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Brooklyn inclines her head, agreeing. She’s started talking a bit more, but still seems to prefer nonverbal communication when it’s possible.
“Lead the way, princess,” I tell her, with a faux-gentlemanly sweep of my hand.
“Where are we going?” she asks, doing a terrible job of looking innocent. Obviously, she wants me to go ahead of her so she can slip away while I’m not paying attention. Fat chance—she’ll take the lead, or we’ll stand here waiting forever. I’m not letting her out of my sight for a minute.
I point to the top of the next ridge. “It’s a straight shot to the caves. I think you can manage navigating that.”
Brooklyn must be able to tell from my steely expression that arguing is pointless. She makes a show of reluctantly picking up the small pack Camden let her carry, and stomps into the darkening woods.
Neither of us talks during the walk. It’s not a surprise—she hasn’t been much for conversation since the moment we met her. On my end, it’s hard enough to keep my wits about me when I’ve got Brooklyn’s sweetly curved ass to admire. Despite her wiry frame, she’s still soft in the places that count. I’d love to wrap my hands around those thighs of hers, watching her flesh dimple under the pressure of my fingers.
Brooklyn’s scent is no less intoxicating now than it was last night, filling my nose with her amber aroma even if I’m a good eight feet behind her. I’m almost thankful for the smoke—it’s the only thing tempering the smell of her slick now that she’s fully started her heat.
Camden and Memphis can’t get back with those herbs soon enough.
When we reach a huckleberry bush, Brooklyn stops and looks back at me. Her expression is surprised, and I realize I’ve been humming.
“You can keep going,” she says quietly. “I like that song.”
“Not even sure I know the words,” I admit. “It’s just something I heard on the radio.”
“Look it up when you get back. It’s called ‘Josephine.’”
I keep humming a little longer, the catchy melody cycling through my mind. Occasionally, as the wind dies down, I think I might hear Brooklyn humming along, too.
Once we’ve crossed the valley before our final ascent, we stop humming. We need all our breath to make our way up the steep hill. The smoke’s still intensifying, too. We both fall into small coughing fits as we climb, passing a water bottle back and forth as needed.
It must be at least an hour before we finally reach the top of the ridge. I allow myself a moment of relief before I look ahead to the caves. Now, we’re able to see the ground ahead, and my relief evaporates.
Fuck me sideways.
Obviously, it’s not such a straight shot to the caves after all. A deep ravine stands between us and the ridge ahead. Brooklyn and I both move closer to the edge so we can peer down below. Gray, rocky ground runs on either side of a small river, maybe five feet wide. My stomach drops as I see the steep, sudden decline. I take a few quick steps back before the vertigo starts.
I’m not afraid of much—not snakes, storms, or soldiers out to kill me. There’s only one thing that freaks me out. Let’s just say, there’s a reason I joined the Marines and not the Air Force. I fucking hate heights.
Rummaging in my pack for a water bottle, I turn away from the Omega. I can’t afford to show weakness around her. She’s too clever not to take advantage.
I wrack my brain, trying to come up with a solution. It’s way too steep to climb down—maybe we could rappel if I had enough rope, but it would take precious hours we don’t have. It would be dark by the time we made it to the bottom. Not to mention, just thinking about hopping down the cliff with just a rope between me and the rocky ground below makes me break out in a cold sweat.
On either side of us, I can’t make out the end of the ravine. Hiking around it might be another mile, or way more. The smoke is still heavy—if the fire gets to us before the rain starts, the only way to go is down.
I manage to keep from gagging at the thought of it.
“Look,” Brooklyn says, pointing to our left. A thick, fallen tree connects one side of the ravine to the other. It’s been there a while, and the wood’s starting to decay in small pieces. It obviously wasn’t placed there as a bridge, and I doubt it could hold Brooklyn’s slight form, let alone all 200-something pounds of me.
Before I can say anything, Brooklyn’s already trotting over to the fallen log. She pushes at it, trying to see how stable it is.
“Not a good idea,” I say. “As soon as you put your weight on that log, it’s going down with you on it.”
“You don’t know that.” Brooklyn kicks the tree, which doesn’t shift a millimeter. “Seems pretty sturdy to me.”
Testing her theory, she grabs a fist-sized rock from the ground and throws it on the overhanging trunk. It lands harmlessly. She glances back at me, smiling like she’s expecting praise for the test.
“No way,” I say, crossing my arms. “Too dangerous. We’ll find another way.”
“How?” Brooklyn sounds exasperated. She gestures to the ravine on either side of us. When I don’t acquiesce, she crosses her arms, too, mirroring my posture. I try not to look down at the way it pushes up her beautiful little breasts. “Then tie a rope around my waist. You can hold the end, and if the tree falls, you’ll keep me from going down with it.”
“What about when you swing right back into the ravine wall and smash your head open?” I say, raising a brow.
