by Natalie Grey
He just had no idea how much. He’d let her off-planet … and she’d managed to find Talon Rift, of all fucking people.
He climbed up one of the ladders and hauled at the second-to-last panel covering the ship.
Like hell he was dying before he had the chance to make them all pay. Rift, all of his crew, that woman—and whoever the hell was locking his ship down.
“Nyx, down!”
Nyx dove as she heard the chatter of gunfire, and a Kell soldier fell heavily to the floor beside her. Samara ran and skidded behind cover next to her.
“There are four ahead of us, and one on the right reloading her weapon,” she reported breathlessly.
“Hey, good job.” Nyx smiled at her, and nodded to the soldier beside them. “Also with that. Thanks.” She popped up over the barrier and got off two bursts before dropping back down. “Took down the one on our right.”
“Okay. When do I go up?” Samara looked around, and Nyx saw her starting to realize just how many bodies there were around them.
“Samara. Eyes on me.” She waited until Samara looked at her. “Just follow my orders, okay? Don’t think about anything else for now. Choose a number of seconds as you’re going down, a different number each time. Three, eleven, fourteen, whatever.”
“Okay.” Samara breathed. “One, two, three, four.” She popped up, shot twice, and came down again with a curse. “They’ve got another one now. …three, four, five, six, seven.” Another round of shots. “Never mind, back to four.” She was trying to joke, but there was strain in her voice—she was trying to follow Nyx’s directive not to think, not to look, but it was beginning to hit her just how many people were dying.
Nyx laughed, a practiced sound to elicit a response. She was pleased when she saw an answering smile on Samara’s lips. “Good job. Now, let me take the next one, and….” A pop up, no shots, and she went back down as yells and thuds sounded behind them. “Loki,” she said, as if it was self-explanatory.
“There were four of them, though.”
“Oh, trust me, four is easy pickings for him.” Nyx reloaded her weapon with a grin and then pressed a finger up against her earpiece. “All right, doors into the office are breached. You coming?”
Samara swallowed, but she nodded. “Yes.”
“Come on, then.” Nyx surged up and over the barrier, and sprinted for the resurgent sound of gunfire.
33
Aryn face was still white with shock as she ran, but her hand was warm, curled against his. She was real. She was alive. Cade looked over at her every few steps to make sure of it, only half-believing what he was seeing, and it seemed that she did not believe it, either. The tears started a few corridors away, sliding silently down her cheeks with tiny, hiccupped sobs that she tried to keep inside. He could see her cheeks flush with sudden color, and then pale again, and her breathing was coming in little gasps. She moved like a little doll, too lost in her own world to do more than stop when Cade stopped, and move when he moved.
He paused at each corner, checking for battle. They were getting close, and the signs of combat were everywhere: shattered chips of stone, spent rounds, and here and there a smear of blood. No bodies yet, thank God—he was not sure what Aryn would make of that.
He needed to find somewhere to hide her. The adrenaline would not hold much longer, and he knew from long experience that when it left, she would be too tired to heed even a raging battle around her. She might curl up and sleep as an army ran past, her body too spent to protect itself.
And he had no weapon, dammit. They’d all given up their rifles as they came into the palace, and Ellian hadn’t seemed to think he would need weapons as he waited out the battle, readying himself for the Warlord’s throne. He expected everyone else to do the dirty work for him, and while that had been useful in the extreme for facing him down, it didn’t give Cade anything to work with now.
That they would run into the Warlord’s soldiers was not so much a premonition as a certainty. Cade had been waiting for it since they left Ellian’s rooms, measuring each hallway in the number of alcoves he could push Aryn into, and so when one of the sections of wall swung outwards, he was already shoving her aside.
“Hide.”
They might have gone for her if they had the chance, but he made sure they did not have the chance. Half of a battle is posturing, they taught in the first training courses. Your opponent would ready their weapon, get ready to be a victor.
