Yearnings: A Paranormal Romance Box Set (54 page)

* * * * *

CHAPTER 35

If the grounds around the boathouse had been creepy, the forest was downright terrifying. She suppressed a shudder as a breeze shifted the fog, swaying leaves overhead. Branches scraped against one another.

The sound reminded Sal of her days in med school. Some idiot guys, the slacker geniuses of her class, had decided it would be funny to rig the skeletons that lined the anatomy class so they creaked when the lights were extinguished for a film. Sal had been proud she wasn’t one of those girls who had run screaming from the room, but that didn’t mean that she hadn’t been scared out of her mind.

The sound of bone against bone. She’d had nightmares for weeks. And now she was living it. The trees might not be a danger, but what stalked these woods could end her life in a single, casual stroke.

Fists clenched, she kept her pack’s straps tight against her shoulders. It held only a bottle of water, waterproof matches, and a Swiss Army knife. Though none of those things would help her battle the beast, the weight of the pack gave her a strange measure of security.

Perhaps it was just her fear warping her thought process, but Sal felt like she wasn’t alone. Like the pack accompanied her as a companion rather than just an object.

Maybe Tyr was rubbing off on her.

Stopping, Sal searched the terrain. Neither the beast nor Tyr had tried to conceal their tracks. She could easily follow the large paw prints deep into the woods, especially since there was no other traffic on the forest floor. It seemed no one else had reason to venture this deep within the oaken forest. But who would? The woods were given so far over to nature that the sickly sweet odor of detritus made the air heavier. It was harder to breathe. Carried by the moist fog, she could taste the rotting plants underfoot.

So on this spongy covering, the beast’s four prints were a stark disruption. Right next to them were the depressions from Tyr’s boots. Even to her untrained eye, Sal could tell that his footprints were much deeper than the beast’s. He was running faster, pushing harder into the earth, trying to catch up.

His urgency made her gulp. Tyr could rush into danger. He knew what he was doing. Sal still wasn’t quite sure what had gotten her out here, yet she continued one foot after the other. She paused every third step—to worry if the latest startling sound spelled her doom, or was simply a sound of the night. She would steel her nerves and then take another two steps before panic halted her again.

As she stumbled on yet another bramble or thorny bush, Sal regretted her choice of shoes. Her ankles would have appreciated the protection afforded by her hiking boots. But that would have meant that she knew that she would be heading out into the gloomy woods. An hour ago, she would have laughed at such a notion.

Sal also regretted the fact that she hadn’t taken the time to really study the schematic of Golden Gate Park more closely. This section of the forest was just a large green swath across the online map. The coordinates were almost dead center within the woods, but she had no idea how far that meant in footsteps. Looking back into the thick bank of fog, she didn’t have any idea how far she had actually come or how far she had to go.

Crouching amongst the prickly shrubs, Sal peered forward. Was that the faintest red glow? Could the beast be over that next ridge? Did she have the courage to climb over and see?

Surely, he would hear her coming. Between the gray fog carpet hiding the forest floor, and the multitude of leaves, branches, and twigs littering the ground, she couldn’t see how he wouldn’t hear her. Unfortunately, where the beast dwelled, so did Tyr.

With much more care, Sal took a step forward, yet she still crunched an acorn underfoot. If only she had Tyr’s “silence” command at her disposal.

She paused. If she could open a lock, could she quiet her footfalls?

Not letting doubt creep into her voice, she whispered, “Silence,” into the thick fog, but she felt no different. When Tyr uttered such a phrase, Sal sensed a subtle pressure pushing against her, holding any noise close to her body, extinguishing it against her flesh. If anything, after she gave the same command, she felt exposed, not cocooned.

Delaying wasn’t clearing the path before her, so she took another step.

Sal heard a twig snap beneath her shoe with a loud pop. So much for silence. Much more cautiously, Sal nudged the path to avoid any noise-causing debris. Still, her shoes squished in the unblemished loam. With each step, the loosely packed moss and dirt sucked upward, then when she moved on, it fell back to the earth. Who knew how loud moisture could be?

Shifting strategies, Sal tried to follow in Tyr’s previous tracks, but the strides were too far apart, she would have to leap from one to the next.

Near tears, Sal bit her lip. Would Maria really be dinking around, startling at every little twig snap? Gritting her teeth, she took a purposeful step forward, then another. To her ears, she created a discordant cacophony of sound, but nothing jumped out of the brush at her. Another few strides, and she realized that the fog helped muffle he movements. Who needed the “silence” command when nature was on her side?

Much more boldly, Sal headed straight for the reddened horizon.

* * * * *

CHAPTER 36

As she crept up the last rise, Sal’s world filled with a kaleidoscope of reds. Even her white knuckles appeared to have a ruddy sunburn. She’d felt this wash of burgundy before.

The beast was near.

The sound of his digging filled the forest. His frustrated growls made her bowels want to empty. To think that this primordial anger could be turned in her direction. Despite her urgency, feeling that gnawing rumble in her gut gave her pause.

Sal hesitated to crest the sharp ridge to enter the valley below. Such varied topography was a reminder of the Park’s origins. This calf-challenging hill had been one of the hundreds of shifting sand dunes that made up the western wasteland of San Francisco. It was hard to imagine such desolation while nestled amongst a tangle of blackberry bushes, but somehow beneath the thick topsoil, Sal could feel the impatient sand.

Then a cry pierced the still air. Tyr’s challenge.

A keening roar. The beast’s answer.

So, no matter how she badly wanted to stay hidden behind the shrubbery, Sal followed the narrow trail down the ridge to the bourtree’s wide valley. The statue should be buried at the lowest point. Which, given the ruby hue of the beast’s position, proved her suspicions true.

