On the Edge (2 page)

Chapter Three

The first raider burst from the jungle, machete held high, eyes locked on Griffin. Griffin charged forward, raw throat screaming in fury, pulling his knife as he ran.

The raider’s eyes widened as Griffin charged, faltered, then tried to turn away. But they were on a collision course. Griffin raised his knife, lips pulled back in a snarl, and bore down on the man. His momentum carried him into the man, knocking him to the ground, and he fell on the man, bringing the knife down, burying it in the man’s neck. Blood spurted in an arc, splashing across Griffin’s chest.

Pulling his knife free he straightened, looking wildly around him. A dozen raiders streamed into the clearing, machetes raised, several carrying guns. He stood alone as they charged, the rest of his clan invisible.

He knew where every clan member was, which tree held one, behind which leaf one waited. He could smell them, smell the same anger and rage that coursed through him. He was not alone.

There was a gunshot, the sound loud and foreign, echoing through the air. Searing hot pain shot down his arm, and he looked down, surprised to see blood dripping from his fingers. He spun around, saw the man with the gun, who was still holding it trained on him.

Time slowed, and he watched the man’s finger squeezing the trigger, he knew he was in the man’s sights.

Griffin took a breath, waited another heartbeat, and then dropped to the ground, rolling through the leaf litter on the clearing floor. The bullet whistled over his head, and then the world sped up again.

He came to his feet in a low crouch, launched himself at the man, and sliced cleanly through his arm at the shoulder, the gun and arm falling to the ground, the gun firing uselessly into the jungle. The man fell backward, screaming, pawing at his shoulder. The scent of hot blood, his enemy’s blood, filled Griffin’s nose and he slashed down again, ending the man’s screams.

His clan was no longer silent in the jungle. They were filling the clearing, some in human form, some already shifted into sleek predators, snarls and growls filling the air. Another gunshot sounded, followed by a scream.

Griffin attacked the raider closest to him, hacking at the man. But the man ran toward Griffin, machete slicing through the air. Griffin ducked, came around behind the man, his knife slicing through the man’s throat. He pushed the body to the ground and spun around in time to see a raider plunge a knife into the chest of one of his clan members, the man falling back, lifeless eyes looking at the blue sky.

A surge of anger boiled inside Griffin, and he ran at the enemy. A dark form leapt from above, landing on the man’s back, claws and fangs tearing flesh. Ramos drove the man to the ground, teeth buried in the man’s neck. With a violent shake, he broke the man’s neck. Snarling, he leapt off the body, eyes flashing at Griffin as he crouched, ready to attack again.

The clearing was filled with grunts and screams, and Griffin saw more than one of his clan members lying lifeless on the ground. Many raiders were dead, or injured, the rest gathering at the edge of the clearing. It puzzled Griffin; they looked as if they were retreating.

Ramos growled, head raised, sniffing the air. Then Griffin smelled it: smoke. He looked up and saw the gray pall rising above the trees. The raiders had lit his village on fire.

The raiders were leaving now, running into the jungle, hoots and shouts of triumph echoing into the trees. A few shifters followed, but others turned toward the village and their homes.

Griffin ran through the jungle, Ramos on his heels. They burst through the foliage into the space where their huts stood, skidding to a stop.

Flames licked at the thatch of the huts, the buildings already starting to crumble and fall to the ground. Ramos snarled beside Griffin as they watched, helpless to do anything. Others filled the clearing, jaguars and men, faces filled with confusion and rage.

“They burned our homes.”

Ramos stood beside him, a bloody gash running across his chest. “The fight was a ruse, a way to distract us while they burned our huts.”

The last of the buildings fell to the ground, sending up a shower of sparks. The flames were gone, the huts just charred piles of smoking debris. The jungle was far too wet to burn, but the thatch on the huts had been excellent fuel.

“You’re hurt.” Ramos touched his arm and he glanced at his shoulder.

“It is nothing.” The bullet had gone through him, leaving bloody wounds front and back. There was pain, but it was nothing compared to watching his village burn to the ground.

Those who had shifted were now back in human form, all of them forming a circle around Griffin.

“What do we do, Griffin? Where do we go?”

Griffin looked over the bloody and battered group, taking in those who stood before him, and silently noting those who were not.

“We gather our dead, honor them, and bury them. We care for our wounded. We gather our families and move to the next village. We rebuild our lives there.”

“We move into the jungle, where no one will find us.” Ramos’s bitter words cut through the smoke-filled air.

“We do as we have done for centuries. What we need to do to survive. We do not run from our enemies.”

