For the Clan

by Archer Kay Leah

  "Think, son, think about her. You've noticed things are different haven't you? You've noticed she's acting different, looks different. Perhaps even smells a little different?"

  "Maybe." Jace crossed his arms. "Fine, okay, yes. But that's got nothing—"

  "When was the last time she turned your advances down because it was 'that time of the month'?"

  "What—"

  "Think!" Moham clapped his hands together. "You know you know. You pay attention to her. You hate taking your eyes off her. You can't help yourself. So say it. Say when it was, the last time she said no. The last time she complained of cramps and PMS."

  "I don't know. It's not relevant. Maybe a couple of months. Maybe three. I haven't got a freaking clue. It's not like she's… Oh, shit."

  "Go on. Say it. Hear it for yourself."

  "Pregnant," Jace obeyed meekly.

  He froze again, the sensation soothing his hot skin. It made him drowsy, the light around him going fuzzy. His father's features lightened. Jace could see through Moham as though he were a ghost. The pain pushed back. Calm washed over him, relief trickling through his insides.

  "Now you see." Moham sat in the chair, the frame showing through his transparent body. Darkness swept around them, swirling around his legs in ribbons. "We may not tell you everything, but what we do for you, we do from love. Love drives us; love binds us. It's never as easy as we fool ourselves it is. But without my love for you and my decision, you would never have her. You would never have this chance."

  "But I can't. I won't." Jace gaped as his father's body faded away behind the smoky ribbons. "I can't give him over. I can't betray him. Especially not if he's the… If he's the reason…"

  "You know he's the father, Jace. You know how long you and Cayra have been at it; that you're probably shooting blanks. You also know how much you don't understand how magic works and its extent." Moham frowned, his forehead creasing to match the disappointment in his eyes. "But you're going to be a father, too, so it's time to start acting like it. I made my decisions. Make yours. What are you willing to give up to save your clan? Who are you willing to sacrifice? Roan? Your wife? An unborn child? Which one of these things do you need more?"

  Jace peered down. The darkness swirled around the cement blocks, dissolving the chains. "All of them," Jace whispered, looking up.

  Moham was gone. The chair was gone. A dark void remained.

  Wet drops hit Jace's hand. Before more tears could fall, Jace wiped his face dry. He wanted to believe he wept in joy, not anguish. More than that, he wanted to believe Cayra was going to be a mother. His imagination conjured fleeting images of her smile and the gentle way she'd care for the child. Her joy alone gave him happiness.

  But Roan… what will he think? He hates the idea of having kids. He doesn't want them. Crap. She told him our problems. I told him. He's going to think it's a dirty trick just to use him or something.

  Roan wasn't the only problem. Jace was terrified of Cayra being pregnant. What if he failed their child? What if he made stupid decisions and got them killed? His father had sacrificed a stranger's child to save his own. What if Jace made the same decision? They shared many of the same traits. Now they faced the same decision.

  I can't. I just can't.

  The more he thought about it, the more he wanted to scream. He couldn't do what his father did. There had to be more. He had to be more. He couldn't just—

  "Jace? Come on, mi corazón, wake up." Cayra's desperate pleas filled the void. "Roan, you need to push harder… Of course I don't know how… just do it. And stop giving me that look or I'm going to smack you again."

  An icy chill blasted through Jace. His eyelids drooped. His muscles relaxed, his knees weakening. Arms outstretched, he fell back, waiting for whatever waited below…

  Jace's eyelids popped open. Soft amber light blinded him. Gasping, he closed his eyes. A weight pressed down on his chest then slid over his ribs. Someone squeezed his hand.

  "You're doing it," Cayra whispered. "Dear god, I hope you're doing it."

  "Jace," Roan called, "open your eyes. Look at me."

  Jace groaned and obeyed. Roan's irises were blacker than he'd ever seen. The whites of his eyes were smoky grey, almost charcoal. The amber light radiating from Roan's fingers sank into Jace's skin, cool to the touch.

  "Hey." Roan held his hands over Jace's heart, grimacing as though in pain. "You shouldn't scare us like that. If you wanted the bed to yourself, all you had to do was ask."

