On The Edge

by Catherine Vale

  “Here. Carry these.” He tore off his packs, dropping them to the ground in front of Addison. He knelt down, scooping Grace into his arms.

  “Daniel, you can’t carry her all the way.”

  “I sure as hell can. Can you wield a machete?”

  She looked at the weapon lying on the jungle floor. “Yes. I can.” She bent, picked it up, hefting its weight. “Just make sure I stay on track.”

  Addison spent the next hour hacking through the foliage, clearing a path for Daniel. He ducked low hanging branches, shielding Grace’s face, his arms and hands cut and bleeding.

  “How much further?” She turned, breathing hard, sweating running in her eyes. Her water bottle was empty, and she dropped one pack, pulling out a fresh bottle. The water was warm, but tasted wonderful.

  Daniel gently set Grace on the ground, cradling her, taking the bottle Addison offered. He patiently poured a little into her mouth and she swallowed.

  “More.” Grace opened her eyes, struggling to focus on Daniel. “Please.”

  “Anything you want.” He held the bottle as she drank, feeding her drop-by-drop.

  Addison took her hand. It was still hot, but she’d started sweating again, and Addison thought that was a good sign. Or at least it was a change. She tried to make herself believe Grace felt slightly less feverish. She looked up, met Daniel’s eyes, and her heart sank. He looked worried, more than he had been before.

  “We’re almost there, Grace. Pretty soon. Hold on.” Addison chaffed Grace’s hand. “Just hold on.”

  “I’m fine.” Her voice was a low croak and she closed her eyes again, head resting on Daniel’s shoulder.

  “She’s out again.” Daniel drank the rest of the water, handing the empty back to Addison. “We need to hurry. Your rain is almost here.”

  The air had grown heavy, the sky an ominous gray overhead. Somewhere thunder rumbled. Addison stood, grabbed the machete and turned back to her task. The jungle looked like an impenetrable wall of green. But she knew behind that wall was Griffin, and a village of shifters who could help Grace.

  Chapter Seven

  The rain started just as they entered the ruins. Daniel held Grace close, his body shielding her from the pelting drops. Addison climbed down the stairs to one of the larger rooms, one where she’d been working with Daphne. They’d brought a pallet and pelts from the huts, sometimes lying down to rest in the heat of the day.

  “Here. Put her here.” She straightened the pelts and Daniel lay Grace down on them.

  “She’s out cold again. For a while she was talking to me, not making much sense, but at least she was awake.”

  Rain drummed on the wooden structures overhead, thunder groaning in the distance. Addison covered Grace with another pelt, sitting on the edge of the pallet, uselessly chafing her hand.

  “Daniel, we need to find Griffin, and the priest. He might know something, have something to give her. You can’t carry her any further. I’ll go now, take the machete…”

  “No. I won’t let you go out there. Not alone in the dark.”

  She sat back, staring up at him. “Do you realize how foolish you sound? I’ve been living here for months. I can find my own village in the dark, Daniel. Just like you can find your own apartment in New York. I’m not a child, you know.”

  “No, you’re not. But you’re still not going out there alone.” He picked up his pack, tossing it over one shoulder. “I go, you stay. No argument.”

  And then he was gone into the night. Addison sat, listening to the rain, to the soft sound of Grace’s breathing. It was dark, even though faint light came from somewhere above, but she’d grown used to it, and her eyes had adapted since she’d been in the jungle.

  She curled next to Grace on the pallet, waiting for Daniel to return, waiting for Griffin to find her. Waiting for something to happen.

  * * *

  Addison woke to the sound of Grace moaning in her sleep, to her violent shaking. Addison sat up, pulling back the pelts. Her sister was drenched in sweat, burning with fever.

  Grace was awake, eyes wide with panic. “Addison. What’s happening? Where am I? It’s dark…are you here?” She broke into violent coughing. Each cough tore at Addison. Grace had never coughed like this in all the time she’d been sick. She wondered if she’d contracted something, a virus of some sort, on the plane, or if this was another manifestation of her illness.