A Dragon spent no time on such things. Even as they brought their weapons up, he was already charging at them, exploding into their midst in a flurry of strikes that knocked them aside. One down, then two, then three. Did he recognize their faces from his attackers the other night? It did not matter. They were between him and his people, and they’d moved to shoot him.
The battle passed as it always did for him, in a liquid sort of time that flowed around his skin and through his mind, absolute clarity as he planned his next move and executed it. It was a state he welcomed like an old friend, and could never quite remember afterwards.
When it was over, they lay on the floor around him and he stared down at their bodies, the rational part of his mind returning to him slowly. Cade stripped the bodies of weapons, clipping an ammunition vest on, and then went back for Aryn.
She did not even look at the bodies as she went. Her steps were slowing now, her head bobbing slightly as she struggled to focus. She was losing strength and speed as they approached the Warlord’s inner chambers, and Cade could hear from the shouts and gunfire that this was the last stand.
When they came around the corner, even he turned his face away from the sight and he yanked Aryn to his chest, shielding her eyes with his hand. Bodies lay slumped against walls, piled on top of one another, curled helplessly on the floor. He could see Talon’s tactics in where they had taken shelter and vantage points, but the rebels had not had body armor or helmets. They had pressed onward without a hope, and the advance had cost them dearly.
It’s not worth this. But it was, and he knew it. The Warlord’s soldiers also lay dead and dying, fallen where they tried to defend the door into his private rooms. From the precision of the shots that had taken them out, Cade knew very well who had done most of the killing here. But three, four, even seven Dragons would not have been enough to overwhelm these forces. They had needed the cover fire that the rebels brought.
And the gunfire beyond told him that they needed him now. Too long he had turned and run, denied his skills for the fact that he could not bear to have others caught in the crossfire.
He had refused to use the skills he had, and civilians like these had suffered for it. No more. Now, when Talon and the others faced down the Warlord, he would join them. He led Aryn to an alcove, urging her behind a pedestal.
“I will come back for you. Anything you hear that’s not my voice, or Talon’s, or Samara’s, you stay back here, okay?”
She nodded. She was shivering now as shock set in, and she did not move when he pressed his lips to hers.
“Aryn. I will come back. You will be okay.”
Her lips moved. I killed him, Cade thought he made out.
“Stay here,” he said simply. He squeezed her hand and left, weaving his way through the corridors, bringing the first weapon up to focus down the sights. He could hear Nyx still calling commands, and a voice answering her that must be Loki, the young Dragon. Talon’s furious battle roar made a familiar counterpoint, and, unexpectedly, Cade felt himself smile.
Once more into the breach.
He hurled himself through the open doorway and behind cover, managing to get one of the Warlord’s guards in the arm as he came to a crouch. He cursed for missing the shot, and looked above him for the direction of the shots.
“Williams?”
“Here.” Cade popped back up and took out a guard trying to make their way around the side of the circular chamber. The man went down in a shower of books as one of the sets of shelves collapsed and Cade worked his way sid
eways, around one of the tumbled chairs that served as cover.
A familiar face looked over, pinched with worry but sparing a smile.
“Nice to see you.”
“Glad you’re here,” Cade said honestly. Samara was picking off enemy soldiers with, if not a Dragon’s precision, at least a sense of grim determination. He looked away before she could see the relief in his eyes. If Samara had died, he did not know what it would have done to Aryn.
“Where’s Aryn?” She asked him as she reloaded.
“Hidden.” He turned his head to watch Nyx lob a grenade over the barriers, and everyone winced as the explosion went off.
Samara popped up to shoot again and dropped back down at once as rounds chattered past her head. Her face was white. “Shit, that was close.” She leaned her head back gulping for air. “They just don’t stop coming. God. Cade?”
“Yes?”
“What about Ellian?”
“He’s dead.” He tried to keep his voice flat, but he knew she heard his pleasure.
