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Don’t try to cool yourself off. Instead, heat your blood.
She didn’t know how to do that. Sweat poured off of her, soaking her clothes and slicking her limbs. She lowered to the floor, the loud rumble of the road rushing by enough to rattle her brain. Her eyes closed as she panted, lowering her cheek to the grimy floor.
Fatigued and dizzy, she fought a wave of motion sickness. The back of her dress glued to her skin, soaked through with sweat. Her pulse was dropping rapidly, and she started to shiver despite the heat.
Delilah, do not fall asleep!
She moaned, rolling to her back. Her clothes were drenched and her hair a damp mess of tangles. She wheezed, taking shallow breaths of the hot air. Her skin dried, her mouth unbearably parched. The arid darkness closed in on her, and she became disoriented, forgetting for a moment where she was.
Delilah… Delilah?
Could she die from heat stroke. She could feel her mind slowing down and her heart struggling to beat. She moaned when her brain started to throb. She needed air. Water. Anything.
Gasping, she tried to move but a sharp pain knifed through her back. The dull throb intensified and she wondered if her organs were shutting down.
Christian…
Delilah, I need you to stay awake. I’m not far behind you. Don’t lose our link.
Water…
I forbid you to fall asleep!
The sound of panic in Christian’s voice jolted her awake. She crawled toward the back of the truck, rolling as the truck swerved and lurched. Her body slammed into the back door and she weakly searched for the handle. Her palm swiped over flat metal. There was no internal latch or pull.
Listen to me, little one. You are a fighter. You’re strong. Delilah, do you hear me? Delilah? Discipline your body to obey your mind.
She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to force her blood to cool. Her body chilled and shivered, going into shock. Her muscles seized. She fell back, shaking violently, her jaw locking and her head knocking against the floor.
Delilah!
The seizure tripped something in her brain, and she lost all sense of Christian. She had no choice but to wait out the fit. Her mind short-circuited as she trembled mindlessly on the filthy floor, half dead from the suffocating heat.
She had no idea how long the seizure went on. Awareness was slow to return. Her heart fluttered with a small murmur as each of her organs pulsed and throbbed, stopping and starting as only her immortal blood kept her alive. Even her skin had wept all the cooling sweat she could produce. Now her flesh was just a dry casing around her dehydrated muscles and bones.
She was dying.
Weak and terrified, unable to reach Christian, she curled onto her side and sobbed. “God, help me…”
A plan had taken shape before Dane even realized he was moving. Gracie was cooking tonight, so everyone was at Cain and Destiny’s. That gave him an open window to find what he needed.
Flipping back the braided carpet in Adam and Anna’s den, he found the trap door he’d been looking for. Lifting the latch, he pulled and dust fell into the dark space below.
He dropped into the small chute, feet first, and landed on raw earth, under the house. Every home on the farm had a root cellar, but the Amish also needed a place to keep the weapons they technically used for hunting. Immortals didn’t need guns to successfully hunt, so their weapons were mostly stored under the house—forgotten.
The air cooled the moment he was under the earth, ducking through the shadows, searching for the guns. Cobwebs caught in his hair as he felt around. Grit from the stone foundation gathered under his nails, and his shoes pressed into the soft, loose dirt that made up the floor. This was one of the moments he wished he had the night vision of a full-bred immortal.
Metal scraped along the stone and his hand bolted out, catching the barrel of a rifle. Several guns rested against the wall. He felt around, searching for gunpowder and the like, only to knock over a box of modern ammunition.
He reached into the dirt finding the large casings and several other modern weapons hidden beneath a shelf tucked behind a concrete footing. “Hypocrites.”
He pocketed several and grabbed the largest gun he could find, then he retraced his steps to the trap door and got on his way.
Rolling the braided rug back into place, he rushed to the front door only to look back and wince at the trail of dirt and footprints he left. He wanted to clean it, but he only had so much time. And it wasn’t like they wouldn’t realize what he’d done by the end of the night. By tomorrow, they’d all know.
With the gun in his hand, he pulled the door closed. There was no going back now that he was armed with a plan.