As the clash of steel and claw rang through the air, Sal gained speed.

The brambles cut and scraped her, but somehow didn’t hurt.

A scream. Oh God! A human scream.

No longer concerned about the trail, Sal made her own. Crashing down the slope, Sal slipped and slid as she reached the valley floor. Slamming into an oak as wide as a refrigerator, Sal felt faint. Bracing herself against the stout wood, she waited as her ears rang and her vision blurred. She put a hand to her scalp and found it intact. So it wasn’t blood clouding her vision, as the fog before her blazed red.

Tyr stumbled into view. Blood gushed down his sleeve as he struggled to keep his footing in the moist underbrush. Clearly he had lost sight of the beast, swinging from right to left, trying to get his bearings.

Then she saw it. The beast stalked Tyr from behind. God, it was bigger than she had remembered. It had the size of a bear but the lithe form of a jaguar, as its muscles bunched for an ambush.

“
Tyr!” she screamed, only no sound came out. Yet Tyr, for a fraction of a second, turned toward her. And that was enough of a distraction.

The beast charged. Somehow Tyr twisted around, but an ankle gave out from under him. Knife raised above his head, he fell to one knee. Using his left hand to catch himself, his injured right arm just didn’t have the strength to repel the beast’s next blow. His claws raked across Tyr’s chest, staining his white shirt crimson.

“
No!” she cried, but again her throat uttered no sound. The beast seemed oblivious to her presence as he took another broad swipe at Tyr.

He barely knocked the attacker aside, but had to drop to both knees to accomplish even that. The beast’s mottled brown coat bristled in the red glow. A tail swished his displeasure.

The man kneeling before him was nothing more than a gnat to be swatted away.

Tyr shook his head sharply, sending a spray of blood from his head wound as he tried to clear his vision.

Sal had to help. But how? She only had a bottle of water, waterproof matches, and a Swiss Army knife. The beast was all sinew and muscle as it stalked a weakened Tyr.

Then it leapt. Tyr tried to deflect the brunt of the attack, but fell backward, hitting his head. Hard. His arm arced his knife, but only glanced the beast’s flank. A sharp hiss proved the wound only annoyed the creature.

Tyr valiantly tried to rise, but the beast spun with unnatural speed and dealt a keening blow. Tyr tumbled over, rolling down a small knoll. When his momentum stopped, he just lay there. Motionless.

Get up.
Sal begged silently.
Get up.

But Tyr didn’t.

* * * * *

CHAPTER 37

In a single leap, the beast landed near Tyr’s feet, but still the man didn’t move. It swatted Tyr’s leg, drawing blood, but Tyr didn’t move. Clearly the beast feared an ambush, for it circled Tyr, guffing as it strode.

Please let Tyr be baiting a trap,
she begged, but the longer she stared at his unmoving form, the more he seemed unconscious. That last blow had, at the least, knocked the wind from him, and at the worst, fractured his skull. The pool of blood gathering at his temple didn’t improve his prognosis.

If … no,
when
the beast attacked, Tyr would be killed.

But what could she do? Even if she went out there, she’d just be the appetizer to Tyr’s main course. She only had a bottle, waterproof matches, and a Swiss Army knife. The list didn’t sound any better no matter how many times she reviewed it.

The beast paused its prowling to sniff the air. Slowly, he turned the rippling muscles of his neck toward her. Sal ducked deeper within the underbrush. Was the scent masking her wearing off?

She peeked through the thick blackberry leaves. He raised his head in profile, taking in deep breaths. God, could they be lucky enough to have the beast delay his deadly attack until Tyr roused? Sal tried to wish that thought into being, but the beast turned back to his fallen prey.

Think, Calon, think.
You took freaking zoology for a reason. What survival strategies did prey species use when faced with a bigger, more ferocious predator? Then she remembered sophomore avian studies. The plover. It faked a broken wing to lure predators away from its nest.

Sal might not be able to face the beast head-on, but could she pull off a plover maneuver? Could she trick the beast away from Tyr?

Her own scent clearly wasn’t strong enough to distract it. The beast’s covering scent worked against her plan. Or not. Because if he truly caught her in his nostrils, she couldn’t run fast enough to escape. She needed to find a way to leave a false trail.

But she only had the water, the matches, and the knife.

The beast strode over to Tyr, confident his prey wasn’t playing possum. He raised a mighty claw.

Damn it! She wasn’t going to be fast enough—or smart enough—to save Tyr. With the ever-expanding pool of blood at Tyr’s head, the beast might not even have to finish him.

Blood.

Knife.

Letting instinct take over, she pulled the blade from the pack and nicked her wrist. It wasn’t as expert a wound as Tyr’s, but blood welled none the same.

Sal peered through the brambles. The beast hesitated, sniffing again.

Good. She’d gotten his attention. Ever so carefully, she let a single drop of blood fall to the ground.

A low growl.

Backing the way she came, Sal allowed another plump drop to land on the loam. She could no longer see the beast, but his glow did not diminish.

He must be following the trail, leaving Tyr. At least that’s what she had to believe as she hurried her pace, letting only an occasional drop saturate the mossy ground. She didn’t want to leave too good a trail.

Even so, the fog seemed ignited with fire, pulsing with the beast’s breath. He was gaining ground, and gaining it quickly.

Shit. Sal’d forgotten the mother plover had a plan to ditch her predator.
She
could just fly away.

If Sal didn’t figure out how to escape the beast, and figure it out fast, Tyr wouldn’t be the only one to die tonight.