Edge Walkers by Shannon Donnelly Read Free Book Online Page B

later, his breathing evened and small puffs of air brushed her ear, tickling. Of all things, he snored. A comforting sound you’d expect from someone you’d slept with for years.
    She’d wanted to dig an elbow into his side to get him to turn and stop that rasping. But she didn’t. Because he was warm and she wasn’t. And the sound made him more human. Flawed. Vulnerable. That soft breath on her skin also meant he wasn’t dead like those who’d been in the lab. But maybe the others…maybe they weren’t all dead. She clung to that, wanted a thread of hope. Be alive, dammit. Someone else had to have survived.
    She shivered again and Gideon stirred, pulled her closer. She gave up trying to stay alert and aware. His body gave off relaxed heat, and she wanted to pull more of that over her because a chill had settled on her face and her hands and any part not covered by Gideon. She didn’t think she could sleep. But she did.
    She woke with a start, unpleasant dreams echoing—Thompson’s scream and Chand’s skin sparking. She shuddered and deep breaths brought her back to the moment. One hip ached from the pressure of too much stone. Her body had thinned the padding of whatever springy stuff they lay on—it wasn’t leaves or anything like a real mattress. But she’d take the physical aches over the emotional ones. She was also going to keep telling herself that someone from her team had to have survived. And she thought about the Voodoo doll that looked like Chand—the dolls Gideon had said were for the dead. Her hand closed and tightened on Gideon’s arm, where the blood pulsed in even, slow beats.
    Gideon hadn’t loosened his hold. He lay heavy across her, as if claimed by exhaustion. It was oddly comforting. There wasn’t much else that was. She let him sleep and watched day break around them.

Faint light drifted in through the holes in the roof. Blinking, she squinted into the gloom. She was glad to have anyone’s arm around when a long shaft of light fell over the guy sitting a couple of meters in front of the altar.
    Cross-legged on the floor, large and dark, he tilted his head to watch them. Or he was watching Gideon sleep—he was watching her stare back at him now. The guy shifted and she gave an involuntary gasp and that woke Gideon.
    Rolling upright, Gideon’s leg jerked her ankle at the tie. But he stayed close enough that she felt the tension ease from him. Standing, Gideon stretched, joints popping. Sleep blurred his words as he made introductions as if this was the usual start to any day.
    “Ah, Temple. This is...what did you say...oh, Carrie. This is Carrie.”
    Temple said nothing. He kept staring at her with inky dark eyes. Did he get his name from this place, or from looking about as big as these stone pillars?
    With him sitting, she couldn’t judge his exact height, but everything looked epic. Muscular chest and arms under an open robe like Gideon’s; a lot of skin showing, all of it about the same shade as a good French Roast coffee. More of the dirt-cloth wrapped his waist and legs in something that could be ragged pants. A muddy-green pouch, big as a messenger bag, lay at his hip, slung across his chest by a wide strap.
    He watched her from under a tangle of black dreads that cascaded over wide shoulders, and his face reminded her of Olmec statues from Central America; high cheekbones, a prominent nose and lips, a few centuries worn into his expression. Going by the look in his eyes, she’d guess he’d seen a lot, not much of it pleasant.
    What did you say to someone like that? ‘Hi, nice to meet you?’ It wasn’t, so she twisted and glanced up at Gideon. “Now what?”
    Gideon looked down at her. He almost smiled again—at least the lines around his eyes crinkled, and she remembered the weight of his body and how good he’d felt. She started to want him wrapped around her again. She also started to wish this was a church—confession sounded necessary to save her soul about