  "Sorry," Jace whispered, squeezing Cayra's hand. "I didn't—"

  "Shh." Cayra smoothed Jace's hair back, her fingers shaking. She struggled to smile, but nothing could distract him from her red, puffy eyes. "Ignore him. He thinks he's funny."

  Jace wriggled in the bed, pushing against the mattress. "I can't—I can't—"

  Roan pushed Jace back. "No. Stay. I've done what I could. Don't you go undoing it, or I'm never sleeping with you again."

  The air whooshed out of Jace's lungs. It was a joke, but from the expression on Roan's face—and from what Jace knew of the governtary—it wasn't as much of a joke as they wished it was.

  He was going to throw up again.

  "They're coming," Jace muttered, fighting his roiling stomach. "They want us to sell out the others. They want—"

  "We know, cariño. They told us." Cayra wiped Jace's face with a damp cloth. "They also said they'd bring the antidote to make you better."

  "I've done everything I can think of." Roan massaged Jace's chest with long strokes. He looked exhausted. "You look better than you did. The bleeding's stopped. You're breathing again. I can only guess that means it's going away, whatever it was."

  "But we can't be sure," Cayra added, casting Roan an annoyed glance.

  Jace recognized the expression: she was pissed. It also meant she was in the mood to do whatever was necessary to get what she wanted.

  He didn't have to guess what it was.

  "Don't do anything," Jace told her, tightening his grasp around her fingers.

  She turned to him, surprised. "What? Don't do what?"

  "Don't give into them. Don't."

  "Jace—" Cayra started.

  "No!" Jace barked louder than he expected. "Don't give him up. Don't tell them anything. I don't want to be like my father. He gave Roan up. I can't. I won't."

  Roan drew one hand down Jace's face. "We don't have many options. It's one or the other. We can't have both. I'm worth more to them than the rest—"

  Jace snatched Roan's wrist. "No. We're not trading, not this time. We stick to the original plan. Take the stand we should've before. We're not idiot kids anymore." Jace glimpsed Cayra's worried expression and the way she bit her bottom lip. "I won't betray other clans just to stay alive. We'll call on them, get them over here. Kick some ass just like we've been saying."

  "I can't do it," Cayra whispered, tears welling in her eyes. "It's not that easy for me, watching you dying here then just turning around and calling on war. That's not me. I can't give you up that easily. I want to get the medicine to make you better. I don't want to lose you."

  "So follow Roan's lead. Trust him." Jace brushed away the tears dampening her cheeks. "Call on Dixon, Ginny. Every clan we've talked to. Tell them what's going down. Then tell the soldiers we've got what they want. Set the trap. Then shoot to kill." He glanced at Roan. "And if it helps bring the clans over, tell them we have someone who knows the military's weaknesses. Tell them who he is."

  Roan blanched. "Jace, I don't think—"

  "No, we have to be honest. This is the only chance we've got. Let's make it good." Jace faced Cayra. "Get everyone else to Windsor. Send someone now to raise the alarm. Tell them we need refugee status. We'll negotiate later. You'll negotiate later. And if I don't make it…" He took a deep breath, hating every word he needed to say. "If I don't make it, Roan, I need you to take care of them. Take care of her—"

  Cayra whimpered and jumped up. "No, I won't have you—"

  Jace rai
sed his hand, cutting her off. "Tell me you'll take care of them if I can't. Roan, tell me you'll do it. I'll beg, barter. I'll plead if I have to. Just please. Please."

  Roan kissed Jace's forehead, his lips lingering. "Of course I will."

  Saying nothing more, Roan left the tent. Jace watched, helpless to stop him. This wasn't supposed to happen. This wasn't their life. There was every possibility neither of them would make it out of the situation alive. There was every chance Cayra would be alone.

  Damned if you do; damned if you don't. But I'll be damned if I sell everything that's important.

  11

  He loved Jace, but he didn't have to enjoy being a killer.

  Roan tossed the cleaned JK00 across the table. The gun clattered over the other rifles before almost tipping over the edge. An unloaded pistol fell to the floor, narrowly missing the small container of C4. Luckily, the modified grenades were in a box in the corner, out of the way. Given his mood, things could've easily become worse.