  “I’m here, Grace. Right here.” She shifted on the bed, pulling Grace against her. “We’re at the ruins, in Peru, remember? Daniel went to find Griffin.”

  “Oh…right. Okay.” The coughing lessened and she lay still for a moment. “I’m sorry, Addison.”

  “For what?”

  “I shouldn’t have come. But I wanted to see you. I missed you so much. And I felt better…at least at first.” She coughed again into her hand. When she took it away, Addison saw blood on her fingers.

  “Daniel was so excited to hear from you, and then I demanded to come along. He tried to make me stay…but I had to come. You understand? I had to come along.”

  “I know. It’s okay.” She rocked her sister for a minute, the sharp metallic smell of blood in the air. Panic raced through Addison, the tang of it a sour taste in her mouth. They couldn’t stay here, not with Grace this sick, and not with the smell of blood. Some predator would smell it, and she had only the machete. There was no doubt she’d be able to protect herself, but she didn’t know if she could protect Grace as well.

  Too much time had passed. Daniel should have found Griffin, and someone should have come for them. Something was wrong, very wrong out there.

  There was only one thing to do. She had to leave the ruins, to head through the jungle to Griffin’s village. She lifted Grace, sitting her up on the pallet.

  “Grace, come on. We’re going to have to walk to the village. Daniel’s not back and you’re not getting any better.”

  “I’m tired.” Grace struggled away from Addison, suddenly whiney and petulant. “I want to sleep.”

  “You can’t sleep now. You can sleep when we find Griffin.” She tugged on Grace’s arm. The girl fell back onto the pallet, mumbling incoherently.

  “Damn it. Come on.” Addison pulled Grace upright again. “You’re coming if I have to carry you.”

  She draped Grace’s arm over her shoulder and hauled her to her feet. Grace struggled briefly, but then stood by herself, swaying. Addison reached down, grabbing her pack and the machete, stuffing the blade through her belt, and slinging the pack over her shoulders.

  “Where are we going?” Grace squinted at the dim doorway. “Outside? To find Daniel?”

  “Yeah, outside, to find Daniel.”

  She draped Grace’s arm over her shoulder again. She was frighteningly light, seeming to weigh no more than a child. Addison wrapped her arm around Grace’s waist, and half pulled, half carried her to the door of the room.

  “Come on, Grace. One foot after another.”

  They made it to the door, then started up the stairs. Near the top Grace stumbled and Addison struggled to keep them from falling backward. She eased Grace to the ground, letting her rest. It had taken them whole minutes to negotiate each stair. At this rate it would be daylight before they reached the jungle.

  Addison stood, looking over the dense dark green surrounding them. She knew this jungle; it was her home. She’d walked the path between her and the village hundreds of times. And if she had to carry Grace the entire distance, so be it.

  “Come on. Just a little further.” She helped Grace to her feet and they made slow progress to the edge of the ruins, then down the outer stairway to the jungle floor. The rain had lessened, but it quickly soaked through their clothes. Grace shivered. Her body was as hot as a coal, oddly contrasting to the cool rain that misted her body.

  Addison struggled along the path, Grace’s arm over her shoulder. Her sister had stopped complaining, her feet dragging more than walking. Addison listened to the deep rattle in her chest and each
time Grace coughed, Addison stopped, holding her as she choked and retched. And each time she coughed, there was more blood, the coppery smell filling the air. Every noise tugged at her frayed nerves; every snap of a branch was a predator, ready to pounce.

  They finally came around the last curve of the path and Addison’s heart soared. She practically dragged the limp Grace the final yards through the jungle, bursting into the clearing, eyes searching for Ramos or Daphne, for Griffin.

  She stopped, almost dropping Grace. The clearing was dark, the smell of burned wood hanging heavily in the air. Gently she sat Grace on the ground, staring around the clearing.

  Every hut was burned, nothing left except piles of charred thatch and debris. She drew a hesitant breath, testing the air. Then she exhaled. There was no scent of burned flesh, no reek of death. The village had been empty when it had been set afire.

  “Addison? Where are we?”

  “We’re at the village.”

