Shadow and Ice (Gods of War)

by Gena Showalter

  “If possible, find them. During last check-in,” Ansel said, “my representative was alive. I want him freed, my chance of success doubled.”

  He didn’t bother to ask which of the slaves Ansel had sent, because it didn’t matter. One was the same as any other.

  “Now, the reason for our chat.” Ansel grinned with relish. “I’ve heard rumors about your companion. A Terran who killed the Occisor and Jetha combatants.”

  Knox swallowed a shout of pure, unadulterated rage; Ansel planned to use Vale as leverage. He’d known it would happen, but he’d expected more time.

  He had one recourse. Bluff. “And?” he asked, a brow arched.

  “Where is she? Tell me.”

  Though he fought it, the words rushed past clenched teeth. “She’s here. With me. In my bunker.”

  “As I suspected.” Ansel’s grin widened. “I want to see her. Show her to me.”

  Careful. If Vale insulted the male...if Ansel ordered Knox to harm her... He chastised himself for a lack of preparation.

  A fierce need to protect her arose, but still he was compelled to call, “Vale.”

  “Yo.” She peeked out of the closet, a vision of incomparable loveliness.

  He waved her over, the motion clipped. “Come here.” Wait. If she hadn’t dressed—

  Relief. Wearing her black tank and ripped jeans, she sauntered over and eased beside him. On her knees. The wrongness of it... Vale had no business kneeling before a man like Ansel.

  “Hey.” Looking bored, she checked her cuticles. “Nice to meet you, I guess.”

  Ansel scanned her leisurely, as if he had days to complete the task. By the time he finished, casual interest turned to masculine appreciation. “Very nice. I see why you’ve acted out of character, allowing her to live.”

  He covets what belongs to me. He dies.

  {Blank your mind, mask your face. Reveal nothing.}

  Again, Knox drew from the well of patience, reviving the illusion of calm and cobbling together a new mask.

  “If you want to survive the war,” Ansel told her, “you’ll give yourself the Mark of Disgrace. Then, after Knox wins, the two of you may live in my new realm, free and at peace.”

  Up went Vale’s chin. “I’m not exiting the war for any reason.”

  Panic minced the hard-won calm in seconds, until it could be tossed like confetti. If Ansel ordered him to punish Vale for her insolence...

  “Slave.” Ansel unveiled a chilling smile. “I’m in the mood for a show. Gut yourself.”

  A horrified Vale latched onto his wrist, trying to stop him as he unsheathed a dagger, but he was too strong for her, the compulsion to obey was too strong for him.

  He sank the blade deep into his gut.

  Warm blood poured from the wound, soaking his pants. He glanced at her, just as horrified, but also eaten up with shame.

  The king smirked. “I can see you care for him. As he must care for you, considering he put himself at risk to do so. But worry not for him. He’ll heal. Worry for yourself. If I order him to kill you, he will kill you. You will not talk him out of it.”

  “I need her,” Knox rushed out. “The eyaer told me she’s necessary for victory.” Truth. He simply left out the part about her usefulness running out.

  Ansel hiked up a single shoulder in a casual shrug. “What is necessary today can be expendable tomorrow. You can have everything or lose it. Your choice. Remember that, slave.”

  Curt nod. What else could he do? But all the while he seethed. Anyone who dared threatened his woman would pay the ultimate price. And the fact that Ansel had threatened her with the ultimate weapon—Knox himself—meant Ansel had to pay double.

  “Are you any closer to collecting the Horn of Summoning?” the king asked, unaware—or uncaring—about the beast he’d roused.

  “No.”

  A hiss of disappointment before Ansel snapped, “Get closer. My sources say the horn will decide the war’s victor.” He concluded the meeting then, the light above the ring dying.

  Sources. Oracles from the magical realm Knox had acquired?

  Knox struggled to control his breathing, his heartbeat thundering in his ears.

  Vale rushed around the bunker, gathering supplies. When she returned to his side, she cleaned and bandaged his wound. “He’s a total tool, isn’t he?”

