9.
Relieved to have delivered the message, Sheyla relaxed a little as reactions rumbled through the group. She’d eaten plenty of meat when she brought down the caribou, so she wasn’t weak, just weary and half-frozen. Alastor wore a troubled, pensive expression, which meant he was working out the implications. He and the Noxblade seemed to reach the same conclusion at once, though it was the assassin who spoke first.
“We have to change the meeting point,” Gavriel said. “Get on the comm.”
Alastor held up a hand, forestalling movement. “There’s a risk of signal jacking if we make plans on the wireless. Right now, they’re searching for us. If they overhear, they’ll know exactly where to look.”
“That’s true enough. Caution is warranted.” Gavriel turned to Sheyla. “Anything you can tell us about the enemy camp would be helpful.”
Everyone in their immediate vicinity quieted, leveling their gaze on her. She’d only gotten such a reaction from anxious families waiting for her to deliver a diagnosis. Into the sudden silence, she reported on equipment and weaponry, though she hadn’t gotten close enough to get a completely accurate count.
“Could you tell who was leading the troops?” Alastor asked.
Sheyla shook her head. “Sorry. I skirted the perimeter and noted as much as I could, but I was in a hurry to get out of there.”
Those numbers…
A shiver that had nothing to do with cold rocked through her. Sheyla had never been more terrified than in those moments when she crept toward the encampment, certain that any moment, one of the watchmen would stumble on her and sound the alarm. Because there was no question of her passing for an actual forest dweller, not in this territory, highlighted by the icy backdrop of a winter wasteland. Eamon’s condition when he was ransomed from Golgerra told Sheyla everything she needed to know about how she’d be treated as a prisoner of war.
She started when Alastor pulled her against his side; since he was arguing with Gavriel about the risks involved with contacting the other Animari, she suspected it was a reflexive move. For a couple of seconds, she considered elbowing him to get loose, but his body heat felt so good that she couldn’t force herself to do it. If she was completely honest, there was comfort in his unconscious support, too.
“Can’t we encrypt?” Gavriel was asking.
Alastor sighed. “Of course, but we’re using our tech. Don’t you think Tycho’s people can crack it? Hell, since we stole it from them, they might even have the key already.”
That made perfect sense to Sheyla, though Gavriel seemed irritated that Alastor was only offering problems, not solutions. “Someone has to carry a message,” she said. “Someone quick and quiet, preferably.”
Gavriel beckoned a pair of Noxblades, but unease gnawed at the back of her mind. She’d heard whispers of how first contact between the Noxblades and the pride master had gone catastrophically wrong. On the whole, the Animari didn’t trust the Eldritch, so she didn’t know if sending one of these fey bastards would work.
She vaguely recalled that the Order of St. Casimir was donating war machines, so the meeting might be with Callum from Burnt Amber, but it was unlikely that Raff would be leading the Pine Ridge delegation in sending reinforcements and supplies to Hallowell. Additionally, she had no reason to believe that these assassins knew shit about Animari diplomacy. The problem was, the Golgoth wouldn’t fare any better. In fact, the Animari might attack first and ask questions later, just as Dominic had done at the retreat.
Alastor nudged her, jolting her out of her thoughts. “You look like you ate something bad. What’s wrong?”
Sheyla raised onto her toes to whisper, “This won’t work. The rally point was arranged through channels, and they won’t agree to deviate from orders because a random Eldritch said so. They’ll question the veracity of the intel and probably wonder if it’s coming from the remnant of Talfayen’s traitors.”
“I can’t raise those objections without a plan B. You saw how he reacted to my suggestion that using the comm could be risky.”
Dammit. Only one solution that made sense. She was reluctant to speak up because she didn’t want to do it. The feeling was barely coming back into her fingers and toes, and she was so damn tired. Sighing, Sheyla rested her head against Alastor’s shoulder for a moment. Something flashed in his green gaze and then he brushed a gloved hand over her cheek, shaking his head in silent discouragement. Somehow, she knew he was thinking, You can’t.
I must, she told him silently.
“It appears you have an idea,” Gavriel said sharply.
Belatedly she realized there were scores of witnesses to this inappropriate intimacy and pulled away. “I’ll go.”
“That’s absurd,” Alastor snapped. “You’ve only just returned, and you’re a physician, not a scout.”
“But I’m the only one the Animari will believe.”
There was no arguing that. Yet Gavriel didn’t seem sold on the notion either. “I’ll send Zan with you for protection.”
His lieutenant stepped forward; he had unusual eyes, dark as pewter, and burnished coppery hair, unlike most of his compatriots, though otherwise, he was all Eldritch beauty with fine features and a lean build. He executed a neat bow before her.
“I hope we make good time. In Ash Valley, I’m a doctor, not a patrol officer.”
Zan smiled. “Everyone knows who you are. You treated my cousin’s frostbite.”
