Machu Picchu promptly opened each day at six o’clock in the morning and closed each and every day at five in the afternoon, and although we had no intention of spending eleven hours on the mountaintop, we did want to get our money’s worth and make the most of this big, expensive adventure. Besides, I’d made a promise to Ray. I had to get to the top. If it hadn’t been for the promise, the plan, the fact that this was supposed to be my honeymoon, after everything that had taken place so far, and that maniacal drug-lords or gangsters were after me, I’d have packed up and headed for home long ago. But no, I had a promise to keep, I had a plan, and I intended to see it through. So we set our alarm for 4 a.m., ate a quick breakfast of instant oatmeal and banana — we’d purchased a few rations before retiring for the evening the night before — washed it all down with coffee, and set out for the mountain by four thirty, wanting to beat the rush.

Apparently, the majority of Machu Picchu visitors either hike the Inca Trail or catch the bus in Aguas Calientes, which takes you right up to the very top. But we were trying to be frugal, we’d already lost a lot on the trip, and we needed to count every penny, so we decided to hike up. But as it turned out, the term hike was a bit of an understatement, because what it really was, was 1,500 stairs straight up. Now add fifty minutes of torrential rain, and my green plastic poncho quickly morphed into a steaming sweat box of death while Derrick looked more like a hot mess of gorgeous, with his spiky eyelashes and his shirt sticking to his abs.

I had a mini, no, let’s call it, microscopic hissy fit around step 1,000 when we discovered the first covered resting spot, and it informed us with belittling glee that we only had 500 steps to go. We encountered no other tourists hiking up, only locals heading to work, and maybe all of ten people passed us coming down, which prompted us to start wondering if we were doing something wrong — if maybe we weren’t supposed to hike up.

Upon entering the monument, I felt slightly deflated. There was no majestic, iconic view. That first look is reserved for the mud-caked trekkers who spent the last five days on the Incan trail, with their backpacks, wet clothes, dehydrated food, and pricey Sherpas. But we made our way inside, and as I had hoped, the clouds did part, the sun came out, and I was finally granted my tiny little moment of bliss. Complete with a sudden warm gust of wind lifting the hair off my neck and into a whirl of yellow fire around my head.

We walked forward, and Derrick stopped, digging into his backpack and bringing out yet another book. I lifted one eyebrow, and he grinned. “Machu Picchu Guidebook. The Ultimate Traveler isn’t nearly in-depth enough.” I rolled my eyes; I bet he was going to be more informative than many of the guides. He wandered off toward the edge of a small ledge to get a better view, and I took the opportunity of sudden solace to observe my surroundings in peace.

A harsh sob caught in my throat as I slowly took it all in, took in the magic of the ancient ruins, the history, the immense feeling of getting to witness something so much greater than myself. The Incas had built a city on the top of the mountain, long before the days of cranes and wrecking balls and dump trucks. It was incredibly humbling, and I couldn’t believe I’d made it to the top. I was finally here. Finally, where I was supposed to be on this specific day. I’d fulfilled my promise. Carried out the plan. I was here for my honeymoon… it just wasn’t with Ray.

“Well, Ray,” I said under my breath, making sure that no one, not even Derrick, could hear me. “We made it. I made it. I’m here, as planned, as promised.” I reached into my pocket and pulled out a vial the length of my pinky finger; it contained a small of amount his ashes. They’d managed to recover his body, along with a few of the other crew members a short while after their boat had capsized, their bodies having washed up on a nearby island after the storm. I had been grateful in a way that they’d found him, but also horrified that he’d laid on a rocky arctic beach for so long, denied his final rest. But I knew he’d want to see it all, too, to spend time here, even if just in the afterlife.

