Nightfall (25 page)

“It's not quite light yet,” she said, arching to him.

He slipped his other arm beneath her, and his palm came up to smooth her breast. Fingertips dusted across her nipples, drawing them from sleepy soft to tight and eager. “Any ideas how we should pass the time before we pack up?”

“I have a few.”

Jenna rolled in his arms. This would be her gift to him—pleasure he didn't ask for, and no worry that she'd withhold it. Not again. Not for either of them. He was more relaxed than she'd ever seen, his hard face set in gentle lines. Although she slipped on top of him, she didn't want him to get the wrong idea. Instead she settled on his belly. He had to feel her heat against his skin as she kissed him, softly, tenderly, playing with his lips. That heat drew her, teased her, as she traced his mouth with her tongue.

His hands framed her head, trying to deepen the kiss, but she pulled back. Puzzlement flashed into his eyes, followed by fear. His whole body locked.

“This is for you,” she whispered. “Not stopping. Just changing course.”

He eased with a quiet sigh. Jenna nuzzled a path to his jaw, then farther down, using her teeth to nibble the column of his throat.

Touch, taste, breathe. She shaped his chest with her fingertips and nuzzled from shoulder to pectoral. She sealed an openmouthed kiss against his nipple, which perked beneath her tongue. He made a soft sound and sank his fingers into her hair, not controlling. Just caressing. She rubbed her mouth over his ribs.

Their thoughts mingled, a give-and-take of rising desire. His longing swelled through her, guiding her motions, and she licked each line on his abdomen, tracing the muscle groups with her tongue. A shudder rolled across his body with the power of distant thunder. He knew where she was going, and he wanted it.

Jenna didn't make him ask, not for anything. She settled between his thighs and curled her hand around his erection, steadying it for her mouth. Realizing this was the first time she'd held his cock, she spent a moment admiring his hard, powerful size. Breath coming in rasps, Mason watched with lambent eyes. He lifted his hips in a helpless little movement.

God, she loved having such a dominant man laid out for her pleasure, rapt and utterly focused on her. She dipped her head, touched her tongue to the tip.

“Jesus, Jenna.” The hands in her hair tangled, demanding more.

But he didn't need to push. Artistry dissolved in a wave of hunger. She wanted him. More of him.
More.
His cock slid smoothly between her lips. She licked, swirling her tongue in a wide, delicious pattern. At first he seemed afraid to move, as if she might stop.

He tasted luscious, felt even better—smooth skin over iron flesh. Jenna rocked faster, both hands on his hips. He found his rhythm after a few jerky lunges, working her mouth in tandem to his fierce breathing. With wild but reverent hands, he kneaded her nape and shoulders, sending sharp pleasure shocks down her spine. Her hips moved in cadence with his, feeling those phantom thrusts.

Mason arched, his body going rigid. She thought he might tear away, but he held her there, letting her take each hot burst into her mouth. Jenna gentled, knowing where to lick, where to press and heighten his sensation as he came down.

He heaved a shuddering breath. “Everything is better with you.
Everything
.”

She licked her lips and tried not to seem too smug. “Took you long enough to figure that out.”

With a little snarl, he dragged her up his body and positioned her pelvis over his face. With single-minded concentration, he worked with fingers and lips and teeth until she sobbed his name.

Dawn stole toward them, marking the end of their interlude. She didn't want to go, but duty called. Neither spoke as they gathered their supplies, including as many red employee aprons as they could stuff into their packs and wear beneath their coats. The fabric would come in handy.

Jenna's backpack was damn heavy. It would be rough going in the snow. She straightened her shoulders, getting her mind ready for the challenge.

“I hate to leave here,” she said as they stood at the door.

“I know what you mean.” Mason smiled and brushed a kiss against her mouth. She tasted a delicious echo of herself and wanted to drag him back to their cozy nest. She'd never get enough of him.

“Fond memories of a home improvement store. Who knew?”

