is a knife in my gut.”

It was enough—more than she'd expected, in fact. But she lacked the courage to ask for more. This would get her through the cold. Part of her said she was a sucker for gobbling up the scraps from his table, but she couldn't help it. He mattered so much.

Mason pulled her to her feet. “Break's over.”

Jenna could have taken sandpaper to his skull and done less damage. Mason felt that scoured, inside and out. From the first touch, he'd felt the sizzling, dangerous blend of sex and violence. She'd almost blown his self-control completely. Choke her. Fuck her. Both sounded pretty damn good.

How had he come to this?

Stomping through the woods, his legs growing heavier, he pushed the nausea back in his gut. Tree limbs swung back and forward in the strengthening wind and snow, adding to his dizziness. She'd forced him to admit the most appalling truth—not physical weakness but about what he felt. Excruciating things.

Things that proved he was still human. That realization shouldn't have come as a relief, but it did.

He pulled a compass from the breast pocket of his field jacket and checked their progress. “Another two hours, if I had to guess.”

Jenna trudged to a stop beside him and nodded. The skin rimming her eyes drew tight, and her lips angled downward in a near grimace.

He read her. Not her mind, but her body. Fatigue. Resignation.

“You okay?”

She fixed jewel green eyes on him. “Sure. No choice, right?”

Mason huffed a hard breath and ground his molars, but he didn't voice his frustration. He'd only just figured out that sarcasm meant she was hurting.

Give me strength when I'm failing
, she'd said.

She seemed to want a friend more than a guardian, which made no sense to him. What use was a friend who couldn't protect her?

But what could it hurt? By all rights they should be dead already, and they might be before the sun set. If they didn't make it to shelter before nightfall, if they couldn't find the spare seal, if the monsters attacked again—too many possibilities. He'd been trying to ward them off, every one. By himself.

Yet she only wanted his damn hand to hold.

“Right,” he said roughly.

She bowed her head, loose hair angling across her cheekbones. Her shoulders slumped. She would keep going, just as she always had—for survival's sake and for him.

“Jenna?” Gently, still terrified she'd refuse him, he curved his hand along the base of her skull. She didn't pull away. That gave him strength. “We
do
have to keep going. But I asked if you're okay because ... I want to know.”

He pulled the backpack off her shoulders. A quiet sigh slipped from her lips.

“C'mon. Two minutes won't kill us.” He tried to keep his tone light but failed.

“News to me.”

“Me too.”

A quirk of a smile. Not much, but he latched onto that encouragement. Still wary, he cupped her upper arms and eased her against his chest. Kneading, he massaged her neck and shoulders as a means of working out his own frustrations. Her body melted beneath his hands. She moaned, more a vibration against his sternum than a sound.

She'd relaxed, but he knew it was a conscious decision to lean her head against his chest. He accepted it like a gift. Her hair tickled his nose, washing the scent of her across his ragged, needy senses.
Yes, please.
Something other than death and defensiveness and fear-soaked adrenaline.

Yes.
He knew it deep in his bones. Maybe it was time they both had something better to fight for.

“Tell me. No tricks. No games.” Mason turned her and tipped her face up to his. Wide green eyes gazed back. Her chin trembled. He'd never seen anyone so capable look so young, so lost. “I'm asking. Are you okay?”

“
No.
”

She let him have it then, the full brunt of her fear. Weeks of mental images. Sleepless nights and days made of terrified hours. Mason almost collapsed under the weight of that pure, surging emotion, but he stood firm. He caught her in his arms and held tight. No passion now. No hostility. They simply clung to each other in an embrace that ripped open his heart.

He didn't know what to do with her tears, so he wrapped his arms even tighter around her trembling body, opening himself. Maybe he could be the comfort she needed. And holding her, absorbing her, the vise around his chest eased. Just a little.

“No, I'm not okay,” she said, her words muffled in his coat. “And this ... this just
sucks
.”

Mason chuckled. “Yeah, it does.”

“It's not fair—but I can't say that, right, 'cause at least I'm not dead.”

“You can say it.” He glanced around the still, ethereal forest. “I won't tell.”

“And I hate that it won't ever be over. You can't even tell me with a straight face that it'll be all right. Maybe not now, but someday.”

“I can't tell you that, not without lying. Do you want me to?”

“About that?” She laughed shakily. “Yeah, sometimes I do.”

Mason kissed her temple. “I'll bear that in mind. Anything else, while we're having confession?”

“Sometimes I hate you for saving me.”

He pulled off the black cap and rubbed his head. Cool wind whipped over his skin, a quick punch to the senses—like her words. “I, uh, shit. I don't know what to say.”

“You don't need a rebuttal. These are feelings, and there is no answer for them, really. They just are.” She smoothed the button flap of his coat as snowflakes frosted her hair. “Your turn.”

“My turn what?”

“Are you okay?”

He scraped a thumbnail against his lower lip. “No.” Her narrowed gaze prompted him to go on. “My back hurts like a son of a bitch. I'm out of shape—and I'm
never
out of shape. I hate that Penny and Tru have to grow up in this world, and they're the lucky ones because they might forget what it was like before.”

“You never said.”

“Why would I? I got us into this. I'm the one with the training. So I'm on point all the goddamn time. Would you rather me send you into the woods for a patrol? Ange? Tru? No, so I go. And I—”

He ducked his head. His voice wasn't supposed to crack. What the hell had she done to him? But the grinding pressure eased another notch. He could take a deep, shuddering breath without the crushing pain of responsibility that never let him rest.

“And I hate when you goad me with Welsh.” He'd never begged for anything in his life, but he felt himself silently pleading with her. “
Hate
it.”

