“Me, too. Let’s get this done.”
Syn caught Xan’s eye and nodded.
With one flick of his wrist, he armed the device. A timer flashed onto the display as they ran for the caribin.
Forty-five minutes. It should be plenty of time to get away safely, as long as the devices weren’t disturbed. They’d been set to detonate immediately if they were disturbed after being armed. For the next twenty or thirty minutes, Syn knew her heart was going to be somewhere in the vicinity of her throat, just out of nerves.
If a demon so much as touched one of those devices while they were in the area, they were dead—the demon and whatever team was unlucky enough to be in the area.
But as they drew closer to the rendezvous, nothing happened. She kept having Xan check the monitor and it showed the device was ticking away the minutes exactly as it had been programmed, and no life-forms showed up even remotely close.
They had eight minutes left when they hit the rendezvous. Elina and Egan were already there.
Off in the distance, she heard the quiet hum of Kalen and Lee’s caribin. They had two stops, setting the fourth and final device, the one that would be closest to the camp, but they’d planted that one earlier and the monitor showed it to be in sync with the other three.
“Went off without a hitch,” Egan murmured, meeting her eyes and smiling.
But even as he said it, something cold settled in the bottom of Syn’s belly.
The monitor in Xan’s hand started beeping, sending out a warning.
Demons. Moving fast.
The wind kicked up, bringing with it the stink of brimstone. Death. Slowly, she turned and stared through the trees, in the direction she and Xan had come from.
Black-robed figures. Raviners.
“Shit.”
Elina was at her side before the word even left Syn’s mouth. She met the older woman’s gaze and said, “We should have known it couldn’t be that easy.”
“As long as your little boomers go boom, then we win,” Elina said, her voice flat. “Might be a bloody victory but who the hell cares?”
Bloody.
Yes. It got very bloody. The Raviners were alone this time, but there were nearly two dozen of them—and they were enraged. Even once Kalen and Lee arrived, just minutes later, the rebels were outnumbered.
Separated from Xan, Syn fought against two of the Raviners. She fought with both metal and magic, using her knife because they were too close for her to use her pulsar without injury to herself as well. She used small, focused bursts of fire, afraid to use anything larger for fear it might beckon to any other Raviners that lingered nearby.
He came out of nowhere. One moment he wasn’t there. The next moment, he was. He wore his blond hair in a club down his back and carried nothing but bladed weapons. A fighter that cut through the Raviners with the flash of metal. For one second, Syn thought it was Morne. He moved like him. He bore a vague similarity to the healer. Was it . . . ?
No. It wasn’t him. As he turned to take down the Raviners coming at her, she caught full sight of his face.
Syn hadn’t ever seen him before in her life and every instinct inside her screamed as he used his blade on one of the remaining Raviners, laying the thing’s neck wide-open, nearly severing the head with one powerful blow. He moved like a pale shadow. Like death.
She couldn’t watch him, though, because she still had one of the power-hungry creatures to deal with, close, too close, slashing at her with a blade of some foreign black metal.
The next time she saw the blond man, another Raviner had joined the mess of bodies on the forest floor.
Off to her right, Lee screamed and Syn turned just in time to see her friend go to her knees, clasping her head. A Raviner stood behind her, one pale hand lifted. Inside the depths of the thing’s robes, Syn could just barely make out the faint glimmer of its eyes.
Power. The thing reeked of it.
She jerked her pulsar up and aimed.
But before she could pull the trigger, a brawny arm came around the Raviner and then blood flowed as his neck was laid open. The Raviner collapsed to the ground, his blood bubbling out of the gaping wound in his throat. Xan . . . alive. Covered in grayish Raviner blood, but alive. Then he was gone, losing himself once more in the battle.
Fear left a metallic taste on her tongue. She didn’t fight it. She welcomed it. If she didn’t use the fear, it would use her.
Her gift whispered to her, begged to sink into the earth, to be set loose—to forge something larger than a ball of fire. Syn resisted. Not here. Not out in the open—using the bigger magic called too much attention. Instead, she lobbed fire into their faces, one after another, and just hoped they’d burn like mad.
