The Complete Harvesters Series

by Luke R. Mitchell

  One of them—Stun Gun, Jarek thought—didn’t resist the urge to audibly mutter, “Fucking raknoth-lovers.”

  And then they were gone, and Alaric shifted his calm gaze to Drogan. “You too.”

  Drogan looked for a few seconds as if he might implore Alaric to make him move, but then he stood, the red fire draining from his eyes, and, with a shrug, strode out of the room.

  “Might not wanna go far,” Alaric added over his shoulder.

  Jarek refrained from pointing out that keeping the raknoth anywhere nearby kind of ruined the point of asking him to leave in the first place anyway. It wasn’t like Drogan couldn’t hear them from a room or two over.

  Somehow, the detail didn’t seem so important as Alaric finally turned to Jarek and skewered him with a stern glare.

  “And what brings you here at this creepy hour?” Jarek asked, fighting the urge to squirm.

  “I had business nearby. And you’re welcome by the way.”

  “Yeah…” Jarek touched lightly at the aching right side of his face and winced at the fresh pulse of pain. “I never was the most popular kid in class.”

  Alaric broke eye contact to fish into his coat pocket, no doubt going for a wad of his favorite chew. “I can’t imagine why.”

  Jarek quietly watched Alaric go about his masticatory ritual. “I suppose you’re pretty pissed with me right now too,” he finally said.

  “Well, what the hell else would you expect?” Alaric jammed a pinch of green leaves into his mouth. “What were you thinking, shirking a direct order? What did you expect me to do about that?”

  Jarek shook his head. “I don’t know.” He nodded toward the doorway where his personal protesters had fled. “They’re not wrong. I’d be lying if I said I took the time to even think about it.”

  He waited for Alaric to attack, to hop onto the back of his admission and dig in, but the commander only stood there, steadily chewing, watching Jarek as if he were waiting for him to continue.

  Jarek dropped Alaric’s stare and fixed his gaze on the uninteresting blanket covering his lower body. “I made the wrong call.”

  Silence.

  “I made the wrong call, and people died.”

  Silence.

  Finally, he looked back up at Alaric. “I fucked up, okay? You think I don’t know that? Come on, let me have it. Tell me I’m an arrogant prick, that I don’t deserve the suit.”

  Alaric only chewed on in maddening silence.

  “Tell me, goddammit!”

  He hadn’t meant to yell—hadn’t meant to say anything at all. It was exactly what Alaric wanted, he knew.

  Jarek didn’t play on this side of head games—didn’t bend and break under the weight of the shit he’d accepted a long time ago might happen as he fought for survival. He sure as hell didn’t lose control and wallow in self-doubt.

  And yet here he was.

  He looked away from Alaric, refusing to go on.

  Alaric let out a heavy sigh. “Dammit. I’d be tempted to knock some sense into you myself if you didn’t look so damned pathetic right now.”

  “Yeah… Well, join the club.”

  “Screw Rodgers and his buddies.” Alaric shook his head. “You’re too damn far up your own ass to even understand why I’m angry, aren’t you?”

  “Uh, maybe?”

  Jarek was genuinely unsure at this point.

  Alaric closed the gap to Jarek’s bedside in four sweeping steps, looking like he may or may not pistol whip Jarek at the end of the line.

  “It’s not obedient yes men we need here, son. If we’re gonna take on a whole group of things that can do this”—he pointed to Jarek’s shoulder—“we need leaders. Strong ones. Ones who can inspire by example, who look before they leap and actually give half a rat’s ass about the men and women fighting beside them.” He jabbed a hard finger into Jarek’s chest. “Leaders who don’t pull the shit you just pulled. Do you understand me?”

  On any other day, coming from any other person, those probably would have been nut-punching words. Now though, coming from Alaric, and with all the unsavory weight of his recent failures sitting at the back of his throat, Jarek felt like he was the one on the receiving end of said punch.

  So he gave Alaric a nod and kept his mouth shut.

  “Well hallelujah, then.” Alaric shook his head and sighed.

