Brant glanced at the sky. He would stay to the tree line during daylight hours and follow the shoreline at night. Eventually, he would reach a phone where he could call for help.
* * * *
Brant’s eyes flew open at the sound of Syrina’s voice inside his head.
“Zyen has our location. I am on my way back to you now.”
When had he fallen asleep? he wondered, blinking against the bright rays of the sun. It had been three days since he’d had food or water, and he was long past severely dehydrated.
“I’m no longer at the place you left me.” Brant kept his emotions in check to prevent her from sensing the lie. “Get in the Gulf and wait for the others. I will catch up to you soon.”
Her disbelief was palpable. “You left without me?”
“You’re safer in the water,” he mentally growled back. “Don’t be a dumbass, Syrina. If you get caught out here, what Diego did to you will be a walk in the park compared to what you’ll likely have to endure.”
“I do not understand the meaning of dumbass, but I will assume it is not good. If that is the case, you are the dumbass, Brant. You need water and nourishment.”
Brant shut her out for fear she would sense his weakness. He pushed to his feet, leaned against a tree for a moment to gain his bearings, and then took a step forward.
“Move, and I’ll blow your brains all over these woods.”
Brant didn’t have to look to know an army of men stood behind him with weapons raised; he simply knew it to be fact.
He closed his eyes in defeat, grateful that Syrina had made it to the water.
“Where is the creature?” The barrel of a rifle pressed against the back of his head, and his pistol was removed from the waistband of his pants.
Brant didn’t flinch. “Go to hell, scumbag.”
The scumbag in question stepped around to face Brant, an eerie smile on his face. He had to be one of the biggest guys Brant had ever seen, aside from a Bracadyte.
“Do you really want to play this game?” The guy slammed a fist into Brant’s chin.
For the life of him, Brant had no idea how he managed to stay on his feet in his weakened state. He swayed slightly and grinned back at the big Cuban. “Fuck you.”
The next blow sent stars exploding behind Brant’s eyes. His feet came off the ground, and he landed on his back somewhere in the brush.
“Get him up,” the big Cuban growled while stalking toward him.
Brant was abruptly hauled to his knees a second before the Cuban’s boot connected with his chin, sending him onto his back once more.
“Where is she?” The toe of that same boot landed violently against Brant’s ribs.
Pain unlike anything Brant had felt before erupted through his body, taking him to the edge of unconsciousness.
His empty stomach heaved in an attempt to expel even the smallest amount of bile in his dehydrated state, but none came forth.
The last sound Brant heard as blessed darkness overtook him was the crunch of footsteps closing in on him once again.
* * * *
Cool water touched Brant’s face. Had he died and awoken in Heaven? Of course, he wouldn’t feel pain in Heaven…and he was in a hell of a lot of pain.
“Wake him up,” a heavily accented voice demanded from somewhere nearby.
Nope, he wasn’t in Heaven. That was definitely the big Cuban asshole’s voice he heard.
More water was poured over his head—salt water, if the sting of his split lip were any indication. They had moved him to the beach.
Brant tried to open his eyes, but they were swollen shut, save for a small slit in the right one.
The giant Cuban guy stepped between him and the blinding light of the sun. “Where is she?”
Though Brant had a few choice words to say to this piece of shit, his lips wouldn’t cooperate. His tongue felt dried out and his throat burned like fire.
Someone gripped him beneath the arms and pulled him to his feet.
The large Cuban spit in Brant’s face. “It would seem you need some encouragement, Marine.”
Another blow to the face took Brant back to his knees. The ground began to spin around him, signaling that blessed darkness would surely claim him once more.
No such luck. The giant Cuban gripped him by the hair and jerked his head back.
This is it, Brant thought as the unforgiving steel of a pistol pressed against his temple. He locked his jaw and shut down his mind, determined to keep Syrina from feeling what he knew was to come.
“It’s time to die, Marine.”
“Just get it over with,” Brant snarled, staring through his swollen eyes at the blue skies above.
And then he heard it—a sound like thunder rolling in the distance, growing more powerful by the second. He knew what that sound was without any visual cues. He would recognize it anywhere.
“What the hell is that?” one of the men standing in front of him murmured in a hushed voice.
Brant choked out a laugh, as much as his burning throat would allow. He wasn’t sure where he found the strength to speak, but he managed to rasp, “That is the fucking United States, and they’re bringing the rain.”
A V-22 Osprey chopper sailed over the treetops, along with another flanking its right. The thunder of bullets began peppering the ground a few feet from where Brant sat on his knees.
Suddenly, something slammed into him from behind with the power of a truck, propelling him forward and forcing the air from his lungs. It took him a second to realize he hung over the shoulder of a fast-moving giant...and that giant was Zyen.
Chapter Eleven
Syrina emerged from the Gulf the second Zyen barreled through the trees with Brant over his shoulder.
Pyre and Gryke descended beside her while Oz, Fiona, Maria, and Carmen were on the human chopper with the military the president had sent in.
With her barbs fully erect, Syrina tore off after the Cuban now running for the trees, while Gryke and Pyre took care of the remaining survivors.