After all, Machu Picchu and Peru for our anniversary had been his idea; he’d wanted to see it his entire life. He’d taken the course on the Incan culture while in university; he’d been the one who had done all the research and planned the trip nearly two years in advance. We were to hike the great Inca Trail all the way, five days sleeping in a tent and carrying our food on our back, with a guide and Sherpa. So, I guess I hadn’t done everything exactly as planned. But it was for this reason I’d wanted to hike up rather than take the bus. I wasn’t a camper. I would have done it for Ray, but I much prefer the comfort of a nice cozy bed that isn’t on the cold, hard ground. But I would have sucked it up and enjoyed it because I would have been with Ray, and that was what had mattered.

I opened the vial and waited until no one was around. Derrick was a busy bee snapping shots with his camera, and for the moment, no one was in my space. I poured the ashes out into my hand, whispered a final goodbye, and let them go on the breeze, tears burning my eyes as I watched my husband float away, up high into the sky. As I finally let him go.

“Ready to go?” Derrick asked, coming up behind me a few seconds later, wrapping an arm around me and planting a quick peck on my temple.

I hastily wiped my eyes with the back of my wrist and nodded. Ray was already gone, his ashes caught up in the gust of wind and seeing the ruins from the clouds. I said one last goodbye in my mind and then turned to go, nodding and plastering on a big grin as I followed Derrick down the path toward the first ancient doorway.

The place was incredible, to say the least. Inspiring and jaw-dropping at every turn. And my tour guide, with his nose buried in the book, rattling off information like Siri, was incredibly informative. Our first view was of the agricultural plaza, which was run by a posse of territorial alpacas. They didn’t appear to be afraid of humans, but I steered clear, standing at a safe distance and tossing on a giant fake smile when Derrick asked me to pose for a picture.

Machu Picchu is huge, and what we were expecting to take an hour or two to explore took closer to four. We would stop and read the guidebook, chat with other tourists, or if the guidebook seemed to be lagging, inconspicuously hang out and listen to a paid-for tour guide give his or her spiel about a certain room or funky-looking rock.

And then, just for good measure, and because we’d paid for it, we decided to put our quads and hammies through the wringer one more time and made our way up the foreboding big brother mountain Huayna Picchu. Another 1000-plus steps, steeper than the first fifteen hundred, and with a slew more people coming down and passing us slowpokes on their way up. But it was so worth it.

I had a mild touch of vertigo when we finally reached the top. It was a loooong way down. Machu Picchu looked like a tiny, elaborate ant farm, and there wasn’t any fencing or barricades between the throngs of tourists, bumping into one another for that “perfect shot” and a long fall and bone-shattering crash at the bottom. We spent roughly an hour up on Huayna Picchu, taking pictures and relaxing in the sun, but eventually, we knew we had to go back down.

It was on that last and final step, coming off the mountain, that Derrick stumbled and nearly fell head-first into a rock wall that I’m sure had at one point served as part of a house or church or something.

I grabbed him by the arm and helped him stand up. “Are you okay?”

He looked green; no, he looked gray, and his pallor was frightening, and I immediately ushered him over to a couple of big square rocks, instructing him to sit down. I took the backpack from him and brought out a water bottle, taking the cap off and handing it to him. He chugged it greedily, a few droplets making their way down his neck and onto his shirt.

“You okay?” I asked again. Panic threatened to unleash itself in my body if his answer was anything besides “absolutely.” We were on the top of a mountain, we’d just hiked two mountains, and he was still recovering from an infection. What had we been thinking doing those hikes?

He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. “I’ll be okay. I’m…I’m just going to lie here for a bit, but I’ll be fine.” He slowly fell back against the rock and curled up into the fetal position, hugging himself, a wince of pain drawing his mouth and eyes tight.

“Where does it hurt?” I asked quietly, sitting down next to him and brushing his hair from his forehead. He didn’t have a fever, and his skin wasn’t clammy; these were both good signs.

“My stomach,” he groaned, curling up even tighter. “I think I may have overdone it.”