  “Tool. Like a hammer?”

  “Like a jerk or a prick. There’s no way I’m taking the Mark of Disgrace. I’ll understand if you’re compelled to give me the hard sell, but don’t get mad when I refuse. After getting up close and personal with your monster of a king, I’m more determined to win the war.”

  “As long as I’m bound to him, I can’t go against him. I must get free.” Perhaps he would risk using Gunnar’s sword, after all.

  But the ramifications hadn’t changed. Even as a free man, he would remain Ansel’s representative, since he’d entered on his king’s behalf. On the flip side, as a free man he could kill Ansel the next time they were together, before the king ever sat upon the Terran throne.

  Problem was, Vale would be dead by then.

  {Yes. Kill the girl. Her power will only grow.}

  He didn’t care. He couldn’t, wouldn’t harm her.

  Unless ordered.

  Inhale, exhale. With the truth at her disposal, she might decide to forgo their partnership and strike at him, forcing him to defend himself. But even then, he doubted he would strike back. He needed more of the ecstasy he’d found only in her arms.

  “I’m going to kill Ansel,” he admitted. “I will ensure he never enjoys the spoils of my victory.”

  “Your victory?” She shook her head. “You and I both know there’s only one sure way to guarantee Ansel loses.”

  Yes. Knox had to die. But they weren’t at that point yet. “We need to figure out an alternative. My death would save your realm, but no others.”

  Raring for contact, he pulled her against him. He was shaking as he wrapped his arms around her, shaking worse as he tightened his hold and rested his chin on the crown of her head.

  She was shaking, too, and holding on just as tightly.

  “If I live,” he said, “you die. If you live, I die.” With her, he was doomed. But without her, he wasn’t sure life would be worth living. The impossibility of the conundrum left him ragged.

  “If we’re going to stay together, we can’t lose our heads over each other. Figuratively. Or literally. What?” she said when he cursed. “Too soon for decapitation jokes?”

  “Forever is too soon.”

  “Yeah.” She sighed. “So what’s our next move? I owe Zion, and I won’t fight him for the bots. Do we go after Ronan and his spyglass, then? Or straight to Erik, the source of our problems?”

  “Any other time I would say Ronan. While appendages are tougher to regenerate than organs, Erik won’t be out of commission for long. Just a few more days, possibly a week.” And in turn, they could take out Adonis, appeasing the compulsion to acquire the Horn of Summoning. “You will kill him, and I’ll protect you while you recover. You were right. His memories will aid us.”

  As for Gunnar’s sword, Knox hadn’t yet decided. Take the risk, or not?

  Vale leaned back, staring up at him, her shock evident. “Thank you for trusting me with Erik’s mojo.” She kissed his stubbly cheek. “All right, let’s think this through. You have the ability to open a rift into one of his homes. And I know you expect an ambush. Why don’t I just toss a grenade?”

  “He will have taken precautions against such a move. And what if he has innocent mortals stashed in the house?” At one time, collateral damage wouldn’t have bothered Knox, but these were Vale’s people, and he didn’t want to harm them unnecessarily. “We would be better served drawing Erik’s allies into an ambush of our own. With their memories, you can lead us straight to hi
s door.”

  “Where could—Never mind. The cottage near the lavender field.” She gasped. “Ranger killed the owners, burned their bodies and set up shop. He had begun planning an ambush. The good news is we can piggyback on his work. But we’ll need help. This is currently a numbers game. The other team has numbers, we don’t. If we enlist Zion, he can—”

  “Stab us in the back,” he interjected. “No matter how good he’s been to you, you cannot trust him. Never forget a single mistake can cost you your life.”

  “But—”

  “No buts. If you won’t take my word as a man, take my word as a four-time champion.”

  She pursed her lips, but nodded. “We’ll go it alone.”

  Another reason he liked her. She didn’t argue for the sake of arguing, and she gave as much as she took. “Tell me more about Ranger’s ambush.”

  “The details are fuzzy, but I’m certain I’ll remember more clearly when I’m there.”

