10.
Sheyla’s ears flicked backwards.
They were finally on the right track. Dark had fallen hours before, and for the first time, she caught a scent of wolf on the wind. Her breath huffed out in relief, as she’d been worried that she wouldn’t find the Animari before they reached the original rally point. Zan had been quiet during the run and surprisingly swift. Not once had he needed to ask her to slow down or let him rest, a feat she’d inquire about when they had time to spare.
As the brindle wolf broke from the evergreen tangle, she shifted and said, “The main group can’t be far behind. Take me to them.”
The wolf growled; she understood enough rudimentary canid to know it was an assent. Switching forms yet again in the cold, after running for what felt like two days straight, sapped the last of her strength. All four of her legs trembled as she sprang after the scout. She went muzzle first into the snow and hissed as she scrambled up before the Eldritch could offer a hand.
There’s no time for this.
She found enough reserve energy to catch up with the wolf. The smell of unchanged wolves and bears lit up the forest, but well before that, she heard the clanking gears of the vehicles transporting the promised war machines. Luckily, they didn’t have to run far, less than two klicks before they reached the Animari reinforcements. The scout shifted first and shouted for the company to halt; Sheyla took the opportunity to layer up and keep from developing her own case of frostbite.
The icy wind still bit through her clothes. She didn’t recognize any of the wolves by sight or scent, but Callum McRae must be overseeing the delivery of armaments for the Order of St. Casimir. She tucked her gloved hands into her sleeves, wincing at the cold ache that went all the way down to her bones. Professionally she knew she needed to worry when the feeling went entirely, but this still sucked. The soldiers didn’t seem happy to be cooling their heels in the cold either, but this was life and death.
Now changed and dressed, the brindle wolf scout turned out to be a rangy man with salt and pepper hair and permanently weathered features. “What the hell is this?” he demanded.
Sheyla shook her head. “Don’t waste my time, we don’t have a lot of it. If you don’t have clearance to authorize a new rendezvous, find me somebody who does. I’ll talk to Callum and whoever’s in charge of the wolves.”
He stared for a long moment and then whirled with a mumbled, “Fucking cats.”
“Is there tension among Animari factions?” Zan asked.
Probably she shouldn’t answer truthfully, but they were allies, right? “Some is inevitable. Generally, we get on well enough.”
She stamped her feet, pacing in a tight circuit, until a towering figure broke through the lines and strode toward her. He looked like a statue come to life, stone-faced and imposing, wrapped in layers of wool, leather, and bristling fur. She would’ve recognized the bearded Callum anywhere; it was a relief to find at least one familiar face. A lean, silver-haired woman followed him, wolf by the smell of her.
Callum was terse, as ever, one of the things Sheyla liked best about him. “This is Raff’s second, Korin. You have something to say?”
Thus prompted, she spilled the news about the Golgoth combat unit and provided the new rendezvous coordinates. “We can’t afford to lose any of these supplies,” Sheyla said.
“We might be able to take that many Golgoth on the ground, but if—”
“The battle goes south, Hallowell is fucked,” Callum finished. “We won’t risk it.” His long legs ate up the distance as he went to spread the word.
Watching him, Korin sighed and shook her head. “He didn’t bother telling me your name since he already knew it.”
“I’m Sheyla Halek, resident physician in Ash Valley.”
“Korin Bowery.” The other woman surveyed her and then asked, “How long has it been since you ate?”
Sheyla shrugged; it was too much effort to count back. Beside her, the Eldritch assassin was subtly tallying men and equipment. That shouldn’t worry her since he was a member of Gavriel’s team and surely he was well-vetted, but the cries of the wounded from the bombs Talfayen had set off were still fresh in her head.
“Follow me. One of the vehicles has hot food.”
She had no thought of protesting. As she took the first step, the ground rumbled beneath her feet. Zan caught her when she went sideways, eyes locked on the massive orange glow on the horizon. The booms and rumbles kept coming after that first strike, continued for a solid five minutes, while everyone stood in shocked silence. Icy winds carried the smell of burning wood and molten metal, charred earth and—
“They used it,” Zan whispered.
Before she could reply, Callum had a hold of her arm, shaking her until her teeth clacked. “Who has the RVAC? Someone authorized a strike, I need intel.”
Sheyla knocked his hands away so hard that it probably would’ve broken fingers on anyone else. “You won’t get info any quicker by pissing me off.”
“Cal,” the wolf lieutenant chided.
“Fine. Sorry. Now speak.”
“I was promised food,” she said pointedly.
With a muffled curse, the war priest led the way to a Rover, a cramped space for the four of them, all dented metal and rusted rivets, where she curled up in between piles of supplies. Callum prepared a plate and shoved it at her with the least gracious expression ever. Partly to be an asshole and also because she was starved, Sheyla scarfed her food in silence. The Eldritch was just as hungry, she noted, though he kept a watchful eye on the atmosphere.
