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Bear. But you got to promise me that much."
A solemn nod was his reply.
"Good man."
Bear would see to it if they fell in battle. He'd salt the ground, say the prayers for their
souls. He'd see Abraham well and settled.
That was all there was to it.
Jett had come in without him seeing, and was watching him when he turned toward the
door.
"You ready, son?"
"Yessir."
Jett grinned suddenly, that crinkled old face splitting wide. "Just like old times, huh?
Come on, boy. Let's ride."
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Chapter Sixteen
Aquilon. He will kill you, you know this? Come with us. Rejoin the pack and we will lick
your wounds.
Hawk knew that voice, that soft whisper. His second, Lanisto. They had been compatriots
once, had run together for hours, biting and howling and hunting. They had been created
together, Carchion forming them together from clay and fire, breathing them into life
with that fetid breath.
That's right. We are brothers. You were not meant for this, Aquilon. To be bound and tied
here when there is flesh to feast upon. You were meant for better things and the little
witch confused you. He could feel Lanisto's breath on his cheek, the hot, lumpy brush of
the hound's tongue collecting the salt and blood from his skin. You would spread for the
human, would you? Allow him to mount you like a bitch?
He growled, a red rage building inside. You are not worthy to consider him.
The bite to his jaw was quick, sharp, a fire raging within him and he pulled violently at
the ropes at his wrists.
He was right. You are a human. Filthy and hairless. Weak. I could snap your balls clean
off, eat them and make you watch as you scream. Lanisto padded down, tongue scraping
against his side, his thigh.
Then that slick, slimy tongue touched his privates; the bile rising in his throat.
Hawk closed his eyes against the horror of it, remembering his Preacher. Laughing.
Riding. Preaching. That cheroot shining cherry red in the night and leading him home.
That first day by the river, water clean and sweet in his mouth, Preacher's lips open
against him.
To see that again, to see that sorry son of a bitch again, Hawk'd pray.
Goddamnit.
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A sheer fury mixed with horror filled the air, teeth snapping hard in the air above him. He
was too shocked to scream, just stared as the hound whimpered, stumbling away from
him.
Please. Please, let them be safe. Let me see him again.
"Stop it." Carchion was right there, whapping him with a stick, over and over. "Stop that.
Stop it now. You can't do this. You're mine! Mine!"
Hawk managed to smile, the memory of Preacher sunk down into his skin.
Please let Preacher be safe. Let that ornery bastard know I was his.
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Chapter Seventeen
They tried to leave Fred behind, injured as he was, but the damned, mule-headed beast
insisted on going, rearing and biting when Jett tried to calm him enough to tie him in the
little lean to.
Preacher didn't blame him. Every minute that they stayed was a minute that Hawk might
be dying, all at once or in slow degrees. Jett had that quiet, focused intensity that meant
he was on the trail, and Preacher was praying like he'd never prayed in his life as he
spurred his horse on, trying to reach that damned canyon that led right to the mouth of
Hell.
They heard it before they saw it, and the smell of Hellfire had their horses screaming and
rearing, only Fred staying calm, running back and forth at the top of the scree.
"We won't surprise them," Jett said when they finally pulled up, the storm on them in a
fury of lightning and thunder so loud Preacher could barely hear.
"Then what the Hell do we do?" he shouted, his hands clenching and unclenching as an
unearthly howl greeted them.
"You sure your man ain't lost already?" The old preacher grabbed hold of his hat as the
wind gusted, Fred pawing the ground and looking to run down there right into the thick
of things.
No. No, Hawk wasn't lost. Not yet, damn it.
"I'd know. I swear, Jett, I can hear him in my mind. Calling to me. Praying for me..."
Praying for him. Oh, God in Heaven, Hawk was praying. He knew it.
"Well, then. I reckon we'd best go fetch him. Good Lord protects his own, praise Jesus."
Then Jett sorta nodded once to Fred, who screamed out in answer. "You get up on Fred
there and you don't look at them things. You don't talk to them. You ride down and get
you your man."
"And you? What the Hell are you gonna do, Jett?"
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"Son." He got a grin, wild and damn near joyous, which given the situation scared the
tarnation out of him. "I reckon to create one Hell of a diversion."
Well, Hell. He'd have to trust in that. He got up on Fred, patting that bloody neck. "You
and me, you stubborn nag. Just you and me. Don't you fall, you hear me?"
Fred snorted and he'd swear somewhere in the back of his mind he heard a growly, old
voice telling him to shut up and hold on, Hawk needed him.
Hawk was praying on him.
Then they started down, right where the storm was raging.
The wind howled, and the rain turned to hail the minute he started down in, pounding at
him, tearing at his clothes. Goddamn, he could hear Fred screaming, knew every step was
agony, but they plunged right down, just like he imagined Hawk doing for Abraham. He
almost lost his seat, but righted himself just in time, clinging to Fred's neck.
Hawk was right there, in the eye of it all. Bloodied and broke and bound on a stone, but
the storm couldn't touch him, just swirled around him as his lips moved. Fred bucked and
reared, hooves connecting with fur before the damned nag leapt, landing right there
beside Hawk, pushing toward the man's light.
It near broke his heart, to see Hawk praying, keeping those furious beasts at bay, when he
hadn't even thought to add his own prayers to the mix. Preacher did, then, raising his
voice just like he did in a tent meeting, hearing it ring out loud and clear.
"Lord, save us from these Devils!" he shouted, reaching down for Hawk, willing those
bonds to break. "We've walked into the fire for you, Lord. You gave him to me, I see that
now. I'm not ready for you to take him. Please, God, help me take him home."
Those blue eyes opened then, staring at him, his Hawk right there and, praise God, them
old ropes started unraveling, the storm backing farther and farther away.
Fred leaned his big old head down, those wicked sharp teeth helping the good Lord and
their faith out. Hawk was groaning, eyes rolling like dice as those poor hurt arms tried to
move, to wrap around Fred's neck.
There wasn't a stitch of clothing left to pull on, so Preacher had to lean too far, too much
to grab ahold of Hawk's back, but something unseen kept his ass in the saddle, something
answering his prayer, and he hauled with all of his strength. Hawk slipped and slid, hot
blood running on the man's skin, but Preacher wasn't gonna let go, no sir. Not now.
"Come on, Lord. Just one more push..."
Redemption s Ride - 95
"Preacher." Hawk's smile could light up the darkest night, and they got that push, Hawk
slick and burning against him, body slumped against Fred.
"Virgil! Son! You quit lollygagging down there now! It's time to ride!" Jett's voice got to
him, along with the screaming of the horses.
"Yessir." Holding Hawk tighter than any treasure, Preacher turned Fred toward the top of
the rise, prayers falling off his lips.
A surging mass of bodies sat between them and where they needed to be, flames seeming
to lick at the feet and muzzles of what had to be the damned hounds of Hell. No man
should be faced with that sight and stay sane, but he did it for Hawk.
His man. His.
"Now would be a good time for that distraction, old man!" he hollered, putting most of
the last of his strength into being heard.
The words had barely left his mouth when the words of the 23rd Psalm seemed to echo
through the canyon, Jett's voice rolling louder than his ears could hear.
The Lord is my Shepherd; I shall not want. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]