Ramos turned to him. “Would you rather stay in your village and wait for raiders to come?” He swept his arm over the clan members. “Would you tell them to wait for another attack?”

Griffin drew himself up, nostrils flaring, eyes narrowed. “We run, they follow. If we stand and fight, we will drive them back.”

He glared at Ramos. This must have been how Xavier felt, being challenged by another, in front of the clan. But he knew Ramos, knew that even if he were misguided, he had the best interest of the clan in his heart.

Ramos shook his head. “No. Not now. Not yet. We are vulnerable. In the jungle, we are invisible, we are safe. You know that.”

He took a step closer to Ramos, turning away from the rest of the group, voice low. “Do not make this harder than it needs to be, Ramos. Do not challenge me on this.”

Indecision clouded Ramos’s features, but the tension left his shoulders. “I will not challenge you on this, not now. But do not forget what I have said.”

Griffin raised his uninjured arm, clasping Ramos on the shoulder. “I will not. We will talk, but not now.” He turned back to the group. “Gather what you can, prepare to bury our dead, and take care of the wounded. And watch the jungle. It would be an ideal time for an attack, while we are preoccupied and injured. We move to Ramos’s village, and regroup there.”

A murmur rose from the group, who exchanged looks, as they moved off. Some of the women appeared, sifting through the ruined huts, picking up the bits and pieces of their lives. The injured tended to each other, wrapping wounds. Already, Griffin could see they were healing, the gashes and cuts closing, limps growing less pronounced.

A small group carried the dead to the ruins, placing them in the niches carved for this purpose. The clan assembled, and Griffin said the prayer that had been said for generations over those who had died in battle. When he was finished they stood in silence for a moment. Finally he raised his head, meeting the eyes of each member.

“We move to the next village.”

He didn’t wait for a reply. Turning, he walked swiftly down the steps of the ruins. His heart and mind were in turmoil, torn between duty and love.

He could not—would not—melt into the jungle. If Addison returned, and he was deeper in the jungle, there would be no way for her to find him. He must stay where she would return, where she could find him.

Ramos was right; moving into the jungle would save the clan. But to save the clan, or find Addison—to leave, or to stay—pulled him in two directions.

There was only one thing he could do, he must do. He must give up leadership of the clans. It was the only way.

Chapter Four

Addison clutched the phone as tears rolled down her cheeks. She let them fall unchecked. Grace’s voice was soft, but strong, stronger than it had been for months.

It had been so long since she’d heard her sister’s voice. Everything around her faded, the sounds of traffic, Veronica sitting at her desk, trying not to watch, but unable to look away. Every cell in Addison focused on Grace, on the tenuous connection between them.

“Grace. I can’t believe it’s you. How are you?” The question was woefully inadequate. But she was afraid to ask what she really wanted to know, as if too many questions would break the connection between them, as if her emotions were enough to disconnect the call.

“I’m going to be okay, Addison. I’m home. Daniel brought me here.” There was a burst of static and Addison clutched the phone, willing the connection to come back.

“Addison?”

“I’m here.” She closed her eyes, focusing on Grace’s voice. “Hearing your voice… I’m just so relieved to know you’re okay.”

“I love you, Addison,” Grace replied. “And we’ll see each other soon, right? I’m going to let you talk to Daniel before we get disconnected. He said you need money.”

“I love you, too.” There was another burst of static. “Grace? Are you there?” She held her breath, waiting for someone’s voice on the other end.

“Addison. I’m here.” Daniel’s voice cut through the static. “You need money? Are you coming home?”

“No. I need to get back to the jungle. I need a car. It’s a long story.”  Her heart sank, and she felt guilty for choosing her mate over her own family, but she knew that she could never be happy without Griffin. She would see Grace again soon, she knew that, but she couldn’t let Griffin agonize over where she had been taken, or whether she was okay. She had to get back to him as quickly as possible. She placed her hand over her stomach wishing she could feel the heartbeat of their unborn child.

“Listen. I’ll wire you money, but I’m coming down there. I can’t leave you there…”

“Daniel, no. I’m staying. You can’t talk me out of staying here.”

An inexplicable beeping started, wiping out Daniel’s reply. Addison looked at Veronica, but the woman was studiously ignoring Addison. Then Daniel was back.

“Addison? Tell me where to send the money. And then get a hotel. I’m coming…it’ll be a day or two…we’ll talk when I see you.”

Addison reluctantly handed the phone to Veronica who efficiently gave the information to Daniel before disconnecting the call.

“Your friend will wire the money. I can arrange for a taxi to take you to the Western Union office. It is very close by.”

