Uncharted by Adriana Anders

Chapter 27

Leo had spent enough time in life-or-death situations to understand a few important things.

Food mattered, though not as much as water. And shelter mattered more than both. In this case, with the two of them in not quite pristine condition and the sky looking like another squall was about to hit, they needed to hunker down and get better.

Turning a three sixty in the quickly fading light, she saw no obvious stopping place.

Oh, they could use the tent, or maybe dig into the underbrush and find some drier layers to call a nest for the night. But it wouldn’t offer any help against this freaking wind, especially if the rain got serious. Given the drops falling on her face, she’d take that possibility as a fait accompli.

After peeing, she moved a bit farther into the underbrush, as quietly as she could manage, hoping she’d find the perfect place to ride out the coming weather. The light was seeping out of the sky, though it wasn’t yet night. They’d walked maybe eight hours? Ten? Visibility was down to a few feet in any direction, movement just as hampered by the slippery sliminess of mud. If it got any darker, they’d have to search with a flashlight, but that would be pretty much begging someone to see them in this forest. And, though the helicopter hadn’t shown up at all today, she had to trust Elias’s gut.

You couldn’t argue with a man who’d survived such an enemy for this long.

Besides, she felt it too, whatever it was. She couldn’t describe the feeling, couldn’t quite capture it herself, but it was there—a disquiet that made no sense on its own but couldn’t be ignored when coupled with his.

They needed to find a camping spot or they’d be back to hypothermic within hours. Less.

Not here!every one of her instincts screamed. This wide-open location, on the steep slope of the mountain, was too unprotected.

She spun again, seeing nothing—absolutely nothing—to help hide them for the night.

Just a hole was all they needed. Big enough to crawl into, out of the rain.

She blinked into the patchwork of shadows at the base of a tree. Was that a cave?

A raindrop plunked onto her hood with a dull sound, followed by another.

Everything was two-dimensional without light—no difference between logs and shadows. It might not be a good idea to examine dark hollows or caves without any visibility. Time to get back.

A stink hit her, so hard she backed up a step. Good God, what was that? Like the gorilla pen in the zoo or the frat house next door to where she’d lived in college.

Oh, shit.

She went very still, didn’t breathe, didn’t move a muscle. Not an eyelash or a hair.

Something shifted close by, the sound awkward, heavy. Was that breathing? Snoring?

She pressed her lips together and backed slowly away.

Don’t be a bear. Please don’t be a bear.

Later, she’d hit herself for thinking she’d been lucky not to run into one. Jinxing herself again.

A quick inventory told her she’d left the rifle with Elias. Because, apparently, she’d lost her will to live since she met the man. Or at least her sense of self-preservation. What kind of a moron walks off on her own without protection?

An exhausted one, sick and wounded and cold and ready to eat a hot meal. That would be nice. A hot meal. Truffle fries. Her mouth literally watered.

Just please don’t be a bear.

With mayo. Eurotrash, the guys called her, but she knew they liked it too. She’d seen them sneak fries…

Something snorted.

It is. It’s a fucking bear.

Her inner monologue stopped short. It only offered comfort when she could pretend things were fine, but in this case, she’d need something a whole lot more concrete to lean on than mental distraction.

It moved.

And she hadn’t even brought the damn bear spray with her. Although the locals scoffed at the idea of that stuff anyway. Get close enough to spray her, Daisy had said with a laugh, better have already put a hole in her hide.

Or preferably, left it the hell alone.

Well, that was all great advice, really. Useless out here in the real, honest-to-goodness wilderness, without a solitary way to defend herself, but great in theory. Just great, she mouthed.

With a slow, careful step away from the fallen log, she took stock—three knives. Waist, pocket, and boot.

A lot of good they would do against claws and jaws that could rip her open and snap her bones.

Another careful step back and another. She’d made it maybe six feet from the den when it chuffed, the noise exactly like a sneeze.

Oddly, that gave her hope. It was sleeping. Please be sleeping.

Another step, another prayer that her foot wouldn’t break a twig or slide in a fresh vat of mud.

Don’t wake up. Don’t wake up. Please, please, don’t wake up.

Funny how she’d thought the worst had happened today, with the long hike and, oh, being chased by killers over deadly terrain. Just proved, didn’t it, that she was right to be superstitious. She was right to think the worst was always to come.

Whenever she thought she could slow down or relax or—hey, stop to maybe kiss a stranger in the woods—it all came crashing down.

Please don’t wake up.

The animal shifted and snuffled, the sound so much like a man waking up that she had a quick moment of panic someone else was here after all. But then it emerged fully from the cave. A grizzly, slow and sleepy and probably hungry as hell. Maybe even mad that someone had awakened it this late in the day.

She stopped moving. It was big, but not fat, the way she’d imagined. It was all muscle and bone and sinew, with a thick, wooly coat that hung loose on its frame, its gait slow and rolling. Though she knew for a fact it could run if it wanted. It could chase her down, shove her to the ground and tear her open in the blink of an eye.

