Chapter 22
“Whatever you do, don’t let go!” Colt knew it was a useless warning. Nothing could be heard over the roar of the tumultuous rush of water. The power and force of the deluge drove them over the edge in a chaotic waterfall of thousands of gallons of frothing, twisting, turning water. All he could do was hold tightly to Lilly and pray they survived. The night stars were streaks of light overhead as they were inextricably swept in a tidal wave with no up and no down.
Nothing to grab hold of, nothing to brace their bodies. They hit rock, were flipped end over end, feet first, then head down. He dragged in a gasp of air when he could, and felt his lungs burn when he couldn’t.
They plummeted down hundreds of feet until they hit the roaring torrent below. It was more like slamming into solid rock than water, rasping his bare skin, jarring every bone in his body, tearing off his hat and threatening to rip the pack from his back. Colt wanted to cry out, but he had enough sense to know he’d just suck in more water.
The raging water carried them down the narrow rock crevasse, the narrow opening causing their trajectory to increase as the water deepened and moved even faster between the narrow rock walls. There was no stopping the flood. No way to control it.
The water was a merciless fury of nature with a mind of its own. If they hadn’t landed in Hell, it was damn close.
Branches cracked and snapped in the onslaught, echoing like gunfire off the canyon walls. Dirty water cascaded into his mouth and ears. He choked and sputtered, desperate for a sip of air. But as long as he felt the tight grip of Lilly on his skin and the strap in his hand, he had something else to focus on instead of the exploding panic in his gut.
Lilly and the Book. That was all that mattered, he firmly told himself. He was a Hunter. Expendable for the greater good. But to have it end like this, dying in a flash flood, was embarrassing.
He was saved from his own morose thoughts when they slammed into a snag of mesquite trees caught up in the flood. The impact jolted him so hard he lost all his breath and nearly lost his hold on Lilly.
He struggled against the beating force of the water trying to drag him under. “Hold tight to the tree,” he ordered. In the moonlight her wet hair had a silver sheen, and he saw her nod. Teeth chattering, Colt placed his face against the rough, wet bark, dug his fingers into the wood, and held on for all he was worth.
Slowly the force of the water lessened, and the level of the water lowered. The earthy scent of wet rock and wood permeated the air. Colt opened his eyes, blinking back the moisture on his lids, and glanced around. His limbs were numb with cold and exhaustion, but as he moved every muscle screamed.
“Lilly?” It came out a barely audible rasp. “You all right?”
Lilly knew she wasn’t dead. She just hurt enough to wish she was. But thanks to being Darkin, the bruises and lashes in her skin were already beginning to heal. She stirred beside Colt, wet hair plastered to her head and across her shoulders in heavy, wet ropes.
“I’m alive, if that counts,” she murmured, then coughed hard, her chest burning.
Colt set his head back down beside hers and gave a small laugh. “Yeah. It counts.”
“Remind me never to follow you into a Hunter-devised death trap again,” she said slowly. “Or ride on that mechanical monstrosity of yours.”
He laughed off her asperity. “I’m just glad that we’re still alive.” He reached over and brushed the wet hair from her cheek with a tender touch and looked into her eyes. “We did it, sweetheart. We got the Book.”
She managed a tremulous smile. “We did.”
The cool wash of desert air, scented with the heavy sweetness of night-blooming cactus flowers, caressed her cheek. Lilly should have felt elated. She should have been able to fly. They had done the near impossible, and if they were capable of that, she might actually stand a chance of escaping Rathe. But deep down, everything within her just hurt.
In the moonlight the water had turned into a silver ribbon on black wet rock. It still burbled and flowed beneath the snag, but it was slowly going back to being the small stream they’d first encountered in the gulch.
“Our pact is complete,” she said softly.
He closed his eyes. “Not yet,” he croaked. “I promised to free you from Rathe, and I will.”
A small shimmer of hope welled up inside her. Colt had never said he loved her, but perhaps he really, truly did.
He cracked open one eye. “The first thing we need to do is get down this mountain. Then we can figure out how to get the Book of Legend reunited.”
“That’s mighty ambitious. Perhaps we ought to consider taking this at a more manageable pace.”
“Such as?”
“Such as being able to walk first,” she suggested, her voice tinged with sarcasm as she groaned.
He chuckled. “You’ve got a point, sweetheart.”
He grunted as he peeled himself off the snag and struggled down the tangle of wet wood. “Are you coming or not?”
Lilly took a deep breath and started moving. The wet buckskin britches were growing clammy and tightening as she climbed down to the canyon floor. Colt offered her a hand at the last bit, and she took it and stepped down on firm soil once more. Then he swung his pack off his back and checked on the oilcloth package containing the Book.
“Looks like the Book made it through all right.” He cast a glance at her, and swallowed hard. “You’d best get out of those britches before we have to cut them off you,” Colt said, as if he’d had the experience to back up his claim. “They’ll only get tighter as the leather dries and shrinks.”
“Purely suggested with my comfort in mind, I’m sure.” She cast him a flirtatious glance as she wrung out her hair.
He had the audacity after all they’d just been through to wink. “Of course.”
That was fine by Lilly. She felt far more comfortable in skirts anyway. She snapped her fingers and materialized a fresh set of clothing for herself, including a cream-colored linen calf-length skirt and fitted jacket, thin cotton shirtwaist, a hardy pith helmet wrapped near the brim with a swath of sheer cream silk, and a sturdy walking stick.