  Jarek waited a few seconds to be sure he was done. Then, “That business you mentioned a minute ago… Seth?”

  Alaric’s jaw tightened, and he glanced at the door before speaking. “We’ll discuss your punishment after you’ve recovered enough to be useful.”

  “Guess that means the penalty’s not death, huh?”

  “Not this time.”

  He knew Alaric was joking—or mostly joking, at least—but that didn’t keep his insides, or specific parts of his outsides, from shriveling a bit at the commander’s stern glare.

  Apparently satisfied he’d met his glare wattage quota for the night, Alaric turned to leave.

  He paused at the doorway and spoke without looking back. “It was a good call, speaking to Seth about bridging the gap between our camp and Krogoth’s.” Slowly, he looked over his shoulder to meet Jarek’s eyes. “Unlike some people in this room, I’m not above occasionally listening to reason.”

  And with that, he was gone, leaving Jarek alone with nothing but a heaping pile of guilt and a large side of shame.

  Drogan stalked back into the room less than a minute after Alaric left, which suggested that he hadn’t gone far at all and, consequently, that he’d probably heard Jarek’s chastising loud and clear. If he had though, he hid the smug smile Jarek expected quite well.

  “Sleep,” Drogan said, switching off the main lights and disappearing back into his dark corner. A scrape and the faint groan of metal accommodating a heavy load told Jarek Drogan had settled back in his chair. “I will see to it your recovery is not interfered with.”

  Jarek showed the dark ceiling a bitter smile. “Don’t tell me you’re worried about me, Stumpy?”

  “You may yet prove useful in this fight,” came Drogan’s reply from the darkness.

  “Aw shucks, buddy.” Jarek brushed the throbbing right side of his head. “But, much as I appreciate the sappy sentiment, I can’t help pointing out you could have acted a bit sooner back there.”

  When Drogan spoke, Jarek had the impression the raknoth was smiling. “You appeared to have the situation reasonably under control.”

  “Oh yeah. Clearly.” Jarek frowned at the darkness. “And not that I don’t also appreciate the shitty bodyguard act and everything, but what are you doing hanging here instead of Camp Krogoth?”

  Hesitant silence. Then, “The Zar is… less than pleased with my recent actions.”

  “Oh yeah? You’re telling me your boss isn’t a fan of his guys going rogue either?”

  “Indeed.”

  Jarek considered that. “Huh. You never really struck me as the cower from the angry master type.”

  A faint growl rumbled from the darkness. “I thought it best not to provoke him with my continued presence. This is hardly the time to allow pride to disrupt our ranks.”

  “Sure, sure.”

  Jarek couldn’t really argue with that. Hell, he could probably even stand to learn a lesson or two from Drogan. The guy did have at least a few thousand years of experience on him, after all.

  Silence stretched between them. Maybe it was the residual nerves from his near brush with a prison-style beat down, or maybe it was just the discontent Alaric’s words had left roiling in his stomach, but Jarek felt compelled to fill it.

  “Well look at us, Stumps. Just two pals on the outs with our own—”

  “Will you silence your tongue and do something productive?” Drogan snapped. “Sleep. Heal. The sooner you can fight, the sooner you can help me destroy Kul’Gada and the others.”

  “Definitely. That’s a plan. Just facing down the galaxy-conquering monsters, you know. Two pals, side-by-si—
”

  Drogan growled, louder than before.

  “Fine,” Jarek said. “Have it your way, grumpy. Grumpy Stumpy.”

  The growl grew until Jarek could feel it in his own chest.

  “All right, all right.”

  Jarek shifted around until he found a semi-comfortable—or at least less uncomfortable—position, then he closed his eyes and settled in to wait with his heavy thoughts for the sleep that probably wouldn’t come.

  16

  Being cooped up at Pryce’s with the Enochians, Rachel decided, wasn’t so bad once she’d made it through the initial sorry I sort of tried to murder you awkwardness with Alton. To his credit, or maybe just further against hers, Alton made it about as easy as it could’ve been. Whether it was his own guilty conscience telling him he’d kind of deserved it all along or he was just a better actor than she’d feared, he seemed to approach the entire affair with a calm attitude of hey, shit happens… but it’d better not happen again.

