Jenny stared at Ryder in utter horror. His face was emotionless in the shadows, the gun hand steady as it pointed at her head. He was going to kill her, and she had no idea why, unless that had always been his plan. He’d just wanted to get her away from everyone so that he could shoot her and dump her body, and then no one would ever find her. She opened her mouth, to beg, to scream, but nothing came out. She should fling herself to the floor and cry for mercy, but it wouldn’t do her any good. He was an implacable man, and he’d made his decision. At least she knew it would be fast. She opened her mouth again, and his cold, deadly voice stopped her.
“I said, don’t fucking move,” he said again in that chilling, flat voice. “Stay absolutely still.”
Why didn’t he just shoot her? Did he get some kind of enjoyment from dragging it out? Did he want to see her cry, did he . . . ?
The gun spat fire a second before the noise deafened her, and she felt something hit her neck, hard, knocking her onto the ground, and she lay there, motionless. She could feel the warmth and wetness of blood and knew she was dying, smothering beneath an unknown weight. “Why?” she managed to croak.
She felt rather than saw him stride into the room, and a moment later the weight was lifted. She felt weak, boneless, waiting for the second shot, but he’d put the gun away, and he was squatting down beside her, and there was a concerned expression on his face. “Are you all right, Parker?”
“You . . . you tried to kill me!” she said accusingly.
“Don’t be an idiot. I’m a better shot than that. Look over there.”
She looked, and it took her a moment to focus in the shadows. A huge snake lay on the floor beside her, the head nothing but a pulpy mass, and she began to scream.
Ryder pulled her into his arms, slapping a hand across her mouth to try to silence her. “We don’t need to advertise our presence to the entire countryside,” he muttered in her ear. “You’re fine, the snake is dead.”
She struggled, terrified. She had to get away from it, get away from him. “Don’t!” Her voice was muffled from behind his hand, and he loosened it slightly. “I . . . Let me go.”
Instead, he simply scooped her up in his arms, carrying her from the room, back into his. She was crying now, sobbing in reaction and horror. She hated snakes, even more than she hated spiders. She couldn’t even look at photographs of them without wanting to throw up, and one had fallen on her; she had its blood on her clothes, and she yanked at her shirt in panic, until he caught her hands. He sank down on the narrow bed and held her still, his voice soft, soothing, until the panic fled and all she could do was collapse in his arms, weeping uncontrollably.
It took her a long time to realize he was holding her with surprising tenderness, one hand on her hair, his fingers stroking her tear-streaked face. She could feel his warmth, his strength enfolding her trembling body, and she slowly began to relax, knowing instinctively that he wouldn’t let anything harm her. She was safe. She was home. She closed her eyes, burying her face against his shoulder, breathing in the scent of him, the warmth of him, the unexpected peace of him.
It was pitch black when she finally could speak. “I know what you’re going to say,” she managed in a rusty voice. “You’re going to say ‘Jesus, Parker, it was only a boa constrictor.’”
“Anaconda,” he corrected. “And there’s no such thing as ‘only’ when it comes to giant anacondas.” He didn’t loosen his hold on her, and she was glad. She wasn’t ready to be on her own.
“I thought you were going to shoot me,” she said in a very small voice.
He sighed, and his chest moved beneath her. “I know you did. Why?”
She shook her head against his shoulder, still not looking up. “I don’t know. Because I annoy you?”
“If I shot everyone who annoyed me, then the world wouldn’t have a population crisis,” he said. “And you don’t annoy me that much.”
For some reason that made her lift her head and manage a shaky smile. “I don’t?” she said hopefully.
“It’s not you who’s annoying, it’s my reaction to you,” he said finally.
“What does that mean?” she asked, confused.
“When you figure it out, let me know.” He released her, and she had no choice but to relax her stranglehold on him. “No generator—it was stolen long ago—but we’ve got candles and flashlights and a cistern full of rainwater. I think we need to wash the blood off you.”
She almost panicked again, but then he’d hold her again, and she wasn’t sure that was a very wise idea, simply because she wanted him to so much. “Blood?”
“The snake’s.”
She couldn’t help it—she let out a little moan of distress.
“Don’t worry—there’s a bathtub, and even if it’s not hot, in this climate it’ll be warm enough for you to wash. If I were you I’d just dump the clothes. I’ll get dinner while you bathe. That sound good to you?”
“Yes,” she said in a small voice, torn. On the one hand she wanted every trace of the snake gone from her. On the other, she didn’t want to leave Ryder’s side.
But she wasn’t going to have him scrub her back or keep her company while she bathed. “Where’s the tub?”
“Don’t worry, it’s just off the kitchen. I’ll be right there if you need me.”
She didn’t want to need him. She didn’t want to need anybody, but that was before she came to a place filled with monster-sized snakes who’d crush her and swallow her and . . .