She tightened her hand on the knife hilt, keeping it low.

“Hey.” Her voice was so reedy she hardly recognized it. No way. If she was gonna die against this animal today, she would at least take a real stand first. She spent a long, slow inhale searching hard for her inner badass.

“How’s it going there…bear?”

Its big head turned, shiny eyes finding her in the eerie light.

When it took its first step in her direction, Leo ignored every one of her instincts and held her ground.

***

Elias smelled it first.

Bear. No doubt about it. A growl just confirmed it. He’d heard that sound more times than he could count, and it was close. Too damn close.

Bo stopped eating, tail down, ears up.

“Stay,” he muttered, then hefted the Guide Gun, checked the chamber, and started moving, knees bent, eyes slowly scanning the woods.

He nearly stepped on a branch, held his weight off so it didn’t crack, lifted his foot over it, and carried on, afraid of what he’d find.

And hell if it wasn’t worse than he’d imagined.

Leo stood utterly still with both hands hanging loose at her sides, one clenching what looked like a KA-BAR knife. Its straight, partially serrated steel blade might as well have been a toothpick for all the good it would do.

He heard something through the rain’s light patter and the buzzing in his brain. Leo’s voice. Low and melodious.

Wait. Was she singing?

The bear—just a silhouette in the half-light—shifted forward, its body deceptively lumbering and slow. These guys were fast when speed was needed.

His hands tightened on his rifle, his breath left his body, he looked for a clear shot, and—

Leo moved, unintentionally putting herself right in his line of fire. Didn’t she realize he was here? Get down, he wanted to yell, fear clawing at his throat. Out of my way.

She didn’t budge, didn’t respond at all, just kept up that low, melodious rhythm until the animal settled back on its haunches, cocked its head at a curious angle…and watched her.

All the while, Leo sang.

Elias couldn’t feel a thing. Not the wet or the cold or his damp clothes clinging to his skin. Everything he had was geared toward the exchange between the two creatures, every sense focused on keeping the animal in his sights, every muscle there to hold up his rifle, to tighten his finger to fire if need be.

“All right?” Leo asked conversationally. Having a goddamn chat with the beast. Her hands were up, moving slowly, gesticulating as if she were talking to any old person in the world. He was having a heart attack, and she was yammering away like this was a tea party.

She took a step back, slow and careful.

“Don’t!” he called, his voice as light as he could make it. “Drop your head but don’t back up. Stand your ground, and no more eye contact. Head down.” He wasn’t even sure the bear could see Leo’s eyes in this light. “And keep talking. Keep talking to me.”

“I was looking for a place to, uh, camp for the night, Elias. Just wanted to find us a place where we could get warm. Maybe dry off a little.”

“You stick your head in this guy’s den? Wake him up?” Or gal, if they were really unlucky. Just because the cubs weren’t out didn’t mean they weren’t around.

“Didn’t get as far as the den.”

The grizzly moved. Elias tensed his finger, squinted through the scope, half-blind from the rain, though he was surprised at how steady his hands were. Firing the weapon would be the worst-case scenario. There was a chance he could take the animal down before it reached Leo, but the sound would blaze a trail straight to them.

The bear shifted, tilted its head at a funny angle, like it was actively listening…and dropped to all fours.

“I don’t want to do this, bear,” he muttered, loud enough to be heard, but not so loud he’d scare the animal into doing something they’d all regret. “Don’t want to have to kill you right now.”

Slowly, it turned to the side, took a few rolling steps, its limbs probably stiff from a winter underground, and then stopped to sniff the air again.

Leo said something, calm and quiet, her head down, that knife glinting in her hand.

The air burned as Elias blew it out and blinked past the rain misting everything now, not daring to raise a hand to wipe it from his eyes.

The grizzly walked away a step and paused, one leg still up, suspended, lowered its head toward Leo’s toes, and took another slow step away. With each additional foot, Elias found he could breathe a little better, control his muscles with more precision.

Then, as if they’d finished whatever they had to say to each other, the big guy turned fully away, harrumphed over its shoulder, and ambled back into the shadows.

Elias couldn’t lower his rifle yet—maybe never would.

The situation was so surreal, reality so suspended, that it was a shock to feel rain falling on his skin when he expected to see the individual drops frozen in the air, like something from the Matrix—time gone still.

When he next focused on Leo, she’d backed up a few feet, put her hands on her knees, and dropped her head. Her deep breathing sounded like an asthma attack.

Bursting into motion, he reached her, grabbed her hand, and yanked her to his side, flooded with relief at just the solid feel of her under his arm.

“Can’t sleep here, Leo. Got to move.” Better to face the steep higher ground, even in the dark, than to bed down near a grizzly. Add to that God only knew what else was lurking nearby—and not of the animal variety—and they’d be better off taking the risk. “We’re climbing the mountain.”

“See, there’s a Sound of Music feel to those words…and yet…” Her eyes got big as they traced the earth’s angry silhouette up into the sky. “The view’s giving me distinct Mordor vibes,” she whispered, before meeting his gaze. “Big time.”