  Which was fair enough, she supposed.

  Forgiveness was one thing, and possibly an unobtainable thing at that, but agreeing to at least not pull something like that again…

  After everything that had happened, she could do that much.

  That said, she’d done her best to avoid Alton since, and he’d made a point to accommodate her efforts. And now, after a long day of enchanting and a few hours of deep, dreamless sleep, Rachel didn’t lament stepping out of Pryce’s to stretch her legs—even if it was alongside Alton and the Enochians.

  For reasons unknown, Krogoth had apparently had some change of heart through the night and agreed to finally have a proper conference with the Resistance commanders. Soon, the council would be meeting with him and whichever other raknoth clan leaders were willing to play ball at this point to discuss next moves now that Gada was irrefutably here and coming for them.

  Rachel wasn’t so sure Krogoth agreeing to talk really changed anything about the fundamental relationship between his forces and the Resistance—or that she felt any differently about the entire alliance herself, even after the business with Alton. But, at the very least, it probably wasn’t a negative development where their mutual survival was concerned.

  Stupid as it might’ve been, though, Rachel was a bit more preoccupied with the thought of facing Jarek at the moment.

  She hadn’t responded to his message yesterday, nor had he tried to reach her again. Left to her own devices, she might have tried to put off seeing him on this particular visit to HQ, but when Haldin had asked if she minded him tagging along to see their wounded wise-ass…

  Well, if she could face Alton, she could face Jarek.

  When they stepped into medical, Rachel was ready for the sight of ghastly wounds and Drogan’s saliva cup and syringe. Or so she thought.

  Ready or not, the sight of Jarek indelicately jamming a syringe tip between his staples and squirting raknoth spit into the wound he’d made a gruesome mess of turned Rachel’s stomach over.

  “Demons’ depths,” Haldin said as they entered. “What are you doing?”

  Jarek turned, his face tight with pain as he finished the last of what looked to have been at least three or four injections, judging from the state of the messy wound.

  His eyes took in Rachel and sent an anxious ripple through her chest before settling on Haldin.

  “I’ll tell you what I’m not doing. I’m definitely not blatantly disregarding the opinion of a licensed medical professional.” He grimaced and extracted the syringe tip. “And I’m sure as hell not pumping myself full of raknoth spit in hopes of gaining superhero-like healing powers. That would be crazy.”

  Behind Jarek, Drogan gave an innocent shrug.

  “No, I understand what you’re doing,” Haldin said, “but… Sweet Alpha, man, you couldn’t at least find a needle or something?”

  Jarek tried to shrug but winced instead. “Agh! Dammit! I think aforementioned medical professional hid said needles after we asked for her help, uh, shooting up the vitamin R, if you will. I’d go so far as to say she didn’t trust us to behave responsibly.”

  Haldin smiled. “Guess you showed her.”

  “Totally.” Jarek threw the syringe in the waste bin by his bed and extended his good hand toward Drogan in a closed fist. “Put it there, Stumpy.”

  The raknoth crushed the paper cup in his hand and frowned down at Jarek’s fist. Then, hesitantly, Drogan extended his fist to meet Jarek’s.

  It was almost sweet, in a bizarre kind of way. Minus the part where the gesture only solidified Rachel’s conviction that Jarek was not going to be happy about what she’d done to Alton—or already wasn’t, if Drogan had filled him in.

  She wasn’t in any hurry to broach that topic, though, so she didn’t complain when Haldin asked Jarek how he was feeling and proceeded to fill him in on the fight and his assessment of how Gada had handled himself.

  Jarek’s gaze drifted her way several times throughout, but he kept whatever questions he wanted to ask to himself for the time being.

  They were turning to the topic of how they might go about handling Gada the next time around when something brushed softly at the edge of Rachel’s mind, faint and unobtrusive, but most certainly there.

  It was the feeling she’d come to associate with the messengers, and it made her go tight inside and out. The dread only deepened when she noticed Drogan and Haldin looked to have felt something too.

