Cannon

13

The bodies disposed of, he shifted back, dressing in clothes from his pack. “Think you’re okay to walk?”

She stared at him wryly. “I don’t have much choice, do I?”

He wanted to be soft with her and offer to carry her, but he knew that would only weaken her when he needed her to stay strong. “No.”

And then they were off. Their progression was slowed by Ryver’s injury, but she didn’t complain. Or asked to be carried, which filled him with pride.

Soon, however, it became clear they needed a break. Finding a small creek, they stopped to rest and wash.

“I’ve soaked my shirt through with blood. And my pants. Gross,” she said, crinkling her nose. Cannon tried not to find the expression cute.

“Let me see what else I got in here,” he said, rifling once more through the pack.

“That thing never ends,” she laughed, wincing at the pain it caused.

“Here,” he said, holding out a T-shirt and sweatpants.

After removing her new shoes he got her, she pulled on the clothing to discover she was swimming in them. But there really wasn’t much choice since the dirty outfit was the only one they’d been able to get from the villagers. All the villagers were smaller in size. Plus, the clean material was warm and sturdy. Tying the drawstrings tightly and rolling up the pant legs, Ryver made it work.

“Nothing makes me feel more like a grown-up than this outfit,” she said, smiling broadly.

A distinct pain washed over Cannon. And he knew it was not due to the superficial injuries dotting his body.

It was Ryver’s smile. Her beauty. She caused his very heart to constrict. It was like his heart was actually beating due to her smile. Like he’d been living with a hollow emptiness in his chest until now.

As she fiddled with the clothes to make them fit her small curvy body better, Cannon forced himself to look away.

He was there to save her, and he reminded himself not to sleep with her. Mate or not.

RYVER

Despite her injury, exhaustion, and hunger, Ryver somehow found the energy to put one foot in front of the other. She felt she was cut off from her sense of self. Her leaden limbs, the painful ache that had settled in her injured side, and the hollowness of her belly all felt far away.

It was all due to the man-dragon that led her through the brush and trees. Though the night was only at its beginning, and they had already faced down a terrifying band of terrorists, Ryver knew they had many steps to go before they could safely rest.

She would have despaired if not for Cannon’s calm and strong presence ahead of her. His night vision was invaluable, and she felt more under his protection than ever.

But was it something else that also compelled her? She was certain it was. For it was that feeling alone that kept her moving. Her utter confusion over how she felt about this incredible being. Her attraction – she could no longer deny it – confused her, as did her feeling of inadequacy in his presence. She was merely a human to his shifting greatness. That didn’t stop the desire she felt for him. And even more than that. She felt like a teenager with butterflies in her stomach when he touched her or held her. When he’d smiled? It filled her heart with joy. It was surreal. She’d never experienced anything like that. She was getting to know this man more and more and her feeling grew the more she knew of him. How? Why?

What’s more, she didn’t exactly have room for anyone in her life right now. Hadn’t she committed herself to saving lives in Africa? She had knowingly closed the door on any attachments and entanglements with that personal vow. Her heart was screaming out ‘f**k that’ and she desperately wanted to agree with that sentiment.

No, the man leading her – the man whose clothes she now wore clumsily like a small child, could not be in her life in a meaningful way. She simply had no room for it. Make room. Give him a chance. Give love a chance.

Common sense squashed that thought. Not to mention that survival trumped all else. There was no guarantee she’d even see another day. And so, like she was on automatic pilot, she trudged dutifully behind her man-dragon escort. After a time, Cannon began to slow. Ryver knew that if she stopped walking, she might not be able to start again.

“Let’s check that wound of yours,” he said after verifying the area around them was terrorist-free. “Sit,” he gestured to a large, flat rock covered in soft moss. Ryver was only too glad to do so, letting the rock take her full weight. The moss felt cool and soft against her body.

With the utmost care, Cannon came to Ryver’s side and gingerly lifted her T-shirt. The bandage was holding but could use a change.

“Lie on your side,” Cannon instructed, placing a wedge of clothing on the rock to cushion her head. She could barely stop herself from leaning into him and seeking his touch. Despite her misgivings about the whole situation, Ryver found herself accepting each kindness from him. She needed it. She barely had the energy to resist anyway. Why not let herself be treated well for once? By the first man she more than wanted in her life.

Rustling through the bag, Cannon pulled out another bandage from the first-aid kit. Ryver felt the night air whoosh gently over her exposed skin as he removed the old bandage. Cool water followed, and though her skin was goose-bumped, it refreshed her tired flesh.

Soon, the clean bandage was in place, giving Ryver a sense of being reassembled in a very comforting way and swaddled, even. It felt so strange to be cared for, attended to while the dangers of the world swirled around her. And that it was Cannon the one doing it felt absolutely perfect.