“Ah. Well…” It would be nice to have company, even a Noxblade she’d hardly knew, but she didn’t see how this could serve. “I doubt you’ll be able to keep up with me.”
“Let me worry about that,” he said. “I’ll also carry provisions and gear for you, which should make your return trip more comfortable.”
As Sheyla nodded and went to unbutton her coat, Alastor grabbed her hands. “You can’t actually intend to do this.”
“It’s not my first choice either but it’s the best hope for saving our allies without compromising our position.”
“She’s right,” Gavriel said. “We’ll maintain radio silence until we arrange a new rendezvous.”
The prince clenched his jaw on whatever he wanted to say, holding onto her hands until she thought she might have to pull free forcibly. Then he deliberately schooled his features, opened his fingers and stepped back. He beckoned to the pale-haired girl who always seemed to be hovering in proximity.
“Fetch the maps, lovely. We need to plot a new course.”
A frisson of annoyance curled through her at the casual endearment. Alastor shouldn’t flirt with a girl who already saw him as the moon and stars. She resisted the urge to scold him as Zan leaned in to say, “As soon as they give new coordinates, we should go.”
She nodded. Hopefully, the new site would permit them to skirt the huge group of Golgoth. Engaging those forces with their current numbers and supplies would be suicide. Sheyla didn’t realize she’d said it aloud until Alastor cut her a sharp look.
“Unless we use the RVAC.”
A weighted silence fell. Using an auto cannon in the field meant pure carnage. She suspected the group they’d intercepted had meant to lay siege to Ash Valley. Properly deployed, one such weapon would decimate hundreds of soldiers, even changed Golgoth shock troops. By Alastor’s grim expression, he was willing to make that dreadful choice. For the greater good. Judging from the flicker of self-loathing she caught before his lashes swept down, he too thought there should be limits to what sins he’d commit in pursuit of victory.
She wanted to comfort him. The urge swept her from head to toe, and she even took a step toward him like they were magnets with an opposite charge. Zan stayed her with a hand tapping lightly on her shoulder. “What would you like me to pack for you?”
“I’ve never had valet service before,” she said.
His mouth quirked in quiet appreciation of her attempt at humor, considering their overall shitty circumstances. “It’s my pleasure.”
It took all of five minutes to load Zan’s rucksack with useful items, another five for Gavriel and Alastor to decide on a new site to meet up with the Animari. Before Sheyla shifted, the prince leaned close and his whispered “come back to me,” gusted so sweet against her ear, that she shivered.
“Ready?” Zan asked.
“As I’ll ever be.”
“Then let’s do this.”
Wrong. You cannot take her. She is my, my…my what? Once, the answer would’ve been doctor, and he could’ve stopped there. But now, there was only one word for her, one he could never speak aloud.
Mine.
As the Noxblade assigned to protect Sheyla spread his cloak so she could change, Alastor bit back a snarl. He could’ve happily snapped that bastard’s neck for sheltering her, for touching her clothes, plucking them from the snow and tucking them away in his pack. It didn’t matter that he was only following orders; that knowledge did nothing to assuage Alastor’s wrath. He rumbled deep in his throat and clenched his fist against the burn of the spikes needling down his spine. From the hot trickle of blood, he guessed he wasn’t entirely successful. Ded clenched his forearm, he contained himself. Took a deep breath. Another.
“Enough,” Ded growled. “This is bigger than you. And her.”
The other man had acted as his bodyguard and friend for years, but never had he served as the voice of reason. With effort, Alastor turned his back and moved away. Each step felt like he was treading across razor wire and broken glass. A glance over one shoulder showed him the faint spatter of red left from his near lapse of control.
This is best. This is the safe course.
Yet no amount of logic silenced the word mine echoing in the back of his mind. Alastor didn’t look again until he was sure she’d gone. Instead of thinking about the doctor, he strode toward Gavriel, conscious that everyone was waiting to see what he’d do next. His own people knew of his condition, but it wasn’t common knowledge among the Eldritch yet.
“There’s no need to push the men,” he said. “We can pause for a meal before we move. The new rendezvous will take longer than six hours to reach, even at a hard march, and we have to allow Dr. Halek time to reach the Animari.”
“Agreed,” Gavriel said. “But the no-fire rule still applies.
Alastor shrugged. “My people will eat the meat raw. Will yours?”
In answer, the Noxblade jerked his head toward the caribou, which was nearly carved down to the bone. His men had such expert knife skills that they were slicing the steaks wafer thin and wolfing them down. Reluctantly amused, Alastor inclined his head, acknowledging that the assassin had scored a point.
“We are not as squeamish as you imagine,” Gavriel said, and there was a wealth of darkness in his blood-red gaze.
“That’s an unsubtle hint if ever I heard one. Consider me cautioned.” With a faint smile, he spun and raised his voice to carry. “Time to feast, you will need your strength!”