  “Where is everyone?”

  “I don’t know. Something’s happened. It’s burned to the ground.”

  Addison walked to the hut she’d shared with Griffin. The ruins were cold, the rain splashing on the burned wood. She poked the pile with her toe, charred bits of wood crumbling around her boot. There was no smoke, no steam. She had no idea when the fire took place.

  She dropped to her knees, staring at the place where she’d lived, where Griffin had taken her after the ritual. The place where their child had been conceived. She broke down, buried her face in her hands, and cried.

  She cried for Grace, for giving her a false cure, one that didn’t work; for Daniel—out in the rain alone, because he was such a stubborn bastard. She cried for Griffin, for the pain and loss he must be feeling, the anguish of not knowing where she was, or if she was even alive.

  But mostly she cried for herself, great gulping sobs. She wanted Griffin, wanted the only man she’d ever really loved. She wanted his arms around her, his kiss, his body next to hers in the dark.

  She cried, and the rain fell, dawn turning the sky a dull gray, as she sat in the circle of ruined huts, wishing for what seemed the impossible.

  Chapter Eight

  The clan moved silently through the foliage, each man alert, edgy, each woman as soundless as a cat. Griffin led the way, Ramos at the end of the group.

  Griffin led them through a pathless part of the jungle, not the usual route to Ramos’s village. It took them several hours, but he wasn’t going to risk an ambush along a well-worn path. When they finally reached Ramos’ village he motioned for the clan to stop. Ramos joined him at the edge of the clearing.

  “Do you scent anything, anyone?”

  Ramos raised his head, nostrils flaring. “No. Nothing.”

  Griffin nodded. “Circle round the clearing, meet me at the other side.”

  The two men parted, making their careful way around the huts. Nothing was disturbed by the heavy tread of men wearing boots. The huts were as they were left. Ramos crept through the foliage, eyes on the clearing.

  “No one has been here.”

  Griffin stepped into the clearing. The rest of the clan moved through the jungle, entering the huts, talking quietly. He watched as Ramos’ clan took in members who had lost their homes. Among those in the clearing he saw Daphne, and he walked toward her. As he approached she met his eyes, then looked away, but not before he caught the glimmer of tears.

  “Daphne, I treated you badly. There was no excuse for how I behaved. I am sorry.”

  She looked up quickly, tears running down her cheeks. “I know it was just Addison being taken that made you act that way. You’re a good man, Griffin. Thank you.”

  Ramos pulled her away, into their hut. She sagged against him, exhaustion clear in every line in her body. Griffin watched as they disappeared.

  His thoughts went back to Addison, if she had a place to sleep, if she had anything to eat. She grew dizzy when she was hungry. He’d made sure there was always fruit and water in the hut, and made her take more than enough with her to the ruins each day.

  The ache in his heart was almost unbearable. He could not stay here knowing she was out there somewhere. He paced across the clearing, nodding to those around him, waving away those who wished to talk. Finally he found an empty hut and climbed inside.

  He lay on the unfamiliar pallet. The pelts held unfamiliar scents, and did nothing to lessen the pain in his heart, to fill the empty hole. It only made all those things worse. For the first time in decades, tears prickled behind his closed eyes.

  He hadn’t cried since he was a very small boy. Shifters, and leaders of those shifters, did not cry. But in the darkness, without Addison, he let the hot tears fall unchecked, soaking into the pelt beneath him.

  * * *

  It was just before dawn when Griffin rose. He walked out of the hut to find Ramos standing at the edge of the clearing, scanning the jungle. There was nowhere for him to go, but the last thing he wanted was to discuss strategies for the clan. He wanted to run through the jungle, down the road, and to Cusco. He’d find her scent among the people; he’d find where she had been taken.

  “Griffin. We need to decide what to do, when to move on into the jungle.”

  “Ramos. We’re tired, the women—Daphne—are exhausted. We need to eat, rest, and tomorrow we can decide. Post guards around the camp tonight. I don’t believe they’ll attack, but if they do, we’ll be ready.”