She shot a glance at the time and swore. Raising her voice, she bellowed, “Duck and cover!”
The ground started to rumble. What few remaining Raviners were there froze and then they darted into the forest. Seconds later, a deafening boom echoed through the woods. In seconds, the sky was obscured by smoke and debris.
Syn huddled against a tree, Xan’s body pressing into hers.
The earth shuddered, heaved. She caught the stench of wood burning—hot, acrid smoke flooded her head. Distantly, she heard inhuman shrieks. And deep inside, she felt the first wave of death.
Minutes passed.
It could have been hours. Days.
Thunderous cracks echoed through the forest as trees succumbed and went crashing to the earth. Ash choked the air.
After an eternity, all went still. Struggling to breathe, Syn shoved against Xan’s chest and rasped out, “Need air, lover.”
Two seconds later, she was on her feet, with his arms wrapped tight around her waist. In that moment, she didn’t mind a bit. She let herself take a few seconds and then she eased away, looking for the others. The air was thick with dust, ash and debris, and she grabbed a small, folded mask from her pocket. The thin mask would filter out the worst of the debris, and she just hoped it thinned closer back to camp.
They were still miles away and the winds were blowing to west; hopefully it would carry most of the debris into the mountains.
Squinting to see through the clouded air, she searched for her friends. Kalen was leaning against a tree, holding his unconscious wife close to his chest.
Egan climbed to his feet and swiped at the blood trickling from a gash in his head.
Elina was in the middle of the small clearing, staring off into the west. Under the dirt and blood, she was smiling.
“How’s Lee?” Syn asked.
The commander stroked a hand down her face, resting his fingers in the hollow of her throat. “Her pulse is fine and I can feel her.”
Syn knew he wasn’t talking about physically. He shot Syn a relieved smile and said, “I think she’s going to be fine. The fuck didn’t have her long enough to do any real damage.”
Syn nodded. “Elina, are you hurt?”
“No,” she murmured, still smiling that strange, fey smile.
Shifting her gaze to Egan, Syn cocked a brow. “I’m good, Captain.”
With the exception of Lee, all of them were conscious and nobody looked to have any serious injuries.
Peering over her shoulder, she stared at Xan, touched his face to reassure herself he was well. He caught her hand and pressed a kiss to her bloodied palm. The sight of him hit her hard and fast, leaving her head spinning and her heart racing. It was hell, having feelings for a guy when she might have to send him to his death on any given day.
She moved to stand by Kalen, placing herself at his side if he needed her. Lee was unconscious—helpless. Uneasy, she kept her weapon at the ready as she did a head count.
Seven humans, quite a few Raviner corpses. Or rather . . . six humans, quite a few Raviner corpses . . . and one fucking Warlord. They were miles from the base, one of their witches was unconscious, and most of them had some form of injury or another. Syn narrowed her eyes. Even if she wasn’t a superstitious witch, that wo
uld have had her instincts howling.
The Warlord had no earthly business here.
Keeping her weapon ready, she stared at the man.
“Warlord.” Kalen said the word as though it left him with a bad taste in his mouth.
It certainly had that effect on Syn.
He didn’t bother to deny it, just inclined his head. Even if he’d tried, even if he wasn’t wearing a Warlord’s garb, he couldn’t hide himself from Syn. She could feel the Gate magic in him. He might not be able to use it, but it was still there. Her gift recognized his—his kind hunted hers. His kind enslaved hers. Her fingers itched to draw her pulsar and kill him—now. But curiosity, and perhaps something else, stayed her hand.
Xan came to stand at her side, but she didn’t so much as glance at him, unwilling to look away from the threat.
Kalen glared at the man. The Warlord’s gaze flicked to Lee, and Syn moved to stand in front of her, blocking the man’s gaze of her friend.
“Why are you here, Warlord?” she asked. Does he even understand me?