Colt quirked a brow at her change in clothing. “Planning on another grand adventure so soon?”
“I have the distinct impression that this kind of thing is your normal
modus operandi
, and therefore I’m dressing appropriately.”
“To go where? Deepest darkest Africa?” He smiled as he slung his pack off his shoulder to rest at his feet. “My pa only taught me enough Latin to be able to passably read the incantations he taught me, so would you mind translating that Modus opera-endy?”
“How you do things.”
He gave her a boyish grin, which seemed at odds, and yet perfectly suitable, to the shadows on his roguish face. “That about sums it up. Being a Hunter isn’t fancy dress and tea parties, if that’s what you’re sayin’.”
She couldn’t help but notice how his wet clothing clung to the hard ridges of muscle, and the gleam of moonlit water on his torso. There wasn’t an ounce of fat on Colt. Every hardened, scarred inch of him was earned through hard work. For a moment she considered how he might look with no clothing at all, and her heart responded by going from a trot to a full-out gallop. She shook her head to realign her thoughts more appropriately.
“Would you like a change of clothing as well?”
His eyes held a shimmer of suspicion as he paused, his hand flexing around the edge of his gun belt, and considered her offer. And really, was there so much to consider? He was wet as a drowned kangaroo rat. Finally he replied, “As long as you don’t gussy me up and you get me back my hat. Sure, I could go in for some fresh clothes. Just make sure you don’t mess with my weapons or my pack.”
She snapped her fingers and his wet, heavy denim pants were replaced by dark pants, a fresh white cotton shirt accented with a black ribbon tie at the neck, and his favorite blue and black brocade vest, along with a long brown duster jacket and of course his hat, which she made sure was dried out and free of mud. If possible, he looked even more devastating and dangerous with a bit of polish.
“I look like Remy or Wyatt Earp.” His sculpted mouth pressed into a line with distaste. “I said nothing fancy.”
Lilly crossed her arms “That hardly constitutes formal dress. And besides, it looks good on you.”
“Well, it’s dry.” Colt grumbled out his thanks, but it wasn’t exactly convincing.
The water had all but disappeared, running in a rush out of the gulch and into some distant arroyo. Only the wetness on the rock walls of the gulch and the thin stream of water running in between the rocks indicated that there’d been any gully-washer at all.
They picked their way through the flotsam and jetsam of the flood and climbed out of the darkness of the gulch into pale moonlight. Before them spread the wide expanse of the desert floor. The rocks of the mountain behind them, rust-colored in the daylight, rose up like stacks of silver bars. The crescent moon was sinking in the western sky, still bright white against a sky that was growing blue with pre-dawn light.
Tempus waited for them, just where they’d left him, brass hooves glinting in the waning moonlight. Colt peered out over the immense darkness of the desert. He took the winding key from his pack, unstrung a section of the leather hide covering, and wound the beast. He then secured the hatch and cover back in place and strapped his pack to his horse. When he saddled up without so much as a hand to help her, Lilly gave him a sour look. “You could have helped me mount.”
He tipped back the brim of his hat to reveal a twinkle in his blue eyes that made her distinctly aware he’d seen her in far less than she was wearing now. “Thought you weren’t comfortable riding my monstrous machine,” he said smoothly.
“I’m not. But neither am I a fool. We’ll get to where we need to get the Book faster if we both ride.”
He gave her a wicked smile. “I’d be happy to give you a ride.”
Heat crept hot and fast into her cheeks. She was certainly succubus enough to know precisely what his tone implied. Worse, she’d been thinking about it too.
He pulled her up to sit atop his lap in the saddle. “You’ll be more comfortable up here than riding behind,” he said by way of an explanation.
Lilly would have debated that point as she rearranged her skirts, since there was a very firm ridge at her posterior, but she didn’t think it would make matters any better to mention it.
“And you’ll need to take off that hat, otherwise I’ll be hitting my chin on it,” he said, giving her pith helmet a tap.
With reluctance she removed her headgear and settled it on the pommel. “Better?”
“We’ll see.” Colt flipped the GGD switch on Tempus, and the clockwork inside the mechanical horse began to click and whirr. He lifted his head, stomped once, then started moving forward.
Letting her ride up front on his lap had to be just about the stupidest thing he’d ever done. With every step forward Tempus took, the soft curve of Lilly’s bottom shifted against his shaft, making it both exquisite torture and a pleasurable pain.
They rode on through the desert in companionable silence as the sun rose, an orange fireball riding the ridge of the mountains. The desert spread out in a wash of tans and reds before them, punctuated only by the cactus, short bushy scrub, and spindly junco that looked more like thorny tall sticks than anything else.
Her sweet voice broke the stillness. “How long do you think it’ll take us to get to Bodie?”
“About four days.”
She twisted, her hair a cloud of ruby-colored flame in the morning’s rays, and gazed at him. “Isn’t that cutting things a little close?”
“As long as Remy and Winn show up with the other portions of the Book of Legend, it should all work out just fine.”
“Hypothetically,” she said, turning back to face front.
“Now who’s being the pessimist?” he jibed.
“And then what?”
Colt shrugged. “Well, if we manage to close the Gates, then Rathe won’t have a hold over you any longer. You’ll be free and can go find your sister, just like I said.”