I rolled my eyes and scoffed. “Uh, yeah, you think?” But then I immediately felt awful, realizing that both the first hike and Huayna Picchu had been my idea. They'd been Ray’s idea, but I’d needed to do them. Derrick was in pain because of me. “I’m sorry. I should never have made you climb up here, or do Huayna Picchu. This is my fault. I’m so sorry.”

He opened his eyes; his hand came up to cup my face. “This isn’t your fault. I did those things because I wanted to. I’m glad we’re sharing this experience together. But maybe just give me thirty minutes and then we’ll go, okay?”

I turned my face into his palm and nodded, and his lids fluttered shut. Checking his pulse one more time to make sure he was just resting, I let out a relieved sigh, hunkered down next to him, pulled out the guidebook and started to read.

It was roughly an hour or so later when Derrick finally roused and attempted to sit up. He’d fallen asleep, and even though he’d asked for thirty minutes, I was loath to wake him. And it was probably a good thing I hadn’t. His color was better, and the life was back in his eyes. He also no longer had that pinched face, the face he made when everything hurt.

“Ready to go?” he asked, having stood up and stretched, offering me his hand to help me to my feet.

“Should we see about taking the bus down? Might be best, seeing as you’re not feeling well.”

He shook his head. “It’s like ten dollars. We can go buy some wine and a decent meal each for the price of our tickets. Besides, it’s all downhill now. It won’t take nearly as long. I’ll be fine.” He reached for my hand and pulled me toward the exit. Meanwhile, all I could think about was the possibility of him keeling over halfway down the trail and me having to sling him over my back and Sherpa him down the mountain.

We were quiet for the first thirty minutes of the hike down. He’d given me another terrible fright, and I wasn’t quite sure how to handle it. I couldn’t lose him, not here, not now, not ever. I stuck close to him, offering to help him down any steep or slick rock, but he would just shake his head and say he was okay. So I’d clam up again, put my head down and power forward.

It was starting to spit rain again, and I asked him if he wanted my poncho, worried that he might catch a chill and suddenly face-plant in the mud, and I’d be left trying to perform CPR in a monsoon.

He spun around on the rock to look at me. “I’m okay, Piper, believe me. I don’t need a poncho. I don’t need help down. I’m okay.”

I swallowed and nodded, still not entirely convinced. He hits me with the news while he’s lying on a gurney that he was recovering from brain surgery. Fucking brain surgery. And then twenty minutes ago he’d been curled up in the fetal position on an ancient Incan rock, complaining of stomach pain. And not forty-eight hours ago, he’d been “donating” blood involuntarily to a pack of hungry Peruvian vampires in peach scrubs. I had every right and reason to doubt his reassurance and deflections. I’d thought more than once on this trip that he was going to die; my fears were not unfounded.

Suddenly, as they had on our way up the mountain, the skies opened up, and it started to rain. Heavy, unrelenting rain. We were drenched in seconds, and it was still almost forty minutes to the bottom of the mountain.

Derrick’s eyes caught mine as I blinked the water off my lashes, licking my lips while brushing my hair from my face. His shirt clung to him, defining each pec and ab, while the skin on his arms and neck glistened like polished bronze.

“Okay?” he asked. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m not going to die.”

My lip trembled, while tears stung the back of my eyes. I couldn’t lose him. He reached for me, pulling me hard against his chest. Absorbing my fear. His hands drove into my hair, holding my face inches from him. “I’m not going anywhere, okay? You believe me?”

I nodded again, a sudden shiver racing down my spine.

His eyes shifted across my face, studying me as the rain continued to hammer down and around us. And then his mouth smashed against mine, obliterating any thought besides yes from my mind. Devouring me, savoring me, possessing me. He wasn’t going anywhere, because I wouldn’t let him.

I returned the kiss in kind and grappled at him, leaping up onto his hips as he ploughed us off the path and through the woods a few yards. He tossed my pack to the ground and then my back was slammed up against a tree, his hands roaming my body and caressing my breasts, pushing into me, showing me with his body how he felt.