It felt like the building was closing in around her, the air lifeless and dry. Nausea welled up inside her, and all she wanted was to be outside, even if it was only to walk on pavement, through throngs of people. She declined the taxi, asking instead for directions so she could walk. Veronica gave her an alarmed look, but drew a rough map on a sheet of paper, sliding it across the desk, her passport on top.

“One last thing. I need a hotel, also within walking distance.”

Veronica nodded, adding an address and directions to the sheet of paper.

“Thank you.”

Outside it was hot, but the sun on her face felt wonderful. She looked at the map, and got her bearings. The Western Union office was in a bank, really just around the corner from the Consulate. She headed in that direction, her legs stiff from the Jeep ride, her body as jittery as if she’d drunk a gallon of Daniel’s high octane coffee. She chalked it up to anxiety, adrenaline, and hearing Grace’s voice. Her ankle hurt, but the pain didn’t get any worse the further she walked. If anything it helped clear her head.

She turned the corner, and there was the bank. The inside was clean and cool, and she felt the eyes of the people inside slide over her. But there wasn’t time to worry about appearances. Head held high, with as much confidence as she could manage, she walked to the nearest counter and waited her turn.

Daniel was nothing, if not prompt. Her money was waiting, and after showing her passport, and garnering another quizzical look from the man behind the counter, she headed back onto the street. Counting the money with a wry grin, she noticed Daniel had been generous, but not generous enough for a plane ticket. He knew her well enough to know she wasn’t coming back on her own.

The hotel was also very close, just down the street. It was a tall white building, practically blazing in the afternoon sun. As much as she wanted to get back to Griffin, the prospect of a bath…a bath in hot water…was suddenly very appealing, and she hurried inside.

They had a room with a bath, although she was cautioned it was small. She wasn’t sure if it was the room or the bath that was small, realized she didn’t really care, and took her key. They’d put her on the top floor and she bypassed the elevator, climbing the stairs. By the time she reached the top she was breathing hard, and sweating, but calmer.

She let herself into the room and immediately grabbed the phone. She sat on the bed, and dialed the hotel operator. After a long discussion, much confusion, half of it in English, half in Spanish, she managed to have a call placed to Daniel’s cell.

It rang for what seemed like forever, and Addison wondered if he’d already left for Peru. It didn’t seem likely he’d manage a flight that quickly. The call finally went to voice mail and she left a message, giving the name and phone number of the hotel.

She replaced the receiver, feeling oddly let down. Even if the conversation devolved into an argument over her staying or leaving, she’d wanted to hear Daniel’s voice, wanted desperately to know more about how Grace was doing, how they’d managed to give her the treatment. She sat for a long time as if staring at the phone would make it ring. She finally decided she’d take a bath. The phone always rang when she couldn’t get to it. If she took a long bath, then Daniel would call.

The tub was huge, and very deep. She turned the taps, gratified by the force of the flow. There was a generic bottle of bath gel, and she opened it, sniffing critically. It smelled of chemicals and artificial flowers, but suddenly she wanted to luxuriate in bubbles, and she dumped the whole thing into the tub.

Her clothes were dirty and ragged, but she’d deal with them later, and left them in a pile on the floor. The tub had filled with bubbles, and she stepped gingerly into the water. It was hot, almost too hot, but she settled in with a deep sigh.

The water rose around her, bubbles almost reaching her chin. With her foot she turned off the taps, relishing the silence.

Without warning, she burst into tears. She knew it was hormones, and exhaustion, and not getting Daniel on the phone, knowing that something good had happened, but missing her sister intensely.

Griffin had been completely baffled by her crying, which began as quickly as a summer thunderstorm, and ended just as abruptly. She’d tried to explain to him about hormones and pregnant women’s mood swings, but apparently shifter women didn’t cry unexpectedly, or crave chocolate. He’d given up trying to find out what was wrong, although she could tell by the tension in his shoulders, and the way he looked at her, that he was worried about her, and the baby. She’d taken to crying at the ruins, where only Daphne would see her. And like as not, Daphne would join her with tears of her own.

She stayed in the tub until the water started to cool, then washed her hair, dipping her head under the water, rinsing away the bubbles.

The hotel wasn’t stingy with towels. She climbed out of the rather dingy water, wrapping a towel around her head, and one around her body. She looked at the water a moment, then dumped her dirty clothes into the tub. They could soak, and she’d deal with them later.

The room had excellent air conditioning and she turned it up, dropping her towel and sat on the bed, letting the cool air wash over her. She had to admit this was heaven. The pregnancy had skewed her internal thermostat and she was forever hot, even on cool nights. More than once she’d tossed all the pelts on the floor of the hut, waking as Griffin got out of the pallet to find one to cover up.

