On the Hunt (Sentinel Wars #3.5)(62)
Author: Gena Showalter

Her stomach shimmied. "It’s down that same tunnel."

"Probably leads straight to the hell mouth."

"So what’s the plan?" Her blood pounded with the need to reclaim the crystal skull.

"There isn’t any plan." His expression went hard and closed, becoming that of the man who had dumped her. "We can’t go down there."

Her heart clutched. "I thought we had an agreement."

Regret flickered in his eyes. "Natalie, be reasonable."

"And let those bastards have the skull?" Panic kicked at the thought, coming from the instincts that hadn’t ever failed her. Except, maybe, when it came to him.

"Going down there would be suicide."

"So is doing nothing. This isn’t just about one equinox. It’s about the next two years, and you damn well know it."

In the clearing, the gaunt camazotz started disappearing into the forest in pairs, all headed toward the village.

JT’s eyes darkened. "We need to help them fight off those things," he said urgently. "You’re right that this isn’t about one grand gesture; it’s about a long-term war. And you don’t know for certain that getting the skull back will do a damned thing to change the outcome." He paused. "Or do you?"

She hesitated. The lie would change his mind, and he’d lied to her plenty. But she couldn’t do it.

"It’s an educated guess." A wish. A hope. "The skull brought me here. Hell, for all I know, it brought you here, too. We can’t just let the bastards have it. This is our . . ." She trailed off, knowing he didn’t want to hear about duty or destiny. Not after what he’d lived through.

His eyes softened. "Natalie—"

A crash in the brush behind him, away from the tunnel mouth, had them both going for their weapons.

"Stay here," he hissed, his expression shifting to that of the hard-eyed hunter in a split second.

"I’ll be right back." He disappeared noiselessly, with only a faint swirl of foliage to show where he had been.

She hesitated for a moment, but knew she didn’t have a choice. She had to get the skull back, no matter what it took. And she couldn’t afford to give him the chance to stop her.

So, chest hollow with fear and heartache, she slipped out of the ferns and headed for the clearing, following the ribbon of yellow light.

Counting himself damned lucky that the commotion had come from a sleek jaguar that had been in no mood to rumble, JT slipped back into the fern patch. And stopped dead.

She was gone.

He had known on some level it was going to come down to this. But he hadn’t known that it would make him feel like a thousand toxic claws had just dug into his soul. Pain lashed through him, and he lunged across the ferns to scan the clearing.

The ‘ zotz were gone and there was no sign of a commotion. But there was no sign of Natalie, either.

"Godsdamn it," he grated under his breath. She hadn’t waited for him, hadn’t trusted that he was trying to do the right thing, too. And now she was down there alone.

Every instinct he possessed screamed for him to follow her. She was his. He loved her, damn it.

He loved her sloe-eyed dark beauty, loved her damnable bravery. Hell, he even loved the fact that she wanted to find her past, her place.

He had to go after her, protect her. But how? He was only one guy with some guns. He didn’t have an army backing him, didn’t have—

He froze as the terrible idea came to him full-blown, as though it had been sent by the gods themselves. Or their dark counterparts. Oh, holy f**k, he thought, his gut clenching on the, No way.

No f**king way.

It was an unbearable answer. And it might be the only chance any of them had.

He bolted for the village, yanking his cell as he ran.

"Come on, come on!" But the call didn’t go through. The barrier was in full flux. "Shit. "

He ran hard, sacrificing stealth for speed.

A blur came at him from the side. He nailed the ‘ zotz with both barrels of his shotgun, but didn’t stop to finish it off, just kept going.

At the gunshot, shadows oriented on him, closed on him. He fired as he ran, blasting a hole in the demons’ net and dodging a claw slash on the way through. Then— Thank f**k! —he burst through the trees into the clearing that surrounded the village.

His gut clutched at the sight of the villagers dressed in the ceremonial garb of their Mayan ancestors, ready for the equinox rituals they hoped would push back the demons for another few months. The shotguns and grenade launchers they carried were a stark contrast to the brightly colored woven textiles, feather-and-jade headdresses, and bold, geometric face paint they wore.

When he saw JT, Rez shouted the equivalent of, "Make a hole!" in his native language. The villagers opened fire, knocking back the pursuing ‘ zotz as JT lunged through the defensive perimeter, his heart hammering for him to hurry, hurry, hurry!

He gripped Rez’s forearm. "I need your help."

"Anything, chan camazotz."

He had known that would be the answer, but it only added to the weight of responsibility that suddenly descended on him, nearly crushed him. "Natalie found the main temple. I want to attack it and shut them down for good. But I can’t do it alone."

Beneath his feathered headdress and black zigzag paint, Rez’s expression firmed. "I’m with you. How many others do you need?"

Time telescoped, and JT felt the terrible weight of his decision. "Everyone." And even that might not be enough. But the village’s fate would be decided one way or the other today. By the end of this equinox, they would all be free . . . or they would all be dead.

"Hurry," he urged as Rez started snapping out orders, sending the older children to collect the younger ones in a sturdy central building, which would be guarded by the few warriors they would leave behind. The rest would follow JT as soon as they had loaded up on ammo.

Hang on, Natalie, he whispered deep in his soul. We’re coming.

He just hoped to hell they weren’t already too late.

Natalie’s heart hammered as she crouched behind a broken pillar as a pair of new camazotz passed way too close for comfort, headed into the forest. When they were gone, she exhaled shallowly and thanked the gods that the newborns’ perceptions were as weak as their bodies. She had gotten lucky so far. She only prayed her luck would hold.

Slipping from concealment, she headed for the central tunnel, shivering as she entered and the temperature plummeted. Stalactites dripped down from the tunnel’s ceiling, and a snail trail of water ran along one side, glistening in the pools of sunlight that were let in by a series of natural skylights created by fallen-in sections.