Beyond the Darkness by Jaime Rush

other parts of his body. Wasn’t cold water supposed to shrivel the male apparatus?
    With a flick of his wrist Cheveyo pulled his toothlike knife out of his pocket. He cut the legs of the jeans, which had to weigh a ton now that they were wet. His shirt came off next, and the sun glistened off his wet chest.
    Could she really be turned on? Really? When her body was battered and worn-out? But she had felt something like this when they fought Baal back at her place.
    Cheveyo was fully focused on his task, in survival mode. He yanked his shorts back on and surveyed their surroundings while squeezing the water from his shirt. Instead of putting it on, he tucked one end into the waistband of his shorts, letting it dangle at his side.
    “Can you maneuver in those pants now that they’re wet?”
    She lifted her leg out of the water. “Not really.”
    He crooked his fingers at her. Strip.
    Well, if he could do it without being self-conscious, so could she. It took some wriggling, but she managed to get out of her pants. He wasn’t watching her, but he hadn’t turned away either. He sliced and diced her pants and handed a pair of shorts back to her.
    She slid them up and zipped them. “Much better.”
    He nodded toward the woods behind him. “No rest.”
    “For the wicked, I know. Except I’m not wicked,” she added, hearing a little whine in her voice. “I’m a nice person.”
    “A very nice person.” His eyes focused on her as she stepped up beside him, and she saw the fire of lust as his gaze swept down the length of her. “And still wicked all the same.”
    White shirt, now wet, thin bra beneath it . . . she didn’t look but could well imagine. He pulled her hard enough that she fell against him. Her hands went to his bare shoulders to catch herself. His hands gripped her waist to steady her. The heat that blazed between their bodies, she’d felt it before when he held her.
    He took a quick breath and set her away from him, yanking his gaze away to check for their enemies again. He flattened himself against the side of the rock and peered over the edge, his back stretching with his movement. Drops of water slid down his spine.
    Even though the rushing water should cover their voices, he leaned close before saying, “They must have kept going forward, hoping to catch up with us. Which means we go back.”
    The river was narrower on this side of the island but ran harder. He took off his black boots and sent them flying toward the rocks at the shoreline. Socks went into a crevice between rocks. He probably didn’t want them to tip off their pursuers down the river.
    He took her hand and started walking across. “Follow my footsteps.”
    He positioned his feet in front of rocks so the current wouldn’t knock him off balance, motioning for her to do the same. In bare feet, his balance was better. He’d obviously spent a lot of time barefooted, and probably in the wild. She stumbled, her legs as rubbery as blush-brush bristles. He pulled her back in balance and they reached the boulders at the edge. He took a big step up, turned, and pulled her up, too.
    There wasn’t much cover here. She scanned the area. Boulders interspersed with trees for as far as she could see. Miles of climbing, slipping, crevices. No, hundreds of miles. Millions! Her knees buckled, and his hands tightened on her waist.
    “I can’t do this,” she said, still gulping air.
    “You don’t have a choice.”
    She nodded. Not a liability. Not a burden.
    He grabbed his shoes and laced the strings together, looping them over his finger. He took her hand with his other hand and they headed back the way they’d come. He steered them away from the river, around a huge mound of boulders, finally out of sight of being spotted. She was dying. Dying. On top of the river beating her up, she’d been thrown from a motorcycle!
    Finally they reached some fairly level ground, and wouldn’t you know, that’s where she stumbled again. He caught her,