From their expressions, the men wanted to shout their support, but they contented themselves with raising an arm skyward, and then, one by one, they dropped to a knee and bowed their heads, pressing a fist against their chests. The silent act of fealty and obedience moved him so fiercely that he had to swipe at his eyes. Alastor blinked once, twice, and then scraped away moisture that froze almost the second it formed.
“Enough,” he muttered. “Eat. Eat!”
When he turned, Gavriel was there, like he always was. When Alastor moved to step around him, the Noxblade spoke. “I wasn’t sure until this moment, but I understand now why they follow you.”
“And why is that?”
“Not from fear of your brother. Not out of respect for your good deeds. It is pure love. There’s nothing stronger to compel complete compliance.”
“I don’t care if they obey,” Alastor snapped. “I wouldn’t stop a single soldier who wanted to go his own way, even now.”
“Your men know that. It’s part of why they love you.” Gavriel paused, not seeming to be aware of the picture he was compressing into the snow. It looked to Alastor as if he was forming the letter T. “Our princess is that way. She cares nothing for hierarchy, only free will.”
“I’d venture to guess that you esteem her more than most,” he said.
The Noxblade let out a sigh. “We’re all guilty of wanting what we can’t have from time to time.”
“Why can’t you?”
Gavriel only lifted a shoulder and headed for the raw steak. That seemed like both a good idea and an indication that the conversation was over, so Alastor followed. With Ded and Rowena close at hand, he ate his fill. There was next to nothing left when everyone finished, and Alastor suspected some still weren’t full. Physical comfort had to wait until they reached the comparative safety of Hallowell, assuming it wasn’t already too late.
“How long until we make the new rendezvous?” Alastor asked Rowena after she’d eaten.
“Twelve hours, if we move a little faster than before.”
Inwardly, he winced. He was already running on fumes. He gave a curt nod. “Let the Noxblade know, will you?”
She hesitated. “Must I?”
Alastor tipped his head. This was the first time she’d ever quibbled over a request. “Has Gavriel done something to offend you?”
“Not exactly.”
“Tell me,” he ordered.
“He seems to think I’m…”
“What?”
“A camp follower. It’s nothing he’s said. Just… an impression I get. Maybe I’m being too sensitive.” Her shoulders hunched and once again, she couldn’t meet his gaze.
“Unlikely.” Considering how broken she was when he pulled her from the block, it was a huge leap forward that she trusted him enough to object. “Never mind.”
In the milling confusion of two separate squads, he found Ded sucking the marrow from a rib bone, then he crunched up the shards and downed them with relish. “You need me?”
The guard had to be exhausted from holding his changed form for so long, plus battling primal instincts. Alastor asked, “Did something happen between Rowena and Gavriel?”
“He gave her a…look that first morning. After the fight. Seems to think that she was the center of an orgy. She was in my tent, and most of the men were entertained with each other.” That was a lot of words in base-Gol, and the conversation drew stares from the Eldritch nearby.
A few narrowed their eyes, like Alastor was plotting against them. He ignored the scrutiny. “Fuck. Regardless, it’s not his place to approve or disapprove. I guess the Eldritch tend toward prudery. I’ll talk to him.”
“I recommend you drop it down the priority list. We have more important issues.”
“Noted. I’ll put a pin in it. Let’s get the men motivated, shall we?”
Gavriel joined them in time to hear that. “Sounds like a plan.” When he beckoned, an Eldritch ran toward him. “I need you to check our route. Double back instantly if you spot trouble. We only get one shot at this meetup.”
“Understood, sir.”
The group rolled out ten minutes after the scout, and by then, Alastor had mustered enough energy that he could pretend he wasn’t half-dead already. Pain throbbed through him, so generalized that he couldn’t even figure out what was hurting. They had only been running for an hour when the sentry burst from the trees, snow churning beneath his feet.
“They’re moving,” the man gasped. “Only a few klicks out.”
Gavriel swore. “They’re on a search and destroy. Either us or the Animari.”
“Or both.” At this point, it hardly mattered who the Golgoth death squad planned to kill. Sooner or later it would be everyone who refused to swear fealty to Tycho.
“Best analysis?” Gavriel prompted.
The scout took a deep breath. “It’s impossible for us to avoid hostile engagement before we rendezvous with the Animari. I picked up some chatter on the comm… they’re running vehicular sweeps in a twenty-klick radius with shock troops on standby. They’ve got two C-TAKs, a whole Rover full of artillery, and—”
“We must clear a path,” Ded cut in.
There was no way he could permit those soldiers to carry out their orders. Knowing his brother, this would end in a scorched earth initiative, and the worst part was, there must be multiple units in the field, geared for mass extermination.
Have mercy on my soul, Alastor thought.
Then he made the only decision he could. “I want the best tech we’ve got, front and center. We need the RVAC targeting system online as soon as possible.”