“Come on, sweetheart.” This time the endearment rolled over her like a sunny day, all sweet warmth. “Sooner home, sooner we get—” He broke off and dropped his eyes.

But for Jenna, it was a person, not a place. It was Mason. If he took her to a yurt in the Arctic Circle, then
that
would be home.

They spared a last glance for the abandoned store and then unlocked the doors. Stepping out into the cold kicked her like a boot in the face. Snow crunched and wind sliced in sharp bursts. After ransacking the drugstore across the parking lot, adding to the burdens on their backs, Mason plotted their course back. He watched for trouble, always, though nothing but frozen bodies lined the street. They made good time on the iced-over road and soon returned to the woods.

Mason set a brisk pace, but Jenna had no trouble keeping up. Energy coursed through her. She felt reborn, like a butterfly that had slipped free of its chrysalis. Forty miles was nothing. Hell, maybe she'd run. That might be chocolate-for-breakfast talking, but she felt almost cheerful about the walk. At least she'd be with him.

“I can feel you thinking about me.”

“Is that bad?”

His voice rumbled low. “No. It's ... good.”

They walked on. The sky had dawned a bright blue overhead, no snow threatening. Not even the winter-bleak trees seemed morbid today. Ice hung like crystal ornaments from their long, graceful limbs, sending a symphony of shards tinkling to earth anytime the wind asked for a dance. If joy were a color that could show upon the skin, she would glow with it. Jenna watched his back and remembered what it was like to run her mouth against his skin, giving solace where there had only been scars.

Deep in daydreams, she didn't hear anything until the beast leaped from the underbrush and sank its teeth into her thigh.

Rage gave Mason more strength than he'd ever known. He landed astride the monster and grabbed its muzzle, yanking up and back. But its teeth clamped fast, jaw locked. Jenna screamed. Her hands pushed at the scrawny, mangy chest.

“Close your eyes!”

She obeyed, wrapping her forearms around her face and twisting away. Mason pinned the demon dog with his knees, then slid his hand back until he found its eye sockets. Two wet squishes gave way beneath his fingers. The creature howled. As soon as its teeth cleared Jenna's flesh, he hauled it off her body and flipped it into the snow. Four bony legs kicked toward the sky. Then Mason blew its brains out with his nine-millimeter.

The shot echoed, faded, until only their breathing remained. He wiped his hands on his jeans and tugged on Jenna's arm.
Get up
. No stopping. Not now. More would come.

“I can't.”

“Sweetheart, c'mon.” He wouldn't look at her leg. If he didn't look, he wouldn't see the bite.

“John, I mean it. I can't ...
Stop
it!”

She pulled back until he dropped beside her on the snowy ground. There before his eyes was the torn and bleeding flesh of her upper thigh. Puncture wounds. The mark of death. Nausea ripped a hole in his gut. He choked it down.

They said nothing aloud, but their emotions collided in the center of his brain. She wept; he raged. Pain split his skull, a combination of grief and the anguish Jenna projected. They'd been so close for days, entirely open to each other. Now all her agony and fear became his, defining him, branding him. He pressed his palms on either side of his head and squeezed.

To save his own sanity, he closed his mind.

When he opened his eyes, he could finally sort sound from thought. She wept silently. Tears streaked her face, and hair stuck to her cheeks. Blood stained her right leg from knee to hip, her jeans ripped to strips of cloth.

“Jenna,” he said firmly. “Move it. Now.”

He stood and yanked the pack off her shoulders. After loosening the straps as slack as possible, he piled it on top of his own. The bulk settled heavily across his back. Next he hoisted Jenna upright and helped her balance on her good leg.

“Keep weight off it. Here, hold under the pack, around my waist. We have to go.”

She tried to protest, the words kicking against his brain. And he refused to hear it—literally shut her out. He felt her fury, like an old reflex, but the howl of more demon dogs, somewhere close, coming, spurred a survival instinct she couldn't deny. They trudged through the forest at a half-loping walk, far faster than she could've managed on her own.