He flicked a disinterested glance around him and then looked back at Syn. “At the moment, it would appear I’m standing here with the lot of you while you linger and wait for more demons to appear.”
He spoke flawless Ishtanian with no trace of an accent. Hell, if it wasn’t for his clothing, if it wasn’t for the way her gut screamed at the sight of him, she could have mistaken him for one of her people.
“How considerate of you, showing such concern for us.” She bared her teeth at him. “Any other reasons why you’re darkening our doorstep?”
His brows came together, a puzzled frown on his face. “I’ve yet to darken a doorstep, witch.”
“You’re too damn close to our territory—too damn close to a whole lot of people who’d sooner gut you than look at you. Why in the holy hell are you here? Where are the rest of your men?”
With a humorless smirk on his lips, he said, “It doesn’t look as though I have any men.”
“Not buying it.” Syn shook her head. “Warlords don’t travel alone. Where are the others?”
“There are none. I’m what you would call a . . .” He paused, his head cocked as though he was trying to find the word. “A deserter,” he finished, his voice cool and regal.
Off in the forest, they heard another ominous crack and the ground under them shuddered as one of the forest giants went crashing to the ground. They were going to be dealing with downed trees for a while, she suspected. Glancing up into the canopy, she hoped none of the trees around them gave out just yet.
Unless, of course, one of them fell on the Warlord’s head.
Xan lifted a hand, rested it on her shoulder. He dipped his head and quietly said, “It isn’t safe to stay here, Captain.”
“Agreed,” Kalen said, his voice flat and hard.
Damn it, she knew that. But damn it, she didn’t know what to do. Tersely, she said, “What about him?”
She glanced at Kalen, one quick glance, because she wasn’t looking away from the Warlord for any longer than two seconds.
He didn’t answer out loud. His voice, hard and harsh with worry, blasted into her mind with enough force that she almost flinched. “I don’t know what in the hell to do, but I don’t think it’s wise to just leave him here.”
“How do we know he’s telling the truth about being a deserter? And what in the hell does that mean anyway? Why did he help us?”
Kalen’s silver flashed. “I don’t know. You or Elina need to look at him. I can’t do it—if he’s ever encountered a psychic before, he’ll know how to modify his thoughts, but he can’t alter his basic emotional landscape. Look at him—if he’s a threat, kill him. Here and now. Otherwise, he comes with us. But he doesn’t leave here alone.”
Shit. Heaving out a sigh, she focused on the Warlord and looked. Looked deep—but not with her eyes.
It came at her in a rush of images. He had heard the fight. She felt his need to intervene—felt an altruism from him that she didn’t dare trust. There was that one desire to help, and beyond that, his presence was nebulous. She sensed nothing good, but nothing evil. Not what she’d expected—she’d been prepared for a moral cesspool.
Frustrated, she pulled back. She didn’t want to trust what her gift whispered. But she couldn’t lift her pulsar against him, either.
“Captain?” Xan said.
She gave Xan a quick glance and then looked at Kalen. “Nothing.” Shoving her sweaty, soot-and-blood-stained hair back from her face, she said, “He comes with us.”
The Warlord cocked a brow. “And if I choose not to?”
Now she lifted her pulsar. With a cool smile, she said, “Please do. It would make my day so much easier.”
“Indeed.” He glanced at the others and then nodded. “Very well.”
“I want him restrained.”
The Warlord’s dark blue eyes narrowed. “Restrained.” Metal whispered against leather as Xan drew his blade and leveled it at the Warlord’s throat. “Restrained. Unconscious would probably work as well for her. Actually, I think she’d be happy with you dead. Take your choice.”
He didn’t like the way the Warlord was looking at Syn.
Like she was some delicacy placed before him after weeks of famine.
In all likelihood, that was exactly how the man felt.
Xan kept an eye on the Warlord during the journey back to camp, and the Warlord, in turn, kept his eyes on Syn. Xan didn’t like it. At all.