The tall, muscular man she’d seen holding Brant by the hair went down with a whoosh as Syrina leapt onto his back.
She flipped him over, taking great satisfaction in the fear reflecting back from his dark, beady eyes.
The sight of this man holding a pistol to Brant’s head stuttered through her mind again and again as she sat there on his chest. “It was me that you wanted all along, was it not? Well, here I am.”
With a quick downward arc of both her wrists, Syrina sliced his throat open with the tips of her razor-sharp barbs.
The man’s hands instinctively came up to cover his neck, his eyes the size of sand dollars in his terrified face.
Syrina stared down at him in satisfaction, watching his mouth open and close in his attempt to breathe. “If there truly is a hell as you humans believe, I hope you awaken in it.”
She jumped to her feet and ran toward the place she’d seen Zyen disappear.
“Brant?”
“He is not conscious,” Zyen informed her as she came barreling through the brush, nearly plowing him over.
Syrina dropped to her knees next to Brant, horrified by the condition of his normally handsome face. The man that lay before her now barely looked human. “How bad are his injuries?”
“I do not know, but I hear the helicopter landing on the beach. Let us get him aboard, and we can assess the damage once we are safely away from this place.”
Brant made a strangled sound when Zyen gently lifted him from the ground and ran back to the beach.
The human helicopter touched down on the sand, not far from the droves of bodies scattered along the shoreline. Some had been shot down by the military guns, while the rest were taken out by Gryke and Pyre.
Zyen ducked his head and hurried into the chopper with Syrina tight on his heels.
He laid Brant on some blankets on the floor and then backed up to give Syrina some room.
Fiona shoved her way to her brother’s
side before Syrina could clear the chopper door.
“Brant?” Fiona rasped, her face as pale as the sandy beach below them. “Can you hear me?”
Syrina felt the chopper lift off to swiftly speed out over the Gulf. They had gotten Brant out of Cuba and were on their way back to Aukrabah. But were they too late? From the looks of Brant, he might not survive the trip.
Syrina dropped to her knees beside him and attempted to slip into his mind. “Brant?”
Silence.
Everything seemed to slow to a crawl as she stared down into the battered face of the man who’d saved her life.
Though Syrina didn’t have the gift of healing the body as Zaureth and Naura could, she wasn’t without resources.
Her hands came up to rest on either side of Brant’s head, and warm energy began to pulse between them.
She could feel what little strength she still had leaving her body through her palms. She didn’t care; she would give it all to him if it meant he would live.
A massive pair of hands suddenly covered her own, startling her. She lifted her gaze and looked into the eyes of Pyre.
A powerful surge of energy shot down her spine, into her arms, and out through her palms.
Brant softly groaned, a sign that he felt it.
Gryke hurried to Syrina’s side, placed his big hands on Brant’s chest, and lent his energy as well.
Zyen joined in, and within moments, the entire chopper was alight with an energy that lifted Syrina’s damp hair from her neck.
“He grows stronger,” Gryke informed his terrified mate.
Fiona blinked back obvious tears. “Will he live?”
“He is in great pain, but he will live.”
Syrina knew all too well the pain Brant was in. She could feel it through their connection.
Zyen reached up and gently tugged Syrina back. “That is enough, my kin. You grow paler by the second.”
“It is not important,” Syrina argued, pulling free of Zyen’s grip. “He did not leave me, and neither will I leave him.”
Fiona leaned forward and brushed some damp hair back from Syrina’s face. “How long has it been since you’ve eaten?”
Syrina shrugged. “I will eat when Brant has been safely returned to Aukrabah.”
Fiona seemed to understand Syrina’s need to stay by Brant’s side. She took hold of her brother’s hand, rested her head against Gryke’s shoulder, and closed her eyes.
Turning to look through the window to her right, Syrina watched the remnants of smoke rising above the trees in the distance as the chopper sped away.
She wondered about the human female, Trescina, who’d set the fire and helped them escape. Had she been caught for her treachery, and if so, would she die for it? Syrina hoped not. Human or not, she owed the female a great debt, and she always paid her debts.
Her mind wandered to Doctor Garcia and the disappointment he would feel at the loss of not only his Bracadyte prisoner, but the vials of blood he’d taken as well.
Syrina shifted her gaze back to Brant. They had survived their ordeal with the Cuban government and were now on their way home. But she would never forget what they went through together—the bravery and self-sacrifice of the land walker lying before her.
And she would never forget him.
Chapter Twelve
Brant blinked up at the bright lights over his head, and his stomach tightened in panic. They had been captured by the Cuban government. “Syrina!”
He bounded up, his ribs screaming in protest at the movement.
“Easy there, big guy.”
Brant swiveled his head in the direction of the voice. “Doctor Sutherland?”
Abbie sent him a smile. “It’s good to have you back. You gave us quite a scare.”
“Where is Syrina?”
“I sent her to her room to rest. She hasn’t left your side since you got here.”
Memory came flooding back. The soldiers on the beach, the pistol to his head…the choppers. “How…?”
“Syrina gave Zyen your location. President Pratt had already ordered an extraction. They set out as soon as they received word of your whereabouts. Zyen, Gryke, Oz, and Pyre assisted in getting you out.”
