Chapter 31
“Evlynne!”
I shout her name again, but the engine drowns out my voice. When I switch to telepathy, I’m almost surprised when she lets me link.
“What the fuck! Get back here!” I scream into her mind.
“Sorry, got called back to base.”
“Get back here, you bitch.”
“No need to be nasty,” she mocks.
“What is this? Payback because your friends are warming up to me and Xavier? This is beyond juvenile, Evlynne.”
“Don’t worry, it’s not a bad hike down. You could probably do it in half a day, make it back before nightfall. Oh, and I left you a little present to help you on your journey. You’re welcome.”
Her glee is fucking obnoxious. I want to punch her in the goddamn throat.
“Come. Back. Here.” I’m so mad, spitting mad, that I can barely get the words out.
The helicopter grows smaller and smaller in the distance, and for a moment I wish I had my rifle so I could try to shoot it out of the fucking sky—
No, I realize. I can’t shoot it. But there is something I can do.
In a desperate mental scramble, I harness the gold as fast as I can.
It’s second nature now. The next step is where I run into trouble, especially now, when my emotions are volatile and burning like jet fuel through my blood.
I’m not guiding the current. I’m acting like a sledgehammer again, something Hawkins always warns me against.
“Turn around,” I command between gritted teeth, but just when I feel myself slipping into Evlynne’s mind, the leash I’m trying to create between us snaps like a rubber band.
I’m frustrated as the chopper fades from my view, disappearing into the clouds. Hawkins said it’s impossible to incite remotely, and I can’t reestablish the link unless we’re sharing the same space.
It’s too late. Evlynne and the helicopter are gone.
Heart pounding, I jog to the landing zone. She’d mentioned a present, which turns out to be the backpack I find on the grass. I grab it to check if it contains actual supplies and not a bunch of rocks like I assume Evlynne the asshole would cram in there.
A quick inventory reveals dried rations, a canteen, a handgun, and a radio. I also have my comm and telepathy, but I can’t bring myself to reach out to anyone and tell them what happened.
For now, the comm stays in my pocket, the radio remains in the pack, and I don’t try to link with anyone. I don’t want to admit that Evlynne tricked me. It’s too humiliating. Hopefully I’ll just make it back to base before someone notices I’m gone.
I should have trusted my instincts, damn it.
Now I’m stranded on this stupid mountain and who knows how long this trek is going to take.
The rest of the day, at least. Luckily, I have a good sense of direction, and my comm has a nav system that tells me where to go.
Evlynne wasn’t trying to kill me—just wanted to ruin my day, apparently—but I know from experience how dangerous the wilderness can be.
The anger inside me is sharp and relentless.
I don’t even bother trying to suppress it.
It fuels my every step as I begin my descent of the ridge.
I readjust the pack, slipping my arm through the second strap so it rests solidly on my back, and trudge down the steep ridge, careful not to rush it.
One misstep and I’ll go tumbling down the side of the mountain.
I maintain my focus, forcing myself to keep moving. One foot in front of the other. Just keep walking. Picture Evlynne’s grisly death to occupy the time.
Hours pass.
Hours.
I realize too late that my slow pace was probably too cautious.
I’m far behind schedule when I check the comm to see where I am.
It doesn’t help that the current path I’m on isn’t stable, but precarious and rocky.
I slip several times, managing to steady myself by grabbing random bent branches, before the path unexpectedly becomes an incline and I’m suddenly ascending rather than descending.
I stop and check my screen again to make sure I’m not going the wrong way.
But nope, the ridge is an asshole like Evlynne.
It just decided to climb for half a mile for no discernible reason before going downhill again.
I traverse the twisting path through the dense foliage.
As I round another bend, something catches my eye in the fading sunlight.
At first, I think the red petals are crimlock flowers, until I notice one of the roots is exposed.
Crimlock roots are brown. The twisted root protruding from the ground is dark red, contrasted against the light-colored dirt.
Holy hellfuck.
Is that heartroot?
I crouch down to examine it, running my fingertips over the thin ridges.
Instantly, I smell that peculiar, sickly-sweet odor that’s unique to heartroot, and a memory flashes through my mind.
I’m in our little hut in the Blacklands, watching Uncle Jim sort through the various plants and roots he’d dug out during his daily walks in the darkness.
“This one is pretty!” I’d exclaimed, picking up a chunk of blood-red root. “And it smells like candy!”