“We took the RVAC from Tycho’s Golgoth a few days ago,” she said at last.
“Our allies deployed it,” Korin said darkly.
Callum swore and slammed out of the vehicle. At first, Sheyla didn’t process the danger. She was too full, too comfortable, and frankly, she was fucking exhausted. But she caught the whispers of depravity as Korin argued with someone outside.
“We pull the plug right now,” someone was saying sharply. “No rendezvous, no supplies. We’ll be better off on our own.”
“I agree.” Sheyla recognized Korin’s voice, now tight with rage. “I’ve said since the beginning, we can’t trust the fucking Golgoth. This rebel prince is using us to fuel his war of succession, and he might even be worse than his brother.”
Sheyla was on her feet and moving before she thought twice. A shoulder nudge banged the door open, revealing a furious Korin, impassive Callum, and the wolf scout. Six eyes locked onto her, but she didn’t flinch.
“That is bullshit,” she snapped. “Prince Alastor didn’t order that strike lightly. He wouldn’t have done it for power or…” She hesitated, trying to figure out why he would. And then she knew. “He was protecting us. I was already in the wind when the situation broke and they had no way to update us without compromising their position. He’s not like his brother. Hell, he doesn’t even want the throne. He’s fighting to save people, not slaughter them, I swear.”
“You’re willing to stake everything on that promise?” Callum met her gaze, grave as a funeral song.
She didn’t look away. “I am.”
“Let me talk it over with some people. Feel free to wait in the Rover.” The war priest wheeled away, and the other two followed him like he had a magnet on his back.
The Eldritch hadn’t come out into the cold, but he did scrutinize her when she returned. “Did you settle it?”
“I hope so.” She couldn’t entertain the opposite prospect, and anxiety was chewing at her now, for the survival of the alliance, how Alastor might be faring without her. She asked the question nearly in self-defense. “How did you keep up with me anyway?”
“You did seem surprised.” Soft, delicate amusement threaded the words.
“Are you telling me or not?”
“It isn’t a secret. Much like the Animari learn to shift around puberty, my people develop a gift. Gavriel can manipulate data streams, for instance.”
“You mean like wiping his image from surveillance?” Handy for an assassin, Sheyla had to admit.
“Precisely. I, on the other hand… am fast.”
“You make it sound so mundane, but from where I’m sitting, it seems like magic.”
“That’s our mystique,” he said lightly.
She had follow-up questions, no chance to ask them, because Callum burst into the Rover and said, “This decision’s all on you, doc. We’re rolling out on your word.”
There are no survivors.
For hours afterward, Alastor replayed those words until it felt like they must burn their way out of his brain and blaze a trail of fire on the snowy ground. Both Ded and Rowena were watching him with anxious eyes; he didn’t look at them. He couldn’t. With one order, he’d executed hundreds of his own people. They would be calling him a traitor and a butcher in Golgerra, when the news reached the city.
“The crisis is averted,” Gavriel said.
The Noxblade’s report on salvage echoed in his ears, oddly distant. He couldn’t focus and when he lifted a hand to brush away a lock of hair straggling from his untidy ranking braids, he was surprised to see how much it trembled. Quickly Alastor curled his fingers into a fist and tucked it into his pocket. He wasn’t cold anymore; actually, he was hot as hell—to the point that an ice bath sounded heavenly.
Feverish. Should’ve realized it sooner.
They had reached the rendezvous site an hour before, and Alastor wanted to wait out the Animari arrival—to formally offer greetings to his allies—but his strength might not hold. Ded took two steps toward him and Alastor held up a hand, silently shaking his head. He wouldn’t get any rest fretting about the Animari, so there was no point in retiring. If he got worse, he’d prop himself against Ded’s shoulder and make it look insouciant.
It was a near thing and he was swaying when the rumble of engines broke the silence, followed swiftly by the halogen lights riding high on the front of the Rovers that led the convoy. The vehicles transporting the war machines were slower, grinding of gears that made them sound scary as hell. Alastor squared his shoulders and joined Gavriel, standing at attention for the arriving dignitaries. He nearly tipped over in bowing to the bear leader whose name escaped him, someone else from the wolves, and the whole time, he was scanning for a certain doctor. A sliver of ice dissolved in his heart when he located her, clambering wearily from a rear vehicle, closely flanked by the Eldritch that Gavriel had sent with her.
Other people’s words spilled like a river around him, just a rushing of noise, because she was standing ten meters from him and the snow turned to liquid silver at her feet, drowning her in moonlight. His heart turned over or tried to, so there came a wrenching pain in his chest. He wanted to push past everyone and bring her to him, tuck his face in the curve of her neck, and then maybe he could taste again that glimmer of peace that only came when he was listening to her breathe. He wanted to frame her face in his hands and see if her cheekbones would nestle into his palms, if his fingertips would alight perfectly beside her temples. Then he would whisper a thousand endearments, followed by the simplest of questions.