“How long have I been here?”
Abbie approached the bed. “Two days.”
“I need to see Syrina.”
“You can’t get up yet,” Abbie scolded. “We’re giving you fluids through an IV. You were severely dehydrated. You also have some cracked ribs and stitches above your left eye.”
Brant didn’t give a damn about his ribs, stitches, or anything else. He needed to see Syrina with his own eyes, to be sure she was all right.
“I am here.”
Relief poured through him at the sight of Syrina stepping into the room. Other than the dark circles beneath her eyes, she appeared just as beautiful as ever.
Since when had he began thinking of her as beautiful? Since he’d first laid eyes on her, he silently admitted.
He pushed that thought aside. “Hey…”
She slowly moved forward until she reached his side. “How are you feeling?”
“Like ass. You’re not hurt?”
A small indention appeared between her amber-colored eyes. “I am not hurt. Tell me what this ass means. In Cuba, you referred to me as a dumbass and now you feel like ass. Explain.”
Abbie snickered on her way to the door. “I’m going to check on Arcanum. I’ll be back soon.”
Brant would have smiled if his cracked lips didn’t sting so much. “I’ll tell you all about the uses for the term ass another time. Right now, I want to know what happened after you left for that beach in Cuba.”
“Lie back and I will show you.”
Brant eased back until his head touched the pillow. The smell of strawberries, coupled with Syrina’s unique scent, drifted up his nose as she leaned in close. God, but she smelled good.
She brought her hands up to his head and rested her palms against his temples.
Images began to form behind his eyes, spiraling together until they suddenly made sense.
Brant saw Syrina sail into the Gulf, felt her desperation as her mind opened to Zyen. He felt her hunger, thirst, and exhaustion.
Staring up into her luminous eyes, he murmured, “You should have eaten while you were out there.”
Instead of responding, she pushed deeper into his psyche, revealing her reasons for foregoing food.
She’d felt guilty for leaving him injured and hungry in those woods, and she wouldn’t slow until help could be found for Brant.
More emotion stirred to life inside him.
The scene inside his mind changed to something dark and more dangerous.
Brant held completely still, watching as Zyen burst from the Gulf, scooped him up, and ran like the wind toward the trees.
Syrina had her sights on the large Cuban who’d held the gun to Brant’s head. She blasted from the Gulf, chased him across the beach, and tackled him from behind.
In that moment, Brant could see everything she saw, feel everything she felt as she opened the guy’s throat with her venom-filled barbs.
She’d killed the man in a fit of rage—rage she’d felt after witnessing the man’s attempt on Brant’s life.
Swallowing hard, Brant reached up and closed his fingers around Syrina’s wrists, yet he couldn’t bring himself to remove her hands from his skin. “You came back for me… You killed for me.”
Emotion swirled in her beautiful eyes. “As you killed for me.”
She leaned down a little closer, her gaze lowering to his lips. “I owed you a debt…and I always repay my debts.”
Brant held completely still as she subtly descended toward him. “Is that what I am…a debt?”
Though she nodded in agreement, the feelings coming from her told a different story. I—”
The clearing of a throat disrupted the tension swirling between them. Syrina jerked back as if burned, taking her soft, warm hands with her.<
br />
Carmen inched into the room, appearing nervous and more than a little curious. She sent Brant a welcoming smile. “Did I come at a bad time?”
Brant shook his head. “Not at all. How are you doing?”
“I’m fine.” Her smile widened. “It’s good to see you awake.”
“Thanks. It’s good to be back and on the mend.”
Carmen glanced at Syrina and then inched forward a few more steps. “Syrina tells me that you have something for me?”
The memory of the girl who’d helped them escape suddenly sprang to his mind. “Yes. There was this girl who helped us escape. She gave me something to give you.”
He moved to sit up, but his ribs screamed in protest.
Gritting his teeth in pain, he nodded toward his right leg. “It’s in the front pocket of my pants.”
Syrina quickly stepped forward, blocking Carmen’s approach. “I will get it for you.”
Brant’s eyebrows shot up. If he didn’t know any better, he’d swear he saw jealousy flash in Syrina’s eyes.
Good thing he knew better. “The girl’s name is Trescina. She was adamant about seeing you got that note.”
Syrina pulled said note from his pocket and handed it to Carmen.
With her eyebrows drawn together in open curiosity, Carmen accepted the paper and unfolded it. “What the hell? According to this, Trescina is claiming to be my sister.”
Brant waited for Carmen to absorb that bit of information. “She said her mother recently told her about you after falling ill.”
“I have a sister,” Carmen mumbled in a wooden voice. She lowered the paper and lifted her confused gaze to Brant. “Do you think this could be some sort of trick to draw us out?”
Brant wasn’t sure what to believe after everything he and Syrina had recently been through. “I don’t know, but if she’s telling the truth and the Cuban president finds out that she helped us escape, it won’t bode well for her.”
Carmen folded up the piece of paper and shoved it into the pocket of her jeans. “I need to speak to Zyen about this. Thank you for getting it to me.”
“No problem. Keep us informed on what you decide to do.”
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