For no reason at all, he found that he was suddenly out of breath.

His hold wouldn’t loosen when she tried to turn, his arms wouldn’t give her an inch of space. His insides felt ragged, innards ripped up like ribbons, as he reached out to wrap one shaking hand behind her nape and pull her closer, forehead to forehead. “Shit, Leo.”

“I know.” She nodded, ran her hands up his sides to his neck, and watched him with her soulful eyes. “I know.”

He bent, she lifted to her toes, and they clashed. Lips crashing, teeth not far behind, tongues twining as if they had to hurry. Which, fuck, they did. The kiss was fast, rough enough to imprint her on his mouth, to seal them together. No way could he feel her through those layers of clothes, but that didn’t stop his hands from roving, stroking down to her hips and taking hold the way he wanted to. She leaned in, pressing her bottom half to his, and the groan he made was the stuff of barbarians. He couldn’t find words now if his life depended on it.

Not that it mattered. The slide of their tongues was enough—no need for speech between them. Keeping each other alive had given them a language of their own, like they had the key to each other’s bodies.

Her gloved hand wrapped around his neck. More, the pressure said. Deeper.

It told him her hunger matched his. He growled and tilted his head, showed her with his body how essential she was.

Bo yipped and they both went still, their breaths stuttering in time.

She moved away first, the back of her gloved hand pressed to her mouth, looking shell-shocked.

“Christ, I—”

“We—”

Their eyes snagged as they shared a laugh, awkward, but kind of hot in the way it acknowledged the depth of this thing. Her gaze dropped to his mouth and he was three seconds from pouncing when she spoke again. “We should…um…” She swallowed and stared at their surroundings, like she had no idea where she was or how she’d gotten there.

“Go,” he managed, ignoring his aching cock, his pounding need.

Without another word, they returned to pick up their things and started walking again. All the while, his heart thumped too hard in his chest, his lungs never expanding quite far enough.

Nerves and happiness mingled to make him smile. Until he remembered that danger was everywhere. He’d been surrounded by it for years. Only now did it terrify him, because now, against all odds, he actually had something to lose.

***

After an hour, Leo’s lips still burned. And not just from the memory of his touch there, but from the intensity of it, the fierceness of him—of them, together. For those few seconds he’d crushed her to him, she hadn’t felt fragile exactly—the whole thing had been too brusque for that—but she’d felt cherished. Wanted. Needed in an elemental way.

The ferocity of the man, the power in that one short contact. She’d felt so much. Too much. Shit, this couldn’t work beyond the here and now, could it? No. And why am I even thinking about this when we’re—

With a grunt, she lost her footing on the loose rocks and almost went down.

Just as she steadied herself, Elias turned, hand out to help. Heart beating hard with a startled adrenaline rush, she stared at it for a few beats, then looked up at his face.

“Look, we’ve had a few moments, done things, but this isn’t good. It’s not me, okay?” The words blew from her mouth. “I work with men. I’ve worked with literally thousands of men and the last thing I’d let myself do is get involved with one. All this kissing is…” She swallowed, frustrated at her inability to communicate what she meant. “I don’t sleep with men I work with and—”

He made a noise: half-grunt, half-snort.

“What?”

“I’m not your colleague, Leo.”

“No, but we’re teammates and—”

“Not officially. Doesn’t matter anyway.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, not trusting the big, flashy smile on his face. The yeti didn’t smile like that. “What? Why are you doing that?”

The man was grinning like the cat that got the canary and maybe pulled down a couple caribou while he was at it. He grasped her hand and leaned in. “’Cause you like me.” His smile got impossibly bigger, whiter, more self-satisfied. Devastating.

“What? No. Uh-uh.” She took a step back.

His brows rose and what might have been hurt washed across his face. “You saying you don’t like me?”

“No. Oh, gosh no, I’m saying it wouldn’t work. It can’t work. There’s too much…um…”

He cocked his head, along with his right eyebrow. “Too much…?”

“I don’t know how to describe it.” She threw up her hands. “I just know that it’s a bad idea. That’s all. End of story.”

He mumbled something that she didn’t catch.

“What? What’s that?”

“Just said maybe this story’s got a different ending.”

She blinked. “From what?”

“From all your other stories. From the ones you…didn’t care about.” With a pointed look, he swung away, leaving her no choice but to follow him up. Up the mountain, toward the peak they’d have to crest in order to get where they were going. And to a spot where he’d said they just might have a chance of getting a real night’s sleep.

You like me.

Yeah, sure.

As if to punish her for lying—even to herself—the sky chose that moment to open up. It went from a cold mist to a torrent that made them small as ants. Just two tiny people and a dog, as inconsequential as dust against the big picture: mountains and sky, trees, rivers, and rocks, veined with glaciers made of million-year-old ice.

And somehow, that image—or maybe the extra danger or the exhaustion dragging at every cell of her body—pushed her to admit the truth. She did like him. And it made her very, very uncomfortable.