Weeks on board with mortals? And clearly, she would have to hijack the boat to get to the deepest Amazon, where nobody dared to go. The humans would have to be dealt with then.
Perhaps Lucia could find a Lorean to captain another ship. A river city like Iquitos would be home to countless immortals.
But as she debated her options, that awareness returned, the sense of being watched. She rubbed the back of her neck and glanced over her shoulder, thought she saw a tall male, a too-tall male. Was MacRieve closing in on her even now? She knew he couldn't be far behind - because he hadn't been for the entire year.
Or maybe she was overreacting. Exhaustion weighed on her until she felt like falling down, and in the past, she'd imagined him in shadows, over a rise, or on a balcony overhead peering down at her.
For as many times as she'd seen golden eyes glowing with hunger from some nearby shadow, she'd imagined she had.
Her ears twitched. Awareness. No, he was near. "I'll take the cabin!" I can dump the mortals later. She chucked her pack over the railing, holding her graphite bowcase under her arm as she acted like a human female, teetering up the gangplank.
He frowned. "Uh, don't you have equipment you need to have loaded?"
"Nope. We're all good."
"Orientation and meet-and-greet is required."
"Yes, of course." She could play along, be sociable, or act like she was. "But we need to leave immediately."
"We're on river time here." He offered her a hand she didn't need as she stepped aboard. "Now, you're in the seventh cabin, first level, all the way fore in the bow. Here's the key - "
She snatched it from him. "I'll double - triple - your fare if we leave this instant."
He narrowed those gray eyes. "Quadruple it, and you'll see a big-ass boat go fast."
"Agreed." This heartened her. Mortals who were motivated by money were controllable.
As the captain hastened to the pilothouse, calling out for someone named Chuck to "kick her in the guts!" Lucia climbed to the observation deck. She shaded her eyes with her hand, scanning for MacRieve. Iquitos was the most populous city in the world that couldn't be reached by road. Only boat and air traffic in or out, difficult to get to in the best of circumstances. Maybe she'd lost him.
The ship's diesel engines fired up, coughing black smoke as they sputtered, but they stayed running. Travis began reversing from the shore, narrowly missing a floating gas station, then he increased the speed. The ship surged backward, water swamping the back platform that stretched the width of the boat.
The entire hull groaned, the motion sending Lucia tilting toward the railing. As she balanced herself, she craned her head around, eyes wary.
Nothing. After several heartbeats, Travis shifted gears, and the Contessa ground forward. Finally, Lucia breathed a sigh of relief. They were under way. She was on a boat heading out on the Amazon after flying all the way from across the world, in record time.
Really, how could the Lykae have headed her off here? There was no way he could catch her.
And her trail would grow colder in the days to come. She climbed down to the first level for her bag, then headed for cabin seven to stow her stuff. Just as she got to the door, her sat-phone chimed with a new text message. She peered at the screen, saw it was from Regin. Gods, she missed her sister and best friend like an ache -
RegRad: We're not BFFs anymore, Luce. So SUCK IT!
Lucia sighed. At times she understood why others could only take Regin in short doses.
Suddenly, her ears twitched again, which meant someone aboard was possibly about to attack her or that MacRieve was near. She hoped it was the former as she plunked her case down on the deck. Dropping to her knees beside it, she unfastened the titanium latches and yanked free her bow and quiver from their foam padding.
After stringing the bow, she stood once more. She spied something out of the corner of her eye, something glinting in the sun. She glanced up, over toward the shore.
MacRieve. Just there on the rise. To elude him for this long only to be snared now?
His timing. For the love of gods, his timing!
Could he still make the boat? One more dock lay ahead for the Contessa to pass, coming up swiftly, but fifty or sixty feet of water separated it from the boat.
Apparently MacRieve thought he could make the distance - he slung his duffle bag over his body and got that intent look she'd become familiar with. Wait... Did he have blood splattered over one side of his face?
No time to contemplate that; she dashed to the back platform. In a flash, she had her bow up and arrow loaded. His expression turned murderous, and he shook his head slowly, as if vowing retribution.
Damn him! She couldn't shoot, because she knew he wouldn't even try to dodge her arrows. He would still do anything to keep her from harm - even as each time she saw him he continued to appear darker, angrier.
And gods help her, sexier.
With a sound of frustration, she lowered her bow. MacRieve had already begun sprinting, gaining superhuman velocity, his massive body moving with the speed and smoothness of an animal.
She swallowed. He was nearing the end of the dock but hadn't slowed - was pumping his arms for more speed. No. No way he can make this distance, werewolf or not.
Heart in her throat, she watched him spring from the edge in an explosive leap. A second passed... still in the air... momentum hurling him toward her spot -
Just short! He landed chest-first against the side of the platform, his black claws digging into the teakwood.
After wincing at the sound of his ribs cracking, she remembered herself and reared back her leg for a swinging punt to his head. But he snatched her ankle with one hand, tossing her to her ass. In a single fluid movement, he sprang to the deck to cover her, pinning her arms - and bow - over her head.
A seething, soaked Lykae was stretched over her, his body a cage of damp, rippling muscles. She grappled to get free, a laughable effort against a being with his strength, but only managed to get as soaked as he was.
What would he do to her? What didn't she deserve?
"Now, that's no' nice, Valkyrie." His deep voice raked over her as his eyes scanned her face, taking in every feature as if relearning them. "And no way to greet your male."
"You're not my male!" He did have blood on his face - now it mingled with the water and sweat trickling down his cheek. "Let me up!"
He kept her pinned. "Missed you these months," he said. "Again and again." The double meaning was clear when his eyes flickered ice blue. "But no longer. The game's changed now, beauty."
Snared. Somehow the huntress had been hunted to the ground and trapped.