He pulled his arm out from beneath me and sat up, taking the warmth of his chest with him. "Stay here. Don't move."
"Mitch—"
"Shhh. Stay put and keep quiet."
Stay put? What? Where’s he going?
He stood, shirtless in just his jeans, and darted toward the darkness beyond the firelight. His steps were silent as he disappeared into the scrub, swallowed by shadows.
Branches snapped in the darkness, one after another. Something was coming. My breath caught in my throat. Was it a kangaroo? Shit. Maybe it was more dingoes.
To hell with staying put. I wasn't lying here while Mitch was out there facing God knew what. I grabbed a big stick from the fire, and the end glowed bright orange.
I pushed to my feet, holding the stick out in front of me like a weapon. The orange glow barely lit a few feet ahead, but as my heart thundered in my chest, I braced, ready to burn anything that lunged from the darkness.
I held my breath, listening. The coals hissed. Wind rustled through the grass. Somewhere in the distance, an owl hooted.
But no footsteps. Or voices. And no howling dogs.
“Mitch,” I whispered into the black void where he’d vanished.
I took a step toward where he'd disappeared, stopped, then listened again. My heart hammered so loudly I could barely hear anything else. Still nothing.
The darkness pressed in around me, thick and impenetrable beyond the weak glow of my pathetic torch. Where was he? What if something happened to him?
How long had he been gone? Five minutes? Ten? Twenty?
I bit my lip, torn between screaming out for him and running into the scrub after him.
What if he was lying out there hurt, and I was just standing here like an idiot?
No. Don't think like that. Mitch knew what he was doing. But what if he needed me?
"Mitch?"
The wind answered, carrying nothing back.
"Mitch?" My voice cracked as I took another step forward, straining to see anything beyond the circle of light from my stick.
Soft thuds sounded against the earth in the darkness, getting closer. I stepped back, raising the burning stick. My breath caught. That's a horse. But not Zeus, he was still tied to the tree where Mitch had left him.
A branch snapped. I jumped back, holding the stick in front of me, staring into the darkness. My damn heart pounded to an erratic beat.
A shrub shifted sideways, and Mitch emerged from the darkness, leading a horse behind him.
Relief flooded through me so fast my knees nearly buckled. I frowned. The horse had a saddle on its back.
I dropped the stick back into the fire and stepped toward him. "Whose horse is that?"
He didn't answer. Just kept walking, leading the horse toward the tree where Zeus was tied. The new horse had dried mud caked along its rump, as if it’d been rolling in the dirt, and its tail was matted with burrs.
"Mitch, talk to me. Whose horse is that?"
"His name is Razor." His voice was flat, emotionless.
I stared at the horse, then back at Mitch. He wouldn't meet my eyes.
"Where's the rider?"