“You?” He saw her steel herself, then pop up and shoot at one of the last few guards, a yell on her lips.
“Aryn, actually.” Cade leaned sideways to shoot around the edge of the table.
She paused to look at him as she slid out a magazine and searched for another, and he passed one over. Talon was yelling something as a soldier made for his position, and Cade looked away from the sound of knives and bones and flesh. The man screamed.
They were close to the end. Very close. Cade felt his world narrow, everything falling away. This clarity… He had missed it. Here, there was only life and death. Here, he knew what was expected of him.
“Williams!” The familiar yell.
“Yes?”
“What’s this about troop movements I’m hearing?” Talon came up long enough to throw a knife. “Everyone says they’re fighting for the Warlord, but they’ve turned on each other.”
“Ellian wanted to be the Warlord,” Cade yelled back. “Don’t worry, they should be falling back.” A man came over the chair with a yell and Cade took him out with a strike to the throat, kicking the body away. His sympathy was gone. This man knew everything the Warlord was capable of, and he was here, making a last, desperate stand for scraps of power he might one day snatch up for himself.
He looked around himself, noting the bleeding wounds and frightened eyes of the resistance fighters. A surprising number had made it this far, and they were listening to the orders that Talon and Nyx called out to them, coming up in succession to shoot, and calling out their positions and enemy locations as they came down to reload.
You fight as a unit, their teachers told them, and you live. You fight alone, you die.
The Warlord’s soldiers were dying. Slowly, surely, they were being picked off.
“Only a few more!” Talon called.
“Surrender anytime!” Nyx added, sliding a magazine into place and looking over her head to check the direction of the rounds streaking past.
“The Warlord’s forces will never surrender!” the shout came back.
“Then they shouldn’t fight Dragons,” Samara murmured wryly. “Cade, there’s one on the far left. I can’t quite—”
“Got it.” Cade waited a moment, counting the bursts of gunfire, then rolled to his knees and shot.
Samara’s scream chilled him to the bone. A last fighter, chest heaving as if he’d run all the way through the palace, came from behind them. His arms were out, one gun pointed at Samara, the other aiming at the mass of fighters behind the barriers. As Cade started to launch himself forward, he saw the man’s fingers squeeze around the trigger once, twice, three times.
Nyx slammed into him sideways, blood coating her shoulder, a ragged yell on her lips as she took him down. Another shot resounded from the Warlord’s inner chambers and it caught her in the shoulder, spinning her in midair as she went down.
“Nyx!” Talon’s voice. There was the sound of five guns firing in concert, the absolute fury of Dragons who had seen one of their own go down.
And then there was ringing silence.
34
The Warlord could hear the gunfire around him as he slid down the ladders and ran for the ship. He had to get the engines primed, the launch sequence started, and he could hear that voice.
He should have killed Rift when he had the chance. He was paying for it now.
But, please, not yet. To Aleksandr Soras’s surprise, the image that came to his mind was of Tera: seven years old and scrawny, looking up at him as they walked hand in hand in the gardens.
Please. His lips moved, a prayer to a God he had long since learned didn’t care much about good and evil—or, at least, didn’t seem to do anything about it. Please, let me see her again.
35
“Nyx!” Cade dove for her and crawled, turning her body. She coughed, and he watched blood pour from her shoulder. “Where’d he get you?”
“Somewhere…Oh, God…” Her fingers pressed weakly over her stomach. “Did he get…?” She rolled her head to look at Samara.
“Just my arm.” Samara was shaking as she crawled forward. “Nyx. Are you okay? You saved my life.”
“Ground … shaking.” Nyx let her eyes drift closed. “God, this hurts. Williams.”
“We’ll get you help,” Cade promised numbly. The last chatter of gunfire had faded away.
“The ground—”
By then, he felt it, too. Talon swore, and Loki was already leaping the barrier, making for the half-open door behind the Warlord’s desk. But it was too late: before they were even halfway across the room, the walls shook and a shuttle streaked overhead, visible through the glass ceiling. It arrowed up, shrinking rapidly, no thought given to the passengers who were likely passing out in their seats. It dwindled to a speck in their vision, and was gone.
