Free Reburn by Anne Marsh Page B

but tendrils of smoke eddied around their campsite, closer and thicker. Their night had definitely gone to hell.
    He could just make out her face in the dim light. Her hair was a tangle around her face, her familiar hazel eyes watching him. Trusting him even as her hand reached out for the weapon she’d set down beside her boots.
    “Get dressed,” he whispered harshly. Whatever was coming, he’d make damned sure she was ready to run or to fight. Whichever kept her safest.
    She was his .
    For the second time in his life, he wanted more than a few stolen nights.
    He wanted it all. He wanted her. She’d been his first, and now she’d be his last and best. The primitive need to protect her against the threat lurking in the darkness brought out the warrior in him. He scanned the shadows, considering his next move.
    Gravel hit metal thirty feet to his right.
    Sam rolled to his feet silently. Son of a bitch . Someone had set off the trip wire he’d set up on the camp’s outer perimeter because he hadn’t wanted unexpected midnight visitors. He tucked the handgun he’d lifted from the bunker into his waistband. The gun was fully loaded, but using the weapon wasn’t his first choice. It was too goddamned easy to shoot the wrong target in the dark. Instead, palming his hunting knife, he moved out. The blade was a reassuring weight in his hand and slipping through the dark reminded him all too clearly of boot camp training. The stakes tonight were personal, though. His adrenaline was pumping, but damned if he’d let anyone get the drop on him here.
    “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”
    Behind him, he sensed rather than heard Livy move. Damn it. She wasn’t staying put, either. That put a little pickup in his step and he moved away from their sleeping bag, blade out, scanning the shadows.
    Holm Arthurs shot out of the shadows with no warning. Despite the camouflage paint on his face, there was no mistaking the lethal intent there. The knives hung about the man and the ammo belt strapped to his chest warned that the tango was packing. And he wasn’t hunting bear.
    He was hunting Livy.
    Sam, however, was making damned sure that never happened again.
    Holm thrust, straight and hard, sending twelve inches of lethal nasty punching towards Sam’s gut. He held a second blade in reserve in his left.
    “Park’s closed.” Sam snarled the words, twisting to move out of the danger zone. He pushed his arms down hard in an X-block, forcing Holm’s blade hand downwards as his steel toe made contact with Holm’s thigh. In the next moment, he pulled Holm’s arm over and back into a wristlock.
    “Looks like you’re open for business to me.” Holm’s lips peeled back in a rictus of anger and pain. The man wasn’t giving up and the crazed look in those eyes said no one was home, either. “You like my fire, ranger?”
    Hell . Three hundred acres and Sam’s team was on the line. He damned sure hadn’t liked the implications of the arsenal stashed in Holm’s woodland bunker, but these words were fuel for his fury.
    Holm wasn’t done yet, though. Cursing, he fought Sam’s wristlock. A snap of bone announced he was free. “You got to be willing to sacrifice,” he snarled, putting a few feet between him and Sam.
    Well, hell. That was two kinds of crazy. A second later, he heard Livy behind him.
    Holm charged and it was like being hit by a freight train. Holm rained down lethal punches, and Sam returned the favor, striking hard and fast as he kept his body between the other man and Livy, leading him away from their campsite. Another blow and he and Holm were locked arm in arm, grappling fiercely.
    Strike. Hit hard. Block.
    The world shrank to the man trying to kill him.
     
    When the trip wire had sounded, Sam had rolled off her, putting his finger to her lips. Motioning for silence. In the predawn light, he was an unfamiliar warrior. This was the man who fought overseas, who picked up a gun and did what needed doing to keep his