I was hot for him. This needed to happen. I needed him now like I needed to breathe. I started to work his belt, and then the zipper on his shorts. His bags fell to the ground as he let his hands slide up my tank top, like he was desperate to have skin to skin. Everything was wet and slippery, and the way his hands skimmed across my body and up under my bra made me quiver with longing.

His teeth grazed my jaw. “Yes,” I panted, letting my head fall back against the tree, my eyes and mouth opening up and welcoming the falling sky.

My shorts were next, and within seconds they were off and dangled by an ankle, his cock poised at my entrance and ready to thrust. Moving my thong to the side, he drew his hand up between my folds, making sure I was good and wet for him, ready. And I was, I was so ready.

“Please...” I begged. Knowing he loved it when I begged, but also truly feeling the need to plead with him for my life. “Please.”

Pure masculine triumph smiled back at me, and then he bit my lip, lifted my hips and drove home.

I grunted from the impact. “Oh, God.” My back slammed into the tree, rough bark damp against my skin. “More… harder.”

He bared his teeth and started to pick up speed, slamming into me. Dominating me, taking me, captivating me. My whole body was trembling from the savagery of his passion, the brutality of his need. I wanted bruises, I wanted bite marks, and I wanted them to be from Derrick. I raked my teeth down his neck, followed by my tongue. Feeling the pulsing vein that ran beneath his salty skin.

I felt alive. On fire and so damned good. Every draw of his cock left me greedy for more, while my whole body sighed and submitted each time he filled me, welcoming him home, pulling him in. Derrick brought his hand between us again and started rubbing rough and erratic circles around my clit. His digits slipped easily through my slick folds, feeling them swell as my need for release grew. I felt the warmth of the orgasm begin to bloom deep in my belly, threatening to unleash and overthrow my entire being.

“Derrick,” I mewled, not sure I’d be able to hold on much longer, and not sure if I wanted to. It was all becoming too much to handle. I needed to let go.

“Piper…” he said. “Come for me.” And then once again, maybe because he loved it, or perhaps because he knew I did, either way the vampire re-emerged, and he clamped down on my shoulder, snarling as he came.

I broke with a sharp cry as the climax blossomed and unfurled inside of me, spearing through me and rocking my very soul. I panted and sighed as the sensation washed over me, feeling him pulse as I contracted around him, milking him, claiming him, taking everything he had to give me.

A slippery wet forehead fell to mine while his body started to shake. I opened my eyes, rain blurring my vision. He was laughing.

I wasn’t even sure what was funny, but I started to laugh, too. “What’s so funny?” Our bodies were still connected.

He continued to chuckle, rubbing his nose against mine while our lips softly slid across one another. “Just how maniacal you make me. Since first seeing you in the airport, a flurry of gypsy skirts and mermaid hair, I’ve been consumed with this need to take you, hard and often. And hell, if I’m not trying my damnedest to do that.” He shook his head. “You’re driving me crazy.”

I blinked up at him. I’d felt the same way. I’d wanted him the moment I saw him, too. Thought about his body covering mine. His tongue between my legs, his hands on my breasts. And since that first day in Miraflores, I hadn’t been able to get enough. The man was a drug.

I flicked my tongue out and grazed it against his bottom lip. “Crazy’s just fine when the sex is as hot as this.”

He growled low and feral in his throat. “You’re going to ruin me, Piper.”

“Ruin you, or reinvent you?” I snagged his lip between my teeth and pulled.

Another growl rumbled, this time deep in his chest, and I felt him begin to grow again inside of me. The man was absolutely insatiable.

“Oh, little Piper…” He bucked up into me while a wily grin caught on his mouth as he took in my sudden wide eyes from how hard he already was again. “I think the word we’re looking for here is resurrect.” He started to slam into me again. “Because, baby, before I met you… I was damn near dead.”