Talon gave a heartfelt oath. He closed his eyes for a moment as he watched his prey escape, and then he took a deep breath and looked over at Cade, a genuine smile on his lips.
“Knew it wouldn’t be that easy. Still. Fuck.”
“Williams,” Tersi called from across the room. “Here.” A syringe and a bottle tumbled through the air. “For Nyx.”
Cade caught it, and looked over in time to see the question in Talon’s eyes. The man swallowed. “She’ll live,” Cade assured him. “Probably going to punch another nurse, though.” Cade had actually been in the infirmary when that happened. It had been his first week as a Dragon and he’d been terrified of Nyx for weeks after, which she had always found hilarious. He returned to kneel down at her side. “Ready for a shot?”
“Screw you.”
“Even you can’t take a stomach wound without this stuff. Come on.” He spared a moment to point down the hallway to Aryn’s alcove, guiding Samara to her friend, and then looked back at Nyx. “Still with me?”
“Yeah.” Her eyes were almost all the way closed. “Get it over with. I’m going to make it, right?”
“You’re going to make it.” Her blood was clotting quickly as it hit the air, one of the many upgrades a Dragon was given, and she’d already be primed to deal with the toxins in her blood. Even as he gave her the shot, Loki was coming to his side with a medical kit. They worked in silence, Nyx occasionally swearing as a wound closed—a uniquely itchy sensation. When at last she lay with a saline drip in her arm and her breathing deep and even, Cade stood to look over at the rest of the Dragons, who were speaking in low tones with the resistance fighters. Tersi was demonstrating suturing techniques, and Sphinx was holding a young woman up as her leg was splinted in place. Talon, meanwhile, was speaking rapidly into the radio, grinning as he did.
“Nyx needs blood, but she’ll be fine,” Cade told him. He narrowed his eyes slightly. “You’re in a good mood.”
“He’s got nowhere to run.” Talon smiled, his eyes cold. “I uploaded his files to the Alliance before this kicked off, and Lesedi’s been working to provide ironclad evidence for every allegation. They know who he i
s, and he’ll find no quarter on this planet. Half his soldiers defected to Ellian’s side, and the rest are standing down now. And all of them, at any rate, are on their way back to the troop carriers.”
“Just like that?”
“Someone managed to figure out where the Warlord kept his money for payroll, and managed to slip into the conversation that the Alliance has four cruisers inbound.”
“Who?”
“I have no idea. They never identified themselves.” Talon shook his head. “I’m getting Lesedi on it, that’s for sure. I want them on my team. In any case, the mercs have been generously rewarded for leaving, and it’s not like any of them actually cared for the Warlord—or Pallas, either.” Talon’s eyes flicked over. “I assume he’s dead, by the way.”
“Yes. Aryn shot him, actually.”
“And where’s she?”
Cade looked over, and Talon followed his gaze. Aryn was standing with her head on Samara’s shoulder, rocking back and forth slightly.
“It’s over,” Cade said softly. “Almost, I guess.”
“It’s over for them,” Talon said. “It’s over for Aryn. They can rebuild now. The Alliance will help them—they know it’s the least they can do. And we…” He looked around at the Dragons. “We will go find Soras. He isn’t the Warlord anymore.” He raised his eyebrows. “Don’t suppose I could get you to join us.”
“No.” Cade’s words were soft. He didn’t look away from Aryn as she picked up her head and nodded at something Samara said. There were bruises at her neck, dirt on her face, blood staining her clothes. She was millions of kilometers and a lifetime apart from the woman in diamonds and silk he’d first seen in New Arizona.
And she was more beautiful now, and more alive, than she had ever been before. She looked over at him, blue-grey eyes taking in the sight of him, and she smiled.