13. DARIA
Chapter thirteen
I woke up draped over Braxton. My head was nestled against his chest, my body moving with the steady rise and fall of his breaths. His arms were still wrapped around me—protective and warm. I didn’t remember turning toward him during the night and couldn’t believe I had been so deeply asleep. Most women would relish being in this man’s embrace, but for me, it was an uneasy shock. What spell did he have over me?
Panic set in.
What time is it?!
I lifted my head, looking up at the dim light filtering through the turret opening. We’d slept too long—damn it! Every second we lingered brought our pursuers one step closer to us. I couldn’t afford this—this lapse in vigilance. I shoved aside the hazy sense of peace that had settled over me. This was his doing. Somehow, despite everything, Braxton was finding ways to slip past every wall I had built.
I shook his shoulder roughly. “Braxton, wake up. We have to move.”
He pried his eyes open. They were bleary but aware. Stretching, he groaned. “Jesus…every cell in my body aches,” he muttered, running a hand through his messy hair.
“The best medicine is to keep moving,” I said dryly, sitting up and reaching for my tactical belt. I strapped it on over my pants and pulled out the GPS, checking the time. It was just after sunrise. Thank God.
Braxton sat up slowly, rubbing his neck. I stood and turned toward the ashes of the fire that had long since burned out. I wasn’t about to let him see how disoriented I was. He had this uncanny way of making me feel…at ease. It was dangerous. Comfort was unacceptable in my world. And yet, when he touched me, it was different. His touch wasn’t just gentle—it was tender, patient, as though he cared more about healing the wounds beneath my skin than satisfying his own needs. No man had ever touched me the way he did—reverently, like I was more than a body to sleep with, like I had worth beyond what I was able to do for him or give to him.
I barely knew him, but he made me believe I was valuable. And that terrified me.
“Here,” I said, tossing him the packet of mixed nuts and fruits from one of last night’s MREs. I unscrewed the top off a water jug and handed it to him. “Drink up. We’ve not been staying sufficiently hydrated.”
He took a long drink before passing it back, wiping his mouth with his sleeve and giving me a grateful nod. While I crouched to tighten the laces on my boots, he tore open the packet and started eating. I tried not to notice the way Braxton’s gaze lingered on me as he ate, but it was impossible to ignore.
This man was…complicated. An enigma I couldn’t quite figure out. Bold, capable. He could throw a punch and take one just as well. But what truly threw me off-balance was his kindness. He wore it boldly and didn’t apologize for it. To him, it wasn’t a weakness. It was simply part of who he was, as natural to him as breathing. Men like that weren’t supposed to exist, at least not in my world. Strength usually came with cruelty, and empathy was a liability. But Braxton defied those rules in a way that was both fascinating and maddening.
I couldn’t allow myself to hope I had a future with someone like that—someone like him. My life was built on survival, on keeping people at a distance. Anyone who got too close to me either ended up dead or became a target. I’d already lost too many people. I wouldn’t put that burden on him, no matter how much I was drawn to him.
“Ready?” he asked, shaking me from my thoughts.
I gave him a curt nod, and we made quick work of gathering our things. The plastic sheet and blanket were stuffed into the pack, along with the remaining food supplies. Braxton shoved the Makarov in the waistband of his jeans—on the side this time. It must have wreaked havoc, chafing uncomfortably against his back during the long trek yesterday.
Once we were ready, I glanced around the bunker one last time, ensuring we hadn’t left anything behind.
“Let’s go,” I said, striding toward the door.
The cool morning air brushed against my face as soon as we stepped outside. The sun was just peeking over the horizon, shards of sunlight gleaming through the trees. Birds chirped in the distance, a sign of normalcy in a place where peace was temporary.
We moved silently into the forest, the underbrush soft beneath our boots. The path ahead stretched endlessly, each step taking us closer to the border—and further from the danger at our backs. Time was against us, and the path ahead was long and uncertain, but for now, we had one goal: to reach the border before it was too late.
By midmorning, clouds had rolled in, covering the relentless sun and casting a merciful shade over us. This made the trek through the fields and forests more bearable, though the humidity stuck to us like a sticky film. Braxton and I kept a steady, brisk pace, stopping only when absolutely necessary—just long enough to gulp down some water or shove a few bites of food into our mouths before pressing on.
The landscape blurred into a steady stream of towering trees, expanses of open fields, and overgrown trails. My body screamed at me to rest, every muscle burning from the kilometers we’d already covered, but I couldn’t let myself give in. Rest was a luxury I couldn’t afford. I studied Braxton as we trudged through another dense patch of undergrowth. He looked just as worn out as I felt, sweat dripping down the sides of his face, but he hadn’t complained once. The man had more stamina than I’d expected, though I could tell he was pushing through on sheer willpower.
