Toxic Game (GhostWalkers #15) - Christine Feehan Page 0,37

that skill made her even more lethal, and she was kick-ass already.

I miss them. I hope we do have satellite capability, so I can at least say good-bye to Bellisia and Zara and see for myself that they’re happy and safe.

Why, Shylah? She’d condemned herself to death. Not just any death—she’d seen what hemorrhagic viruses did to the human body. He wanted to shake her. He wanted to kiss her. Mostly, he wanted to pull her into his arms and hold her, comfort her, although at that precise moment, he might need more comforting than she did. Why did you kiss me, practically guaranteeing that you won’t get out of this?

I feel the same way about you that you do me, Draden. Maybe in another time or place, I wouldn’t admit that to you, but now it seems rather silly to pretend I don’t feel that same attraction. No way would you let me die alone. I see that in your mind. You weren’t pushing so hard to save yourself, but to save me. That resolve you have, that driving need to save me, to see me through this, I have that same feeling for you.

God. She was so courageous. There was no beating around the bush with her, she just came out and gave him her truth. He glanced down at her again. She hadn’t moved. Hadn’t taken her eyes from the hut. She lay perfectly still without moving a muscle. That was the cat in her. She could probably keep it up for hours.

I’m telling you, woman, you’re everything I could ever want. Thank you. Doing this together is easier. We can look out for symptoms and know the other is willing to provide the bullet if it gets too bad. He hoped it was him. He didn’t want her to have to do him and then herself. We’re going to find a way. I want to get in there and see if I can contact Trap and Wyatt. They may be able to help.

It looks clear. I don’t see tracks and I can’t smell anything to indicate someone’s here.

She pushed off the ground and Draden reached down to help her up. Is it safe to talk?

She didn’t want to be in his head when they entered the hut. He couldn’t blame her. They both had to face their greatest fears. Once inside, they would know if they had any kind of a chance to defeat the virus. He held out his hand to her. She hesitated, just for a moment, and then her chin went up and she sent him a brief, humorless smile and held out hers.

“Yeah, sweetheart, we can talk.”

Draden closed his fingers around her much smaller hand. She moved gracefully, all fluid like a cat flowing across the ground. They didn’t bother to hide. Neither of their warning systems had gone off and both were confident that they were alone there in the forest.

He had an unfamiliar … no, not just unfamiliar—completely alien desire to protect her. He wanted to wrap her up and keep her so close to him that she was wearing his skin. He needed to keep her safe and his reluctance to enter the hut was centered around the fact that he didn’t want anything happening to her—certainly not for her to die of a horrific virus. He was grateful she’d been the one to ask for privacy. He didn’t want her to think he didn’t believe she was his full partner and could handle what had happened to them every bit as well as he could. He might very well lose his mind when the symptoms began to show up. It was early yet and being infected didn’t seem real.

They strolled through the clearing as if they were lovers walking through a park. He was aware of everything. The birds singing. The sound of cicadas droning on and on. Rodents scurrying in the vegetation. The wind whispering through the trees. The way the scent of her was so delicate, almost elusive. It could have been that he’d spent the happiest days of his youth in the nursery, after his mother died, far from everyone, breathing in the perfume of peonies, and Shylah’s natural fragrance reminded him of the flowers he associated with that time.

He’d had a shit life, and not of his own making, in the beginning. He’d learned rage at such a young age, and how to push everyone away from him. He didn’t trust, and he really