  “Then to the cottage we go.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  THE SUN SLOWLY set on the horizon, painting the sky in a dazzling array of gold, pink and purple. Vale stood on the outside edge of the lavender field, scanning the cottage and surrounding area. Nothing seemed out of place.

  Never had she seen such a tranquil environment...or been plagued by such sharp foreboding. She was looking at a past and future battle zone.

  At least she’d grown semi-immune to the effects of the pheromone. Though the scent was thicker than molasses here, she remained in strict control of her thoughts. However, she wasn’t quite immune to Knox. Being near him made her want...everything.

  Dang it! She was falling for him. Actually, she’d been falling for a while, she just hadn’t wanted to admit it. Then she’d met his king and gotten a firsthand look at the torture Knox had endured most of his life, and she’d started falling faster. Then he’d admitted he wanted to help their cause by strengthening her. Her, not him. He’d put her first, something no man had ever done for her, and she’d started falling harder.

  The way he looked at her, held her, pleasured her...he might be falling for her, too. He definitely hated the thought of parting with her, just as she hated the thought of parting with him.

  She wanted to give him what he craved most—freedom. And she would. Already, ideas brewed. But everything else she wanted conflicted. She wanted to live, but wanted him to live, as well. Wanted to win the war herself, but wanted Knox to win, too. Wanted to live together in peace, happily-ever-after.

  And yes, okay, a cold-blooded assassin seemed like an odd choice for her lifelong companion. But Knox was her cold-blooded assassin. The man had taken arrows and bullets on her behalf. She would have him, and no other.

  Never had a romance been more doomed.

  So many obstacles stood in their way. How was she supposed to be the coffee bean in a situation like this?

  “My instincts are on edge,” he said, and she savored the familiar taste of honeyed whiskey, “yet I detect no foul play.” He towered at her side, strong and aggressive, with a duffel bag strap draped over his shoulder. Stuffed inside were cameras, tools, traps and weapons. He had a wealth of weapons strapped on his body, as well, while Vale carried a single sword.

  When you had the ability to shoot fire from your fingertips, daggers and guns were superfluous.

  Once again they wore matching uniforms: black shirt, black pants, combat boots, everything taken from his closet. Go Team Valox!

  “Let’s go inside,” she said. “I don’t like you being out in the open.”

  On alert, he took her hand to lead her to the cottage. For a moment, one silly, necessary moment, she pretended they were on a date, headed to dinner and a movie. If he played his cards right, she would kiss him at the door and invite him in for a nightcap.

  If only they lived in one of her favorite paranormal romance books. After they’d had incredible sex, their world would come crashing down, sure, but good would conquer evil and all would be well in the end.

  Real life sucked. Was she setting herself up for failure? Yes, definitely. From the beginning, she’d known she couldn’t have Knox and victory. The two were mutually exclusive. If there’d been an alternative, someone would have discovered it by now.

  As for the Mark of Disgrace... She risked the destruction of her world. If Knox took it, he would be returned to his king for punishment and probably killed. Plus, there was a good chance Ansel had forbidden it, and Knox wouldn’t be able to take the mark, anyway.

  They ascended the wraparound porch, the steps creaking. There was a rocking chair and swing, two normal objects that caused a very abnormal reaction for her. Longing so visceral, she whimpered.

  Knox squeezed her hand. “I’ll go in first,” he said, and tested the doorknob. Locked. He shouldered his way in, hinges splitting under pressure. “Wait here and keep watch.”

  “For you, anything.” Despite the gravity of the situation, she loved watching him in action. He was all coiled strength and preternatural grace. Unshakable. Unflappable.

  He winked before disappearing inside. Be still my heart.

  Sword in hand, she scrutinized the stretch of land littered with scorched trees, thanks to Ranger.

  “The Jethaling was definitely living here,” Knox said when he returned, “but I don’t think anyone has visited since his death.”