  “Well and good, but we need to leave tomorrow, no later, to move into the jungle, and leave these villages behind.” He waved his arm around the clearing. Griffin looked over his shoulder at the grouping of huts. Addison had been here once, with Daphne. But she’d never gone beyond the edge of this village.

  “Griffin, do you hear me?”

  He looked at Ramos. The man was strong, intelligent, rational. A good leader.

  “I hear you. And I understand.” He held the man’s gaze a moment longer.

  “And now you need to listen, and understand. I am not going into the jungle. Take the clan, and move. But I am going to find Addison.”

  Ramos’s face went slack. “You cannot be serious. You cannot track her through the jungle and down the mountain. Where would you even begin?”

  “She came from Cusco; I believe that’s where they would have taken her. Daphne said they knew her name, that they recognized her. They would not have been villagers. They would have come from Cusco.”

  “Even so, how could you find her there? Cusco is no village you can circle on foot. It’s big, it’s a city. You’re being foolish, Griffin. You’d never find her.”

  “And I will never find her if I stay here.” He managed a smile. “Ramos, I must leave. You are the leader now. Do what you think is best.”

  He pulled the startled man into a swift hug, and then turned to leave. But before he’d taken more than a dozen steps, guard burst out of the jungle, dragging a man between them. He was bloody, head hanging as they pulled him forward. But even battered, half-dead, Griffin recognized Daniel Parrish.

  * * *

  “We found a raider at the village.” The guards dropped Daniel on the ground. “He claims he knows you, knows where your mate is.” The guard held his knife beneath Daniel’s chin, poking at him until he raised his head. He met Griffin’s eyes, but remained silent.

  “I know this man. Stand away from him.”

  The guard immediately stepped back, knife still held at the ready. Griffin crossed the space between them and held out his hand. Daniel took it, rising to his feet.

  “Where is she?”

  “The ruins. With her sister.”

  “Is she…” There was so much he wanted to know, if she was injured, about the child.

  “She’s fine. Bruised, but otherwise fine.”

  Something inside Griffin unknotted, a hope he’d dared not have coming to life. “Take care of this man as if he were one of our own.” He turned toward the path leading back to the ruins. Ramos had emerged from his hut, Daphne standin
g in the doorway behind him, eyes wide, hand at her throat.

  The guard nodded, reaching for Daniel. Ramos came forward, eyeing Daniel, then Griffin.

  “I will come with you.” Ramos sheathed the machete he carried, standing beside Griffin.

  “Her sister is sick.” Daniel wiped blood from his face, revealing a deep gash on his forehead.

  Griffin stopped, staring at the man. “The cure did not work?”

  “We thought it did. But she’s gotten worse, much worse since we got here. When I left them, she was unconscious.”

  Griffin motioned to the guard. “Find the priest. Tell him he is needed. And he is to bring everything he can carry for healing. When he arrives, have him attend to this man.”

  “You know, Griffin, I do have a name.”

  Griffin met Daniel’s gaze, tipped his head, and had no choice but to allow a smile to curve his lips. “Tell the priest to treat Daniel as he would treat any clan member. He can rest in my hut.”

  As he turned away he caught the wry expression on Daniel’s face. The man would make a good clan leader, if he were a shifter. And then he completely forgot about Daniel, every cell in his being focused on Addison as he strode through the forest. Behind him he heard Ramos and others following.

  She was close, closer than he could imagine. He’d find her, bring her back, and never let her near the ruins again. He’d tie her to his bed if necessary.

  The jungle was coming to life, rain dripping from the leaves, birds flying overhead. The sky grew lighter as he pressed forward down the path.

  Then he stopped, head up, scenting the air. He caught Addison’s scent on the breeze, not from the direction of the ruins, but from the direction of his burned village. He sniffed the air again, and there it was. She was close, so very close.

  On that same breeze he caught the scent of illness, and blood. If that was her sister, she was very close to death.

  “Ramos, follow me. They’re at the village, not the ruins.”

  Griffin pushed off the path, taking the shortest route through the jungle. He tore at the foliage with his hands, his arms and shoulders cut by thorns and branches.