Since Kalen couldn’t pilot the caribin and hold his wife, they’d left one of the vehicles behind. They made good time, even with the extra passenger and Lee’s unconscious body. Elina was in the caribin with Kalen and her niece, piloting it while Kalen held Lee.
“I don’t like this.” Syn shot a narrow look at the restrained Warlord. He was on his butt next to Egan’s feet, a rather unceremonious position to be in, but he could have been reclining on a golden throne. Arrogance clung to him.
“You can always just leave him here,” Xan said. He would have felt better if she had done just that.
She sounded more than a little disgusted as she said, “Not an option.”
The trip to the base camp passed without incident, but it didn’t do much to soothe Xan’s raw nerves. His instincts were screaming, wailing out warnings. Having a Warlord this close to Syn . . .
Even before they pushed through the gates, he could hear voices—the low, indistinguishable buzz of too many people talking at once.
As they stumbled through into the camp, people swarmed up. Nobody save the necessary people had known about Syn’s plan, so the smoke and flames visible in the distance had probably caused some panic. Bron seemed to have gotten that under control, but now the rest of the army waited for an update.
At least they did—until they caught sight of the Warlord.
The low hum of voices quickly changed into a heated, angry roar.
Syn and Kalen shoved to the front, placing themselves between them and the unspeaking prisoner. Syn must have recognized the disaster in the making because she was already gathering up men, placing them in a perimeter around the Warlord. Xan waited in silence, his muscles tense.
The man wouldn’t stop staring at Syn, and with every passing second, Xan could feel his patience fraying more and more.
Damn it.
“What in the hell is he doing here?” one of the soldiers asked, forcing through the crowd and squaring off with Kalen.
Kalen narrowed his eyes and in a low, flat voice, responded, “The last I checked, I was the commander.” His silver gaze skimmed over the growing crowd and then he looked back at the soldier. “Has that changed?”
The man opened his mouth, then snapped it closed.
“Well?”
“No, Commander. That hasn’t changed.”
“Then do yourself a favor and do not make demands of me. When I feel the need to explain my decisions, I’ll do so.” He looked away from the soldier, seeking out Syn’s gaze. He
jerked a head toward the Warlord and said, “Deal with him. I want you in my quarters within the hour.”
“Yes, Commander.” As Kalen strode away, Syn stared at the crowd. “Unless you have permission to be away from your assignments, get your asses back to work. And if you do have permission, it better be for a damned good reason; otherwise both you and your superiors will be receiving a visit from me shortly.”
She didn’t bother waiting to see how they’d respond. She turned, and Xan caught sight of her face, the grim set of her mouth, the unyielding green-gold of her eyes. Not a happy woman.
She strode in their direction. From the corner of his eye, Xan could see the Warlord’s face.
The bastard was smiling.
Syn stopped in front of the Warlord, a cool look on her face.
Xan had a good idea of what the Warlord saw when he looked at her. It was the same image he’d seen in those first days. An image he still had to wrestle with at times.
She looked too delicate for the job she did. But Xan knew from experience she was anything but. The sleeveless black cavinir tunic clung to her form, outlining her slight curves, revealing the tightly toned muscles of her arms.
Crossing her arms over her chest, she met the Warlord’s eyes and said, “I don’t know what we’re going to do with you.”
“Is it up to you?”
A faint smile came and went but she didn’t answer.
It wasn’t solely her decision, Xan knew, but if she told the commander the Warlord’s presence created a threat, Kalen Brenner would have no trouble killing the man.
Her fellow witches would likely agree with whatever decision she made. Only a fool would ignore a warning from those three.
Their commander was no fool.
She caught Xan’s gaze and said, “We’re going to escort our guest to the west hall. You will remain with him for the time being.”
The west hall—which, ironically enough, was located adjacent to the detention area.
Facing the Warlord, he said, “You might want to enjoy the next few minutes. They may be the last free ones you have for a while.”
“I’m hardly free,” the Warlord said. His muscles tightened, reminded Xan of the bonds at his wrists.
Veil of Shadows Page 20
