Run Wild (Escape with a Scoundrel) - By Shelly Thacker Page 0,61

his hand, bitterness and regret rising in her chest. She would never know anything more about him. He had come into her life a stranger, less than a week ago.

And he would die a stranger.

Kneeling at his side in the silent cave, listening to what could be his last breaths, she covered her face with her hands. Tried to find some shred of courage or wisdom or hope that could help him.

“Please,” she whispered. “Please, God, help me.” Clenching her fists, she lifted her head, staring desperately up into the dark. “Help us.”

The fire chose that moment to flicker out, leaving her in complete blackness.

There was no sound but the liquid drip of water down the cave wall.

And the labored, tenuous breathing of her companion.

All at once, her desperation and sorrow gave way, burned to ashes by a new emotion. Perhaps it came simply from the feeling of her own nails digging into her palms, but a tide of raw determination poured through her.

“No,” she snapped at the man she could no longer see, stubborn enough for both of them. “No, you can’t quit. Not now. Not after all we’ve come through. I won’t let you.”

She would not give in. Not as long as there was breath left in his body and a heart beating in his chest. She would not admit defeat. And she would waste no more time on tears.

Turning, she felt for the rag she had been using earlier and crawled on her hands and knees over to the cave wall, pressing the cloth to the trickle of water. As soon as it was wet, she moved back to his side and started bathing him again, sweeping the damp cloth over his chest, his arms, his face. Cooling him as best she could. Trying to return life to his battered body.

They had endured worse than this—both of them. Somehow they would survive this as well.

Together, they would survive.

“I am not going to give up on you,” she said fiercely. “Do you hear me? I am not going to give up!”

She shouted it so loud, her own words echoed back to her from the depths of the cavern.

I am not going to give up... not going to give up... not going to give up.

~ ~ ~

A flutter of wings passed overhead, close enough to brush her cheek.

Startled awake, Sam sat up, heart pounding. What was happening? What was that sound? Had it been a dream? Disoriented, blinking, she rubbed her eyes.

The cave was silent, empty.

She must have been dreaming, must’ve fallen into an exhausted sleep... though it couldn’t have been for long. The glow of a fire still shimmered in the biscuit tin. Earlier, she had gathered some moss from the cave walls, scraping it off with the knife, in the hopes that it might burn. It had not only burned, but it burned slowly. It gave off an unpleasant, sour odor, but at least it provided some light, however meager.

Fully awake now, her eyes adjusting to the darkness, she turned to look down at the man beside her, reached out to touch his forehead.

And found his skin no longer ablaze beneath her fingers.

She started to smile in relief, but as she bent over to study him more closely, she realized he was still deathly pale, his breathing shallow and unsteady. And his pulse...

Pressing her fingers to his neck, she could feel it, but just barely.

The fever had finally broken.

He made a low sound, a weak groan. She almost shouted with joy. A sound was a sound, a sign of life, no matter how faint.

Then a shudder went through him, followed by another. He began shivering, as if he were cold, freezing.

And her spirits fell almost as quickly as they had lifted. For days she had battled against the fever that had threatened to burn him alive, and now it seemed he might freeze to death instead. Her meager fire would not heat him any more than the candle had. Nor did she have any blankets. And the thin cotton sheet would be useless. The only way she could keep him warm would be to...

She moved away from him, instinctively. The idea of his almost-naked body pressed against hers—

The chain brought her up short. She couldn’t get away. From him, from what he needed.

Or from her fear. The fear that had been indelibly marked on her heart when she was sixteen.

She had seen the hunger in his eyes. Knew that he wanted her, the way a man wanted