Because Destiny was so close, she could see the adjustment Ethan made to his aim. He breathed out, and didn’t breathe in lest even that disturb his aim. Then he fired.
Two thousand pounds of prehistoric monster crashed down dead at his feet.
For a moment, even the jungle seemed to hold its breath with Ethan. Then he breathed in, and the trees exploded with the cries of birds and screeches of monkeys. She gave a quick glance at the hell pig to make sure it was really dead. It was. Ethan had hit it in the tiny, piggy eye—a one-in-a-million shot at such a small target, and a moving target at that.
“That was one hell of a shot,” said Destiny. “Good work, jarhead.”
Ethan started to reply, but a coughing fit cut him off. He took a step toward her, then swayed like he was about to pass out.
“Ethan!” She scrambled to put her arm around him and support him. He was still holding the gun, which she gently took from his hand and replaced in her holster. He leaned his cheek against hers. It felt like he’d just pulled his head out of an oven.
He took a deep breath, then straightened. “Sorry. I’m all right. Just got a bit dizzy for a second.”
“You are absolutely not all right,” Destiny retorted. “You’re burning up. What do you have? Some kind of tropical bug?”
“I doubt it. It wasn’t tropical where I came from.” Reluctantly, he said, “When I got tossed in the river, I was unconscious for a while. I breathed in a lot of river water, and then I lay in it for hours. I guess I caught a cold.”
“Uh-huh. That wouldn’t give you a fever like that. I think it might be pneumonia.”
Ethan stepped away from her, then staggered. He compromised by leaning against a tree. “Does it matter what it is?”
Destiny had obviously spent way too much time with paramedics: Shane and Justin and Catalina on her team, and of course Ellie. She’d learned more than she’d ever wanted to know about all sorts of nasty illnesses just from being in the same room while they were chatting. As a result, she had two different answers to his question, and she didn’t like either of them.
“Yes, it matters. A cold will go away on its own. If it’s pneumonia, you probably need antibiotics.”
“Do we have antibiotics?”
She went to her backpack and rummaged through the medicine kit. “Not anymore.”
Having to go through her clothes reminded her that she was naked. And she’d been cuddling Ethan while she was naked. She’d been so worried about him that it had barely registered, but one glance up at his appreciative face showed that it was registering with him. Her face flamed, and not from fever. She scrambled into some clothes.
“And the other thing,” she said once she was dressed. “If it is pneumonia, that’s serious. You need to rest, not trek through the jungle all day and then stage a raid on an enemy base.”
He shrugged. “Whatever it is, we can’t stay here. They’ve obviously tracked us down. What if the hell pig has ten little piggy buddies?”
“Can’t be close ones, or they’d already be here.” But she agreed with Ethan. “Let me grab his gun… oh.”
Unlike ordinary shifters like herself, the daeodon shifter hadn’t shredded his clothing when he’d shifted. His clothes were simply gone. The saber tooth tiger Destiny had fought in Santa Martina had also transformed without losing his clothes, and reappeared in human form fully dressed. Lucas, a dragon shifter, could do that too, and even take small items like his hoard bag—or a gun—with him. Sure enough, though the broken tranquilizer rifle Kritsick had dropped still lay on the ground, the pistol he’d held when he’d transformed was gone.
“Goddammit,” Destiny muttered, returning to Ethan. “We could’ve really used the ammo. Though since you can drop a charging hell pig with one bullet, maybe we don’t need a lot more. I still can’t believe we fought a hell pig.”
“Me neither.”
“And you’re right, we don’t want to meet his buddies, if he has any. Lean on me.” She offered him her shoulder. When he hesitated, she said, “If I were sick, you’d let me lean on you, right?”
“Wouldn’t have to. I’d carry you,” he muttered, but put his arm around her shoulders. For the sake of his pride, she neglected to point out that with her shifter strength, she was quite capable of carrying him, though probably not for a long distance.
“I don’t think we should head for the base,” Destiny said. “Not quite yet. Not if they’ve got people this hot on our tail. We’d probably get caught in a pincer: one group behind us, and one group ahead.”
“And I’m in no shape for it. I admit it. I’m not that proud.”
“That proud is just another word for stupid.” She pointed at a stream. “Let’s get our feet wet. Kill the scent.”
He nodded, and they took off their shoes, tied them around their necks by the laces, and waded into the stream. It turned into a wider creek, then split off into tributaries. Every time it forked, she took a branch at random. They were risking getting hopelessly lost, but they had to shake off their pursuit, and shifters were liable to track them by scent.
She was sure he was trying to take as much of his own weight as he could, but his arm was heavy across her shoulders, and his body was like a furnace. Every now and then, he broke into a cough that sounded like something was tearing inside his chest.
Despite the heat of the jungle, Destiny felt cold. Ethan was dangerously ill, they had no medicine, they were pursued by dangerous and powerful enemies, and they were hundreds of miles from help.