  Steps tentative, she entered the two-story abode. As she marveled at the charming interior, her steps were more certain. Stone walls complemented floral-print furniture, and a wooden mantel topped an elaborate marble fireplace. On the floor, faux fur rugs stretched over aged panels. Homey, yet extravagant. The kind of place she’d dreamed of having as a foster kid.

  “He planned to draw people to the field, where they would become lusty animals,” she said, details crystalizing. “He was going to pick them off. We can do the same.”

  “We just need to get our targets here.”

  “You can go into the nearest town, and do something worth mentioning online. If you’re covered in blood, they might post pictures. If you break things, throw a fit, steal something, they might post video. Erik will notice and want to investigate.”

  “Leave you?”

  “I hate the idea of parting, too. But we’ll do anything for the cause, right?” She kissed him, her longing for him almost more powerful than resolve. “Go, before I decide to surgically attach myself to your side.”

  He dropped the bag at her feet, gripped her hips and tugged her against him, then pressed his forehead against hers. “Do it. Attach to my side. Come with me.”

  “I need to stay here and figure out what else Ranger did,” she said, toying with the ends of his hair. “Just think. If the enemy gets slayed today, you get laid tonight.”

  His beautiful blues twinkled with merriment, the rare sight nearly bringing tears to her eyes. “There is no better motivation.” This time, he kissed her, and he wasn’t swift about it. He claimed her lips, dominating her mouth, setting her aflame. In a millisecond, she went from zero to the speed of light.

  By the time he lifted his head, she was panting, clinging to him, her fingers curled in his shirt. Letting go struck her as foolhardy.

  He rubbed the tip of his nose against hers and croaked, “I’m glad I met you.”

  “I’m glad, too,” she said, her voice growing thick. No matter what happened next, she couldn’t regret the time they’d spent together. “You have your phone?”

  He patted his pants pocket. “I do.”

  “Text me updates, okay?”

  “I will. And you’ll do the same for me if anything is amiss. Anything.”

  She nodded. “I will. Promise.”

  “If something goes wrong,” he said, taking her by the forearms and shaking her, “you do whatever is required to survive. Swear it.”

  Her throat quivered and seemed
to swell, but she whispered, “I swear.”

  One more kiss, and then he was stalking outside.

  Oh, that man. He lit her body on fire.

  As she wandered through the house, taking stock, she saw the home through two sets of eyes: her present and Ranger’s past. She observed Memory Ranger—MR—as he paced. His booted feet stomped over dark floor tiles, his impatience for Celeste’s return driving him faster and faster.

  Vale followed MR past a small china hutch to the kitchen. Open shelves displayed dishes. A table with a lace cloth perched directly in front of a bay window. MR kept going, entering a pantry where he cut a hole in the floor and dug. Finally, he reached the tunnel he and Celeste had dug before their imprisonment in the ice cavern. An escape route that stretched for about a mile in one direction and half a mile in the other.

  My tunnel. Mine!

  Vale followed Ranger’s memory up the stairs, into a bathroom the size of her closet at home, where a claw-foot tub took her breath away. They entered a bedroom. Quick scan. A queen-size bed with a brass frame and colorful quilt. A crystal chandelier hung above it, and a rug with pink roses draped the wood floor. A porcelain side table. A windowed alcove looked down upon the lavender field.

  MR stood, peering out, waiting. There! He noticed movement in the field. Celeste? Or someone who’d tracked him, determined to slay him?

  Spying a pair of hazel eyes through a crack in the darkness, he reached for the remote he’d hidden behind a loose beam in the wall. That remote controlled the land mines buried in the lavender field.

  Land mines that had been made here on Earth—land mines Vale and Knox could activate!

  She smiled, feeling as though she’d come full circle. Be a lady, unless you have to be a land mine.

  The time to explode some crap had come.

  If Ranger hadn’t sensed Celeste the day Vale and Knox had visited, he would have blown them both to smithereens. How close they’d come to death, and they’d had no idea. Could have lost everything in a mere blink of time.

  She whipped out her phone and texted Knox, telling him about the land mines. Every time he responded, she smiled.