  Not now. Not another furor.

  Haldin held up a finger to Jarek, who dropped silent and took the three of them in without batting an eye. He could probably tell something was off with all of them.

  Haldin closed his eyes and switched the glyph on his cloaking pendant to the off position.

  Rachel pulled her mental defenses tight and followed his example.

  The soft buzzing presence at the edge of her mind immediately resolved into a voice like a dozen loosely synchronized whispers.

  “—who still serve your true Masters. Join us in ending this mockery of our established order and we will grant you forgiveness. We will cure you of the ailment that chains you to this feeble race, and you will be free to return to your proper place as emissaries of the Kul. This I offer only once. Join us, or prepare to meet the eternal void.”

  With that, the presence vanished.

  Gada. That had been Gada’s voice. She was sure of it.

  Drogan’s eyes were glowing faint crimson now. Rachel reached for her energy stores just in case and watched for any other reaction.

  Was he thinking about it? Turning on them? Fleeing back to his masters for forgiveness?

  And what about the rest of the raknoth who’d heard?

  Drogan’s eyes dimmed as they turned to her and Haldin. “Lies. The rakul do not forgive. They would not hold the power they currently do otherwise.”

  Rachel let out the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “How many of your buddies will come to that conclusion?”

  Drogan frowned at her as he thought about that. “I cannot say. Fear rarely makes for intelligent decisions.”

  She tensed and had to bite down on a retort.

  What were the chances that wasn’t a shot at her recent failure?

  “Okay, gang,” Jarek said, breaking the tension whether he knew it or not. “I think this is the part where you fill in the guy who isn’t sporting a telepathy dish on his noggin.”

  “Kul’Gada calls for those raknoth still loyal to the rakul to join him in destroying us,” Drogan said.

  “Ah.” Jarek scratched at his head with his good hand. “Well shit.”

  “Probably doesn’t bode well for the state of our current alliances,” Haldin agreed.

  “What,” Jarek said, “you mean you don’t think the fine people out there will trust our raknoth buddies once they realize their old boss just offered them their jobs back?”

  “Well,” Haldin said with a sideways glance at Rachel she appreciated like a slap in the face, “as much as a hug fest as it’s
been so far…”

  Rachel could have kicked the Enochian square in the pants for the way Jarek’s dark, piercing eyes assessed them after that.

  If he hadn’t been sure before that something had happened, he probably was now.

  “We need to get ahead of this before word spreads,” Haldin said. He looked at Drogan. “We also need to figure out which raknoth are going to flip on us. Because I doubt they’re all just gonna tell the Masters to suck it.”

  Drogan nodded. “I concur. We will extract oaths of true fealty from those with us. We will root out those who think to betray us to our doom”—he pounded fist and open palm together—“and they will be the ones who will suck it!”

  Jarek barked a laugh at that, and, despite everything else, Rachel almost joined him. Determined to maintain her somber composure, though, she managed to retain her laughter to a brief silent shake.

  Drogan glanced between them uncertainly.

  “Excellent,” Haldin said, only partially succeeding in masking his own amusement. “We’re lucky to have you with us, Al’Drogan. Now I better go find Alton and speak to the commanders before someone catches scent of this thing.” He met Rachel’s gaze, and the desire to give him a groin shot only grew. “I’ll see you in the council chamber soon?”

  She gave Haldin a stiff nod, and he bade his farewells and headed back to meet his crew in the commons.

  The Enochian was right to take this new threat to their marginal internal peace seriously, but he was probably worrying preemptively. The only people who would’ve been able to hear the message would probably be the last people to spill the beans. Her, Haldin, Elise, the raknoth.

  And Michael.

  Her heart quickened.

  Michael. Shit. She’d been too wrapped up in her own little silent drama here to realize he’d probably felt the broadcast too. And, if past experiences were any indication, it was entirely possible he hadn’t done so quietly.

  “I have to go.”

  The realization fell out of her mouth on its own, a distant mumble next to the racing kaleidoscope her mind was playing out of all the ways this might imminently explode in their faces.