“Careful with that one, little bird.” Even now, I can practically hear his gruff voice, and it brings a deep ache to my chest. “This is heartroot.”
“What does it do?” I asked curiously.
“In this state? Nothing. But if you ingest it, it’s not pretty at all.” He gave me a grave look. “It stops your heart.”
I gasped. “And then you die?”
“Then you die.”
Now here it is, heartroot, randomly growing in the middle of this path.
My comm vibrates in my pocket, distracting me from the root. It’s a message from Gray.
Where the hell are you, cowgirl?
I ignore the message and keep walking. Only minutes later, I feel someone trying to link with me. It’s Adrienne’s energy. I ignore her, too, scrambling through thickets and bushes.
The sun is dipping lower and lower in the sky, and soon I start to see shadows forming across the landscape. I’m sore. My feet hurt. So do my legs from the random inclines. But I need to make it down before nightfall. The last thing I want to do is spend the night on this damn mountain.
I finally find an even path, and my aching body welcomes it. No incline, no downhill. Blessedly flat.
I’m just starting to relax when I hear a rustling behind me.
It’s faint, easy to mistake as the wind fluttering through the leaves—except I’m pretty sure it stops every time I do. I decide to test the theory, picking up my pace.
Rustle rustle.
I stop walking.
Silence.
I start walking.
Rustle rustle.
I stop.
Silence.
Wonderful. Something is stalking me.
The underbrush here is thick and I can’t see anything, but whatever’s hunting me is being really noisy about it. It’s either an abysmal hunter or so confident it’s going to eat me alive that it’s not even trying to be subtle.
Rustle rustle.
The little hairs on the nape of my neck stand on end, my spine tingling. I’m fully aware of everything around me. Every sound, every rock, every leaf. Must be some leftover primal instinct from the tribal days when we were prey ourselves.
I move several more paces, my hand sliding to the knife at my hip. I prefer my rifle, but the knife will do. I have the handgun, but I don’t want to stop and unzip the backpack. I’m worried my stalker will strike while I’m distracted.
I scan the area, but all I see are trees and leaves and rocks. I swear, if this is a horned bear…
I shiver.
No, a bear would be a lot louder than this. The horned bear that lived in the Blacklands when I was growing up sounded like a herd of elephants whenever it was charging through the woods.
I hear the rustling again and spin around in search of any signs of movement. Nothing.
It’s even darker now, the sun barely filtering through the trees anymore. And then I see it—something moving in the bushes. Whatever it is isn’t stealthy. There’s a low growl, the scraping of claws against stone, and then it bursts out of the brush.
It’s a ridgehowler.
I freeze, my eyes colliding with the wolf’s.
I’m expecting the cold stare of a predator, but his eyes are a mixture of vigilance and interest. He’s still growling, though, his paws inching forward.
I recognize him immediately. Or at least, I think I do.
There could be other young ridgehowlers roaming the mountain, but this one looks distinctly like the one we left behind after we killed its mother.
Pure white except for a red patch around one eye.
I can’t imagine two of them having that exact marking.
“Hey there,” I say cautiously.
His ears press back, tail going low. His expression is more fear than curiosity now.
“I’m not going to hurt you. I promise.”
I kneel, keeping my movements slow and deliberate.
“Come say hi,” I encourage. Someone else might call me crazy, but I’m good with animals. I can sense when they’re a threat, and this one isn’t. He’s too scared.
I hold out my hand, my gaze locked with his. His curiosity returns as he peers at my outstretched fingers.
“Come on, just a quick sniff hello.”
His ears perk each time I speak. He growls again, but this time it’s unconvincing. His paws shift, and I hide a smile when finally, he takes a tentative step toward me.
“There you go.”
A few more cautious steps, and he’s nearly in front of me.
We stare off again and it seems like the entire mountain falls silent, every plant and creature holding its breath as the wolf decides whether it wants to kill me or say hello.
He sniffs the air near my hand, then gives a small whine, and I swear his tail wags slightly.
He comes within inches of smelling my hand before backing up. That’s enough for me.
“See, I’m not so bad.” I brush the dirt off my knees and rise to my feet. “All right. I gotta go, buddy. Otherwise I’ll be trapped on this mountain all night.”
I expect the wolf to hurry off into the brush. To my amusement, he follows me. Sticking much closer than a wild animal normally would, so close his fur nearly brushes my ankle.