The Tortured Rebel by Alison Roberts Page A

unbearable.
    ‘No! Just leave me, Jet.
You
go.’
    Jet made no verbal response that she could hear. He was dragging Becca, having abandoned the life pack.
    Incredibly, the roaring sound got even louder and the night became a living thing—moving and breathing around them. And then the light changed, flooded with an unearthly, red glow.
    Something crashed into the trees nearby.
    Jet’s oath was spine-chilling. He was moving faster and Becca was struggling not to fall again.
    ‘Jet…’
    ‘Move, Becca. We’ve got to find shelter. That was a rock.’
    Another crashing sound came. The crunch of rock on rock. A burst of sparks and the strong smell of scorching.
    Much later, Becca would marvel how much difference a burst of adrenaline could make. Muscles she’d thought were useless suddenly came back to life. Her thinking snapped into coherency.
    The volcano was erupting again. Hurling missiles into the sky that were landing around them. Lethal weapons, some of which were probably the size of a small car.
    Because they were close to the top of this ridge, any cover they might have had from dense forest was gone. Trees were sparse here and bare, rocky formations offered no kind of shelter.
    Or did they?
    ‘There.’
Becca tugged on Jet’s hand, only now realisingthat they were joined by a determined grip on each other. ‘Under the rocks.’
    This bank of rock had an overhang. Not enough to call itself a cave but more than enough to shelter two people from airborne missiles. Maybe.
    They were there within seconds and only just in time to save themselves from a shower of small rocks landing within metres of them. Some seemed to explode on hitting the rocks well above them and the sound and light show from the sparks made it all seem like some grotesque fireworks display.
    Or how you would imagine the end of the world to look.
    Another earthquake shook the ground beneath their feet with a vicious jolt and Becca cried out in fear. They were about to die. Both of them.
    I’m sorry.
    Jet gathered the terrified bundle that was Becca into his arms and his only conscious thought was the awareness of a deep shame.
    Not that it was a shame his life was going to end like this, in the shadow of an exploding volcano. It wasn’t a bad way to go for someone who’d lived on the edge for so long. He might have chosen it, in fact. A sudden death in the midst of a dangerous adventure. Mind you, if he’d chosen it, he would have timed it a bit better.
    Like when he was in his nineties, maybe.
    No. The shame came from a sense of failure that he wasn’t able to protect Becca and keep her safe.
    He was failing Matt.
    He was failing Becca.
    Most of all, he was failing himself.
    He wrapped his arms tightly around her and turned so that it would be his back that got any impact first. He used one hand to cradle her head against his shoulder, letting her bury her face so she wouldn’t see what was happening. He even curled over her protectively, resting his temple on the top of her head. Both their masks had been ripped off somehow in the past minute or two and when he turned ever so slightly, he could press his lips against her hair.
    He told himself he was comforting her but he knew he needed the comfort himself just as badly. He didn’t want to die, dammit. Life was too precious and he still had too much he needed to do. And learn. New things to discover that he might not even know existed yet.
    Like this … this incredible sensation of holding Becca that was unlike anything he’d ever experienced with a woman in his arms. This was so astonishingly … tender. No wonder he’d never gone looking for it. The sensation seeped into every cell of his body and made him feel curiously … raw.
    Vulnerable?
    No. He might have an excuse for letting the volcano do that to him but Jet Munroe didn’t do vulnerable. He’d learned not to at a very early age. Probably when he’d been a grubby kid with scabby knees and strangers had been telling him