Don’t move. Jack’s voice was utterly calm.
Hell. Ken swore at his brother, trying to stay absolutely still. He was moving, sliding down the cliff while Sean hung on like a terrier.
A hole blossomed suddenly in the middle of Sean’s forehead, and then Ken heard the crack of the shot. The bullet had passed close to the top of his head, shaving off a few hairs as it whistled past. Sean’s grip loosened abruptly, his fingers sliding away as the body fell to the rocks below.
Ken threw his body backward, rolled over, and stared up at the blue sky, his arm feeling as though it had been torn out of its socket. He was drenched in perspiration, and his leg, where Sean had landed several kicks, felt as if a sledgehammer had been taken to it. He dragged air into his lungs and waited there, knowing Jack would come.
Clouds spun across the sky, casting shadows over the ground. Ken closed his eyes and felt exhaustion roll over him. He was sick inside, his body and mind fatigued. His scars throbbed painfully, too tight for his skin, reminding him that Sean was right. He could no longer hide what he was from the world. Mari knew. Mari saw him for what he was. He couldn’t hide behind a handsome face anymore.
And she would always have the contrast staring at her every morning if she did stay. How could she look at Jack and not be ashamed to be with Ken? Even so, it didn’t matter. He was as pathetic as Sean. He wanted her to stay. To love him. He needed her, when he’d never allowed himself to need anything or anyone. Ken reached out to brush his mind against hers, needing the touch almost more than he needed the air he was fighting for.
Mari. It’s over.
I know. Jack sent word to Briony. There was a small hesitation. You know I can’t stay. You know I can’t.
He had known, but he couldn’t accept it. His heart nearly stopped. Don’t. Don’t do this. I’m coming to you now, baby.
I don’t want you to. And then there was only a black void. Emptiness. No soft intimate brush, no echo of laughter or companionship. Simply emptiness. She was gone, shutting him out of her life. No more happiness. No more feeling alive. It was all gone.
His gut clenched, and he rolled to his knees, sick with the idea of losing her. He retched over and over, knowing absolutely that she left. He couldn’t blame her. It was the only smart thing to do, and Mari was smart. He smashed his fist into the ground. Once. Twice.
“Ken.” Jack was there, kneeling beside him. “I thought I’d lost you.”
He looked up at Jack, not really seeing him. Ken realized he was lost—he’d been lost for a long time. Mari had brought him back to life. “She’s gone.” His gaze jumped to Jack’s face; he saw a hint of guilt creep into his eyes and fade. “You knew?”
Jack sat back on his heels, his gaze watchful, wary. “Briony is crying. She told me Mari hugged her and said she couldn’t stay—that she belonged with the other women.”
“And you didn’t tell Logan to stop her?”
“Mari is a trained soldier. I didn’t want to risk Logan or Briony getting hurt. You can’t keep Mari tied up for the rest of her life; you know you can’t.”
“You son of a bitch.”
“Ken. Be reasonable.”
He didn’t feel reasonable. He felt like his world was crumbling around him. His mind felt fractured, his head roaring, thunder crashing in his ears. “How long ago?”
“Take it easy, Ken,” Jack said to soothe him.
“Damn it.” Ken’s fist slammed into the dirt, although he wanted to smash it into his brother’s face. “How long ago?”
“She left as soon as she knew Sean was dead.”
Ken surged to his feet, a sudden cold blast spreading through his body. The knots in his belly tightened to the point of pain. His mouth went dry, the air in his lungs rushing out, to leave him gasping. He had time. He had to have time to stop her.
He shoved past Jack and began to trot down the mountain. He didn’t dare run full-out; the trail was far too treacherous and his leg was on fire. His steady, ground-eating trot would get him there quickly. He tried to keep his mind a merciful blank, but her image insisted on crowding in. Her smile, her dark chocolate eyes, the way she tilted her chin. He choked back a sob, felt his heart exploding, tearing at his chest.
The mountain, the forest, his world, his sanctuary, was a hostile, unyielding place. He couldn’t see its beauty, didn’t want its beauty.
Nothing—no one—could take her from him. She was life. She was happiness. She was his only reason to keep going. He needed her desperately. Her sisters couldn’t have her. They didn’t need her the way he did. He had been so alone, so empty. Each day, he had worked, breathed, lived as an automation, and then she had come into his life and everything in him had come alive.
They couldn’t take her from him. The universe couldn’t be that cruel. He wanted to scream his denial, but he needed to save his strength. He ran through the trees, leapt over rocks, foliage tearing at his skin. His damaged leg throbbed and burned right along with his lungs, but the image of her rising up to taunt him kept him running. Why had he left her? Why had he allowed them to be separated when she was so uncertain about their future? He had known she was wavering—feeling uncomfortable and unsure of herself in a foreign environment. He shouldn’t have been so arrogant and bossy. He could have asked—not ordered—her to go into the tunnels.
He wouldn’t let anyone take her from him. She could understand his turbulent nature, his wild cravings, and he understood her need for freedom. He recognized strength in her, an iron will, the same as it was in him. He recognized her loyalty; it ran deep and pure, the same as it was in him. They fit together, two halves of the same whole. They belonged.
He burst from the forest and half ran, half slid down the trail into the yard, his chest heaving with exertion, his eyes a little wild. He ran across the uneven terrain. Dusk was falling. The house was dark, forbidding, silent. There were no lights on in the interior.
He flung open the kitchen door, his heart pounding, a raw gaping wound growing in his gut. She was gone. He knew it with such certainty he didn’t need to tear through the house, running insanely from room to room, screaming her name hoarsely, but he did it anyway.
“Mari! Damn you, Mari, come back to me.”
He heard his own scream of anguish, thought it should splinter the windows, but there was only silence.
Back in the kitchen he caught up the keys to the truck with a vague idea of going after her, but tears were blinding his vision. He stared, unseeing, at the tabletop, defeated, his broad shoulders slumped, his torn, dirt-streaked clothing clinging to his sweat-stained body.