The breeze picked up, rustling the trees above us. For a moment, I thought I’d felt a raindrop hit my cheek, but it was only a cool gust. The clouds hung heavy and gray, threatening rain but mercifully holding back. I inhaled deeply, enjoying the earthy scent of the forest as we moved along a narrow trail lined with pine needles. There was a strange calm here. It was almost tranquil, and I could have relaxed if not for our dire circumstances.
Every so often, Braxton would glance at me as if silently checking to make sure I was okay. I met his gaze once, offering a small smile. We didn’t need words; we both knew the stakes. Our urgency drove us forward in determined silence.
By midafternoon, the ache in my legs had become a dull, constant throb, but still, I pushed forward. Braxton wiped at his face again, breaking the silence with a tired chuckle.
“So are we ever going to get there, or are we walking in circles?” he teased, though there was no real complaint in his tone.
“Soon,” I replied. The border was still a couple of hours away. “We’ll rest properly once we make it across. I don’t want to risk pausing to rest unless it’s absolutely necessary.”
He grunted in acknowledgment and adjusted the pack on his back. The fire in my muscles began to numb, as if my body had accepted that there was no point in resisting anymore.
One step at a time, we put more distance behind us.
The forest thickened as the hills grew steeper. Uneven paths covered in roots and stones made each step a hazard. My legs ached from the hours of jogging, walking, and scrambling through fields, but we couldn’t afford to slow down.
We pushed deeper into the forest, branches cracking beneath our boots. It was quiet here—no thwacking of approaching helicopter blades, no hum of distant vehicles—just the natural rustling of leaves in the breeze.
“We’re getting close to the border,” I explained, pausing to check my GPS again. “This area isn’t heavily patrolled because it’s too rural. It’s too difficult for their surveillance to cover everything. Smugglers and special forces use it mostly.”
“Well that’s good,” Braxton said, wiping sweat from his brow.
“But we can’t afford to get sloppy now. Even though the Russian military doesn’t patrol constantly, they do perform random sweeps.”
The dense forest offered us plenty of cover, but it also made visibility a nightmare. I couldn’t tell what might be waiting beyond the next rise or ditch.
I crouched beside a fallen tree to take a breath and pointed at a narrow path cutting through a shallow gully up ahead. “That’s the route. It leads to a stream that crosses into Ukraine. It’s not too deep and cuts between the two main trench lines.”
He nodded, asking softly. “What about sensors? Field cameras?”
“They’re more focused on the roads and known crossings. This section’s rough enough that they rely on patrols instead,” I explained, scanning the area. “We keep low, we stay quiet, and we move fast.”
“Got it.” His grip tightened on the straps of his rucksack, and he hiked it up higher on his shoulders. At least he wasn’t arguing with me like most men would have. I was glad he was willing to acknowledge that I understood this world far better than he did.
We crept forward across the uneven terrain. The dips and ridges provided plenty of cover, but they also slowed us down. Braxton’s boots slipped on loose patches of soil more than once, and each time, he tensed, glancing at me as though waiting for a sign that someone had heard us. I understood the paranoia—it was always there in my own mind, humming just beneath the surface—but thankfully, the forest remained eerily quiet. All I could pick up on was the rustling of the branches in the breeze and our muffled breathing.
Suddenly, I heard something coming straight for us and stopped dead in my tracks. I shot my hand out to stop Braxton. He halted immediately, his eyes following my gaze. I tilted my head, listening intently. Something was definitely moving through the trees up ahead. I tensed, expecting to see a patrol or maybe a drone. Instead, a roe deer burst out from behind a patch of dense brush, darting across the path only a few meters away. It barely acknowledged us, its hooves thudding rapidly on the forest floor as it moved off to the west.
Braxton exhaled in relief and started to say something, but another deer appeared, leaping so closely in front of us that she kicked leaf debris on our pants. I stood still, watching the animals’ movements as they slowed and took in their surroundings. They were skittish, but that was their nature. If there had been any real threat nearby, they wouldn’t have been this calm.
“Damn,” Braxton muttered, straightening beside me. “Didn’t think we’d get a National Geographic moment out here.”
I rolled my eyes and resumed walking. The path started to narrow and was soon winding erratically through the dense trees. The gentle murmur of the stream grew louder, guiding us forward. We were close to the border now. A taut, invisible line of tension stretched between us and freedom.
We just had to cross it without getting caught. Easier said than done.