Jenna's hand feathered over his brow, down along his cheek. “I won't do it again. I promise.”

A shiver climbed his spine. He didn't hear a thing, but something deeper than his five senses said they needed to move. Quickly.

“Damn it.” He grabbed Jenna's gear and shoved it at her. “See? Talking about feelings marks us for puppy chow. You don't want that, do you, Barclay?”

She shouldered the pack and offered a mock salute. “No, sir. Pressing on, sir.”

Mason grabbed her hand and tugged. They hit their stride together. His lungs and heart and muscles pumped hard, even as he fell into that deep place where he prepared for battle.

“Hey,” she said. “You're crushing my hand.”

He looked down. He hadn't let go of her. “Yeah, you'd complain about that now.”

The ground sped beneath their feet. Making their stand in the woods wouldn't be as effective as somewhere fortified. A town. A single building would be better. They could hunker down again, like back in the cabin.

A surge of guilt closed his throat. He swallowed. But he had to say it. “You know, we don't need to go back.”

Jenna stumbled. “You mean leave them to die?”

“We'd survive. We'd keep going at least.”

“What, like perpetuate the species?”

“If that's what you want to call it.”

“You assume I'd stay if you cut and run. Let alone anything close to ... perpetuating.”

“You wouldn't?”

“You know I wouldn't,” she said tightly, her breath puffing. “Not after all the time we've spent with them.” She yanked their intertwined fingers up. “I don't know what this is, but it's not enough for me to let my friends die.”

“What was that, John?” Her sugary voice shot up his backbone.

“I said, they're my friends too.”

She shook her head, half laughing. “You have a sick way of showing it.”

“Well, when Tru comes to me to clean his cuts, I don't like to brag up those moments.” He shouldn't get off on surprising her, but sometimes it was just too sweet to resist.

“You,” she started. “You help him?”

“Try to.” He didn't like to talk about Tru, or think about him. It was like staring into a mirror, a sad history he couldn't let happen again.

“And you'd leave him, never go back?”

He pulled the compass from his pocket again and made a slight adjustment to their trajectory. The sun sat low on the horizon. Soon darkness would slow their progress, maybe hinder it entirely. The snow would continue to fall. And the beasts hunted at night.

But if he'd navigated correctly, they would be coming up on Wabaugh any minute. Irrationally, he imagined they should be able to see lights soon. Welcoming lights.

Not a chance.

“It was just an idea,” he said, taking her hand again. “One that never even occurred to you.”

“Does that make me a weakling, then? No survival-of-the-fittest award this year.”

“Nah, you already proved that when you opened the cabin door in the first place.”

“You still hold that against me?” Her voice hardened.

He stopped. She reeled back toward him, their hands still linked. He let go of her, but not for the reason she probably thought.

“No.” Mason bracketed her face between his palms. “I
admire
you for it. All of it. The way you fought me for them. How you've kept them sane and halfway normal. And how going back isn't even a choice for you. You just will.”

“You too.”

A heavy sigh ripped out of his body. He was exhausted in every possible way. “You don't believe that.”

She dropped her eyes. He ought to be fine with her doubt, but it cut deep.

“I've needed you all along, and now you know why,” he said. “I know how to fight, but that's not the same as building. That's what
you
do. Don't give up on me.”

The forest snarled around them.

She jumped. “Did you ... ?”

“Shh.” No matter how fast his gaze moved through the trees, he never banished the shadows. Always something hiding, waiting. Watching. The hair on his nape prickled.

Jenna ran as if her life depended on it. From the growls closing in on them, it did.

Tree branches lashed her face as Mason tugged her along. Earlier, they'd stuck to what seemed like a rough path, one that a hunter might follow. Now he pulled her straight through the underbrush, due west. His urgency caught fire in her veins.

Low on energy, nightfall threatening—they couldn't stand and fight. Sheer numbers would overwhelm them. In the distance the beasts howled again. She could almost make out the message:
Come! We found prey.

Determined to keep up, Jenna lengthened her strides. Footfalls thundered over dead wood that had collected during recent storms. She stumbled, caught herself on her hands, and scrambled onward. Mason paused long enough to reach out, towing her along. He was breathing just as hard, some combination of exhaustion, fear, and cold.

Shock exploded through her when they broke from the trees and fell down a slope. Mason steered himself into a half slide, but Jenna went headlong, careening in the snow. He jerked her upright, gave her a quick once-over. He didn't waste breath on talk, and she understood why. They hadn't lost the pack; the beasts were gaining on them.

Jenna glimpsed buildings in the distance. Twilight and lengthening shadows made it difficult to gauge how far. She gathered a last burst of vigor and propelled into motion, ignoring aches and pains and parts that had long ago gone numb.

They ran a hundred yards before she noticed the ground felt different with each thud of her feet. Beneath the snow lay a road. Pavement, where cars drove—or at least where they used to. Nothing had been plowed this season.

The howling gained a strident note.
Hurry, they're getting away.

“Damn right we are,” she muttered.

“Jenna?” He glanced over as they sprinted full out for the buildings.

“Don't worry about me.”

There were no signs of life. No smoke from chimneys. No lights brightening this endless winter night. They dashed past a blue sign, half obscured by frost:—LCOME TO WABAUGH, WHERE IT ALWAYS FEELS LIKE HOME.

Yeah, if home were a ghost town, and you liked being hunted.

Just past that marker sat a derelict car, covered in a foot of snow. By the raw, sick feeling in her stomach, she knew she didn't want to wipe the window clear.

The first house they came to was a simple white colonial. Jenna slowed. “Maybe we should duck in here? It might be smart to take shelter and find the store in the morning.”