Spider Game (GhostWalkers, #12)(73)

He lifted his eye from the scope and shook his head. He looked around and then pressed his hand over his ear. He’d caught an echo or backlash of the psychic conversation. She wasn’t surprised. She was only a few feet from him. She didn’t dare close her eyes, or change her breathing pattern. She kept it slow and even, hoping Trap didn’t talk any more to her. She tried to hold the danger in her mind, so if he touched her, he would see it. She willed him to see it.


Without warning, the man below her bent to his rifle, a smile playing around his mouth. “Got you, you big bastard.” He sounded elated. He caressed the trigger with his finger and then adjusted something on his rifle.


Her heart skipped a beat. She turned her head slowly to follow where his rifle was aimed. She could see into a tree a distance away. Trap was there, coming up behind the other sniper, the one aiming straight at the tree she occupied. There was no way in hell the marksman below her was going to kill Trap. No way.


She used silk, wrapping it quickly around the rifle, jerking it away from him just as he fired the shot. The rifle banged against the tree just below her, and the other sniper took his shot. She was already in motion, leaping on the man below her, trusting Trap to kill the one already lining up his second shot at her. She put him from her mind as her enemy caught her in big hands and tried to throw her off of him.


She clung to him, refusing to allow it. At once, he wrapped his hand around her throat and began to squeeze. He used his other one to keep her mouth from closing in on him. He didn’t seem to need both hands to strangle her. He was strong enough with one. She couldn’t reach any part of him with her mouth as long as his hand was around her throat, and worse, she didn’t have much time. Already she was seeing spots and the edges of her vision had gone black.


He had armor beneath his skin, but his throat was vulnerable. She retaliated the only way open to her, she wrapped silk around his neck, forming a noose, and pulled it as tight as she could. He was holding her off her feet, so she didn’t have leverage, but she managed to plant her feet on the tree trunk and use her strength to lever backward. He was unprepared for that move, distracted by the silk strangling him, and he staggered, loosening his hold on her throat.


She lunged at him, sinking her teeth into his wrist, trying to inject enough venom to paralyze him. His fist caught her hair and yanked her head away from him. He flung her out of the tree by her hair. She turned in midair and landed on her feet in a crouch. She couldn’t drag in enough air. Her lungs burned and her throat felt swollen. It was painful to swallow. She kept her eyes on him as she landed.


Smirking, he drew another gun from his boot. She was ready for that. The moment he pulled it out, she sent strands of silk to capture it, wrapping it up and yanking it away from him. The gun went flying out of the tree. He leapt to the ground, following it, landing right in front of her. At the last moment she caught the gleam of a blade as it raced straight at her.


She hated knives. Really hated them. Knives reminded her of the thin needles piercing through her hands and shoulders, through her feet and ankles. So thin, but causing so much pain. The knife went into her abdomen, the tip cutting through her skin. The burn was a bear, but the woven silk stopped the blade from going any farther in spite of the strength behind the stab.


Their bodies were close. She stared up at the triumph in his eyes as she leaned into him and bit his wrist where he held the knife, still certain he could push the blade into her. She was just as certain he couldn’t. She didn’t feel triumph when she delivered the lethal dose of venom into his veins. She felt nothing at all. She was – empty.


She stood toe to toe with him, the tip of the knife burning through her flesh, watching the venom take him. Time slowed down and for Cayenne, the process seemed to take forever. He reached for her throat again, wrapping his fingers there. He let go of the knife and tried to reach with the other hand, clearly intending to wrench her neck, to break it, knowledge that the knife refused to go any farther into her finally hitting him.


The stunned look she’d seen before. The recognition that it was too late for him. His arms dropped. His knees went to the ground. She stepped aside, her palm cradling the knife. He toppled face-first into the vegetation. She stared down at his body for what seemed an eternity. She was exhausted and wanted to spin a cocoon, crawl into it and sleep for a week.


“Give me the knife, baby,” Trap said softly, his arm curling around her waist. “Let me take a look.”


She looked up at him – at his gorgeous, tough, all-male features. His beautiful eyes, at times so cold they could freeze a person from the inside out, or, like now, blue flames that spread warmth right through bones. His hand wrapped gently around hers and he took the weapon from her and dropped it on the fallen supersoldier.


Trap frowned as his fingertips moved over her throat, confirming the evidence of her swollen, burning throat was there for all to see.


“The wound is shallow. I injected the venom and he went down.” Her voice sounded hoarse and it hurt to get the words out.


“Your throat?”


“Burns, but it will be all right. Was anyone else injured?”


He reached down, one arm sliding behind her knees, the other around her back. He lifted her against his chest, cradling her close. She should have protested. She didn’t want to be carried through the swamp for his entire team to see, but his body was warm and she was cold. Shivering. Numb. Empty.