A wave of dizziness washed over her, and she wondered, not for the first time, if she had a concussion. But the dizziness was followed by a rumble in her stomach. Belatedly, she realized she hadn’t eaten since she’d been taken away from the ruins. It was just hunger, not a head injury.

Rolling over on the bed she grabbed the phone, punching in the digits for the front desk. Yes, they had room service. Yes, they’d be happy to send what she ordered to her room. She made sure they included several bottles of water, then hung up the phone.

“Oh, shit.” She sat up, looking down at her naked body. The clothes were still marinating in the tub and the hotel wasn’t ritzy enough to provide complimentary robes. She shrugged; she was sure room service had seen guests wrapped in towels before.

She ran her hands over the subtle bulge of her stomach, and she smiled. It seemed to have taken forever for her to start showing. It hadn’t somehow seemed real to her until her stomach had started to swell.

It had been a warm night not long ago, Griffin lying naked beside her, when she’d reached over, taking his hand and placing it on her stomach. He grunted in the dark.

“Do you feel it?” She moved his hand a little lower. “I have a baby bump.”

He grunted again. “You have a baby growing in you…I’m not sure about a bump though.”

She laughed. “Back home all the famous people have baby bumps. But, I’m showing. It finally seems real.”

“Of course it’s real. It’s my child. It’s been real since you conceived.”

“You’re far too literal sometimes.”

His hand had moved lower, caressing the tops of her thighs. She’d been hesitant to have Griffin make love to her, fearful something bad would happen, even though she it was perfectly fine to have sex. He’d been patient, far more than she’d expected, never pushing her.

That night, everything seemed perfect. For the first time in weeks she had felt like herself, only better, more alive. Griffin’s caresses were gentle, but his hand was lighting a fire deep inside her.

“I am what I am.” His words were a low murmur and she knew he wasn’t interested in conversation. And neither was she.

When he took her he was so gentle she began to cry. He stopped instantly, but she held him against her.

“It’s okay. I’m fine. It’s just…”

“It is just hormones?” His voice held humor, muffled against her neck.

“It is. Keep going.”

“Then lie still. Let me take care of things.”

And he did. His movements were slow and powerful, carrying her, lifting her into an unhurried state of pleasure. She lay beneath him, responding to him, until she came, suddenly and with such force she had no choice but to cry out. Every part of her body came alive, tremors and shivers coursing through her.

Griffin grunted against her neck, one hand beneath her ass, holding her tightly as he came. She could tell he was holding back, his thrusts reined in, his body jerking in her arms. Finally he rolled away, breathing hard, one arm flung over his head.

She’d watched him until he fell asleep, traced the curve of his lips, and the sharp angles of his cheekbones with her eyes. In her mind she could see him now, almost smell the scent of their lovemaking. A sob rose in her throat, an ache to be back there with him.

A knock on the door broke through her thoughts. Grabbing the big towel, she wrapped it around her, wiping her face on one corner.

She opened the door just a crack. The man in the hall looked at her, then at her bare arm and towel-clad torso, and looked away.

“You can set that on the floor, please.” She spoke in Spanish and the man nodded, gently setting the tray down. He looked back at her, hesitated, and then shrugged before walking away. She decided he assumed no clothes meant no pockets, and no tip. She felt bad, but then the smell of food wafted up from the tray and she forgot about the man.

She ate quickly, the food gone before she really had a chance to even taste it. It was heavy and greasy, but oddly comforting.

Dusk was falling, distant traffic noises reaching her even this high above the city. She set the tray in the hall, went back to the bathroom. Her clothes were still stewing in the bath water, now a much darker shade of gray. Gingerly she swished them through the water, then drained the tub and rinsed them over and over, until the water ran clean.

Wringing out as much of the water as she could, she rolled them in several towels, walking on them to get out most of the water. She unrolled them, dragged the wet garments back to the bedroom, and hung them over the air conditioner. Hopefully they’d dry by morning, although it really didn’t matter. She had nowhere to go, until Daniel arrived.

The sheets were clean, but they scratched her skin. The mattress was hard, harder than any bed she could ever remember sleeping in. Punching a pillow into submission, she tried to sleep. But no matter which way she turned, some part of her was uncomfortable. Sleep came, but it was fitful, and she woke often, sometimes reaching for Griffin, sometimes crying softly.

Finally, sometime near dawn, she dragged the comforter and all the blankets and sheets onto the floor, making a nest of them and the pillows. She pulled a corner of the sheet over her shoulder and finally comfortable, drifted off into a deep sleep.