Are you tired? Have you eaten? To someone else, those prosaic queries might reduce him to yeoman status, hardly befitting a prince. But such tender curiosities were the brick and mortar of a life built together, one memory at a time, and it was a magic that he might never possess.
The moment splintered like some mystic mirror when Gavriel elbowed him. “Say something.”
Shit.
He’d lost the thread, no context for what had been spoken or asked. “I’m sure you must be exhausted,” he managed. “It is late and all of your questions will keep.”
“True enough,” the bear muttered. “But it’s by Dr. Halek’s grace that we’re here at all.”
He had no idea what that meant, but doubtless Sheyla would supply the details. Suddenly he couldn’t wait a second longer, executing an ungainly bow and then he carved a path toward her. She didn’t pull away when he took her hand and drew her to the tent they shared. Inside, the warm air felt thick in his aching lungs. It seemed as if it had been years since he’d seen her.
Her gaze was appraising, clinical. “You look terrible.”
“I missed you,” he said—with the wry, silly smile that simultaneously shared and shaded his true heart. “So much I thought I’d die of it.”
“Don’t even joke. My reputation’s at stake.”
“Sorry.”
“Let me take your temperature.” She moved toward her gear bag and he intercepted her, not with a forceful hold, but with a gossamer wreath of fingertips, more easily broken than a whispered promise.
She stilled.
“It’s elevated,” he said. “Not high enough to damage my brain. Can we not?”
“What?”
“Be doctor and patient. Just for tonight.”
“What do you want instead?” A not-quite-casual question and her head was bowed, eyes fixed on that sole point of contact.
To hold you, he thought.
He said the next best thing, and perhaps she wouldn’t think it was strange since she’d heard it before, but he knew his tone was aching. “To listen to you breathe.”
Alastor remembered telling her that he wished not to be alone but to be with someone who didn’t need him. His will had changed since then, a slow shift inexorable as lunar tides. Now he could not imagine anything more splendid than being the first face Sheyla Halek sought. Not even stopping his brother and ending the war.
Those dreams he must keep locked away, wrapped in chains like an old treasure chest.
She surprised him then. “I’m cold.”
It wasn’t like her to complain, and this had a different tenor, as if she was asking him for permission. He said, “Yes” without quite understanding what he was agreeing to. Sheyla put her fingers over his, and she was chilly, a welcome respite from fever heat.
“I’m prescribing energy exchange therapy,” she whispered. “To warm me and cool you. It should help both of us rest better.”
Alastor swallowed hard, nearly choking on a groan. His hands were deeply unsteady as he adjusted the heater. She was serene in stripping down whereas he was all eagerness and thumbs. Somehow, he managed to get them wrapped up in the thermal bedding. His breath hitched as she snuggled in; her hands and feet were icy when she tucked them against him. By morning, she’d either incinerate him or his fever would be broken, no middle ground.
At this rate, he might never get to sleep but it would be worth it. Not only could he feel her breath rushing against his shoulder, her scent was all over him, her hair spilling on his skin. Pleasurable chills rolled over him each time she inhaled. He thought she would pass out as soon as she warmed up, but little movements said she was still awake.
“Are you… doing something to me?” she whispered finally.
“Pardon?”
“That pheromone you mentioned before. Is that—”
“No.” He couldn’t contain the smile; it leached into his voice, too. “There’s no bloodlust.” Just normal desire, so if you want me… Alastor didn’t say it aloud, but he did feather a fingertip down her back and she rewarded him with a jerk and a shiver. In truth, he felt too ill and miserable to muster an erection, but he ached for her and it kindled the sweetest glow that she seemed to share his need.
“We have to sleep.”
“Please do.”
“You’re enjoying this,” she accused.
“You’ve no idea how much.”
Alastor stopped teasing her then, stroking her back in a soothing way, and soon, she melted into him, breath leveling out. Eventually, he slept too and in the morning, he was neither reduced to ashes nor completely well, though his fever did seem a little lower. He extricated himself from the delicious clutch of her arms and legs, downed his medicine, and headed out to have that postponed discussion with the other Animari. Fortunately, they were content to talk in the Rover. He crammed into the vehicle with the other leaders and did his best to explain while they covered the last leg of the journey to Hallowell in style.
“If that’s true,” said Callum eventually, “then we owe you our thanks.”
“It is,” Gavriel confirmed.
“Feel free to speak with our scout personally. Dr. Halek is right. I did not come to that choice easily.”
I’m so tired.
Still, he managed a smile for the bear leader and the wolf lieutenant, who didn’t seem to hate his guts. The tension eased as the driver called, “I’ve got Hallowell in sight!”
When the vehicle shuddered to a stop, Alastor choked back a groan. At some point, his fever had spiked again, and his knees felt like water. He took a single step out of the Rover and the world slid sideways.
As it had so often before, darkness claimed him.