The stream cut through the dense forest in a narrow, swift current, its surface catching the dim light of the setting sun. I kept close to Braxton while we moved cautiously along the bank. Every step sent a sharp ache through my legs, and my pulse drummed steadily in my ears. We were close now—too close to make any mistakes.
“There,” I whispered, pointing ahead where the stream curved sharply. The faint outline of a simple old-fashioned barbed-wire fence was just visible through the thick undergrowth. The strands of the fence were loose, tangled in vines, and sagging in sections. “That’s where smugglers cross. It’s easy to breach here.”
This was it—the border between Russia and Ukraine. My senses were on high alert, and my hand rested near my Glock, every instinct screaming that something could go wrong at any moment. Just because there were no signs of patrols, it didn’t mean we were safe.
We crept along the bank, our boots barely making a sound on the soft ground. The stream’s gentle babble masked the noise of our movements. Soon the opening in the fence came into view—a gap where the barbed wire had already been cut and pushed aside.
“Go,” I whispered, signaling Braxton forward. “We’re exposed here.”
He nodded and stepped carefully through the gap, navigating across the moss-covered rocks. I followed, the icy water seeping into my boots as I crossed. The mud on the opposite bank made the climb slippery, but we both managed to scramble up without incident.
Once we were clear of the stream, I turned to Braxton and gave him a brief smile. Relief flickered in my chest, but we couldn’t stop in this area.
We pressed on, weaving through dense patches of trees and climbing a steep incline. The underbrush snagged at our clothes, slowing us down.
After about thirty minutes of strenuous hiking, we reached level terrain, and I halted, resting my hands on my knees to catch my breath. My lungs burned, and the fatigue had settled deep into my muscles. Braxton leaned against a nearby tree, breathing heavily. The air felt fresh here—lighter somehow. Or maybe it was just the mental weight of crossing that invisible line back there.
“We’re across,” I said, standing upright. “But don’t get comfortable. We’re still in danger. Ukrainian patrols are irregular in this area, but they’re out here. They won’t hesitate to shoot if they think we’re a threat.”
“Got it. Still, though, I feel better now that we’re officially on the other side,” Braxton said, giving me that killer smile of his. His eyes had a spark of self-assurance despite his obvious exhaustion.
The noise of the stream faded behind us, blending with the quiet rustling of the forest. But peacefulness could be deceptive. My gaze swept the trees ahead, every shadow drawing my suspicion as we moved through the forest. But for the first time in hours, my relentless anxiety seemed to ease just a fraction, and I had a glimmer of hope that we had made it out without getting caught.
The forest had grown dim, and each step I took was a battle against my increasing fatigue. Soon we could barely see where we were going. I couldn’t afford to collapse now—not when the stakes were this high.
“We’re close,” I promised over my shoulder. “Just a little further.”
Braxton didn’t reply. He was struggling too, the weight of his pack and the endless trek having worn him down. I’d seen it in his face hours ago—the weariness, the pain—but he kept pushing forward. I had to give him credit. Most people wouldn’t have lasted this long.
Finally, the terrain ahead dipped, revealing what I’d been watching for—an old trench system carved deep into the ground. The walls of the trench were lined with wooden planks, and uneven stacks of sandbags topped the front edge. It wasn’t much, but it was hidden and out of sight. Good enough for tonight.
“Get down there,” I ordered softly. Braxton took a step forward and slid into the trench. I went in just behind him.
The cool air inside hit me immediately, bringing the earthy scent of damp soil with it. Braxton leaned back against the wall, his breathing ragged.
“This’ll do,” I said quietly, moving to check the layout. “But I need to scout the area above. We can’t risk being caught off guard.”
He nodded, his head sagging against the trench wall. “You think anyone else uses this place?”
“Maybe. Although it’s not likely,” I replied, pulling out the GPS. “We’re too far from the active front lines, but there could still be patrols. So stay quiet.”
Handing him the GPS, I narrowed my eyes and leveled him with a stern look. “Listen to me carefully. If I’m not back by sunrise, you leave. Head south. Don’t trust anyone. Turn your phone on only after you’ve put at least six hours between yourself and here. Call for help, but keep moving. Understand?”
“Yeah,” he said, a line of worry forming between his brows.
“If you hear anything—anything other than me calling your name—you run. Don’t play hero, Thorin.”
He grinned, and for reasons I hated to admit, my traitorous body lit up, sending sparks of desire all the way down to my toes. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
“I’ll call from above when I return. Be listening.”
Without waiting for a response, I climbed out of the trench and disappeared into the forest.