Mason kept her upright. He dragged her. And when she cried out, her strength sapped, he hauled her into his arms and carried her.

“Can't,” she whispered, her lips against his neck. “Hurt yourself.”

“Shut it, Barclay.”

His chest was a volcano with its top blown open—burning lungs, thrashing heart, and the sick knowledge that he'd let this happen. She'd woven into him with thoughts of sunshine and home and their walk together. She'd made him look forward to spending the wrongheaded, isolated, godforsaken winter in her arms. They would have been together at least.

But now ...

“Quit it, Mason.”

“I'll think what I want.”

She slipped into his head then, a cat burglar with skills he couldn't repulse—not when every thought was devoted to her. Not when his body continued the mindless walk.

She growled at him and kicked, upsetting his grip. His balance gone, they sank to the ground.

“Damn it, Jenna!”

He expected a fight, but she wouldn't look at him. Instead, efficiently, she tore off the bottom half of her ripped pant leg and wound it around her thigh in a makeshift field bandage. He saw Mitch in her movements, although her fingers shook uncontrollably. All he could do was watch.

“You didn't do this,” she said again, aloud this time.

“Can we not talk about it?” He shrugged out from the packs but kept the AR-15 slung across his lap. “I don't want your absolution.”

“You don't have any choice.”

Mason sprang to his feet and slammed his fist into the nearest tree trunk. Bark sliced his skin into rough, raw pieces. He hit it again, again, until she cried his name.

“John! Stop it, please!”

He turned and slumped against the tree. Blood dripped from his knuckles onto the snow at his feet. “I can't—” He swallowed hard. “I can't lose you.”

Her skin shone pale in the eerie forest daylight, draped with irregular shadows from the evergreens and bare branches. “You're going to.”

“Jenna.”

“You know that better than anyone. You've seen it.”

“No, not this time.” Pushing away from the tree, he paced the little clearing where they'd fallen, his senses open to every sound even as his mind raced, fighting and thinking. “We'll get you back. Maybe Welsh can do something. And Ange was a nurse, right? They'll fix you right up. You'll be ...”

But he couldn't say it. Even now, he couldn't lie.

“I'm not going back,” she whispered.

“Don't be stupid.”

She shook her head, settling back on her elbows. “Best-case scenario, I wind up like Edna or those people in town, some half-animal thing. But what if I end up like one of those monsters, huh? I'm not going back because I will not—
will not
—risk the others. I won't risk you.”

Mason knelt before her. “Do you know who those beasts were? Convicts and murderers.”

“How do you know?”

“I've been fighting them for a long time.” He slumped cross-legged on the ground, trying to forget how she'd caressed and kissed him, how she'd made silent vows to take away the pain forever. “Remember at the pit, all those orange jumpsuits? That's where all the monsters came from. They got bit during the prison riots and turned into those demon dogs, mindless and vicious.”

“What about Edna? She wasn't a bad person.”

“No, which is why she died.” He grimaced. “The worst of the worst ... they make it.”

“That's not fair! I mean, shit—none of this is fair. But
really
? Good people turn inside out and die while the scum of the earth get to walk around on all fours? What kind of magic is that?”

“Mitch said evil adapts faster because it cares only about self-preservation. At all costs.” He bit the inside of his cheek until it bled. “He also said one day, good people would survive too. They'd learn to channel the magic. Jenna, I have to believe that time is now. He said you'd make it because you have to. I believed him. I promised him. And I'm
not
leaving you.”

“You'd take that choice from me?”

“If I have to.”

Sweat gathered on her brow. Her lips were chalk white. She tapped the foot of her injured leg, as if keeping time with unheard music—jerky movements made of pain. “No. I won't risk it. We've worked too hard to keep everyone alive. I won't put them in danger. Whatever this is”—she waved a hand over her bite, where blood seeped through the dressing—“it's too unpredictable.”