  "Fuck this," Roan muttered, covering his face and leaning back in his chair. Sure, we saw this coming. Yes, I said I'd help. But now that it's here… Roan eyed the disassembled pistol on the table. I can't stand doing the same old shit. Doesn't matter whose side. It was never about sides, anyway, but survival. Isn't that the whole point of living? Just to get from the first breath to the last? Now I'm back to where I started. Except Jace could be dead by the morning. Dead. Not coming back. Ever.

  Roan snatched the pistol and started cleaning again. He'd sell his soul if it meant keeping Jace alive.

  I'd rather be dead than watch him die.

  Reattaching the magazine to the pistol, he cursed, despising what the weapon represented. He'd healed Jace to the best of his abilities, using every trick he knew to chase the sickness away. They needed time to tell.

  Time they didn't have.

  Doubts had cajoled Roan into praying again: twice at Jace's bedside; twice before he'd walked into the weapons tent and once more before he'd infused the entire box of military grade grenades with his magic.

  And now.

  "Please," Roan whispered, staring at the pistol while the amber glow from his hands enveloped the warm metal. "If there's any god listening, get us through this. Get him through this. I don't care which one of you does it. I'm not picky. Never been one for religion. And if that's a prerequisite, I'm sorry, but I hear there's no better time to start than now—something about suffering and desperation. And I'm desperate. I can only do so much."

  The energy of his magic danced around the pistol and slipped inside, weaving around the atoms and leaving a new element behind. It was just enough to make the rounds almost one hundred percent lethal… assuming the shooter aimed in the proper direction. Like the others he'd already cleaned and imbued, the gun would deliver bullets that aimed true and hurt worse than normal. Anyone shot would writhe in agony for a few minutes before they exploded.

  Or implode. I can't be sure which ones are which anymore. I'm too angry to keep the intentions straight. Doesn't make any difference, though. Dead is dead. He gazed at the claymores and smoke bombs in the boxes on the floor. The military was entering something they may have expected, but the likelihood of them realizing how much pain they'd incur was slim.

  Always easier when they're watching someone else go down. Roan willed back his magic. The amber tendrils faded to white before retreating behind his skin. His hands tingled, trembling as the barrel slid in his palm.

  What he'd give for Jace's tongue now.

  Roan slammed the gun down. He needed to focus. There wasn't any time to think of life when he needed to feel death. And every time he wished they wouldn't kill anyone, he cursed himself for knowing better.

  Wishing doesn't make it any different. Wishing doesn't change the fact they're coming with the orders to shoot innocent people just to make a point and clean shop. They won't want witnesses. And they won't stop unless we get them first. Just because you shoot 'em doesn't mean they stop. They're trained to fight right up to their last breath. And in any normal circumstances, I'd admire that, but when they're taking out people I love—

  He stopped, taking a breath. There was a truth he didn't say enough; not to himself, not to Jace. Maybe he should've said it a dozen times each day.

  "And we're right back to where we started," Roan mumbled. It was their youth all over again. All of the feelings were right where they'd always been: emotions playing tag with his racing heart and a weight in the pit of his stomach driving down into his groin. He didn't have to work hard to recall the memories. He'd replayed the images enough to repeat every second of how he and Jace were separated.

  Not this time.

  Someone had claimed he suffered PTSD from everything he'd been through. Maybe they were right; maybe they were wrong. What he did know was that he hated what he'd become. Pain and remorse were close companions against his will, kidnapping his hope and holding joy for ransom.

  Except for Jace, his second chance at a basic level of survival he could call a life.

  And now Cayra. Roan drew a hand over the rifles, exciting the nerves in his fingertips. Two reasons to do this. The only reasons I need. I'll give everything I've got, even if I come back a basket case. What I've gone through—it won't be a compete waste. I couldn't do anything back then. Too timid, too scared, too inexperienced. Not this time. The governtary made me into the very weapon I should've been when they came for me the first time—when Jace needed me. I won't let him down again.

  A soft noise sounded outside. The tent flaps wavered. Roan peered at the entrance, seeing only darkness at first, then shapely legs followed by a glimpse of dangling orange strands.

  Cayra watched him from the darkness just behind one of the flaps.

  "What are you doing?" she asked, her voice strained before cracking. Cayra leaned closer, hesitant to enter. In the lantern light, her face was tearstained. One hand grasped her stomach; the other clung to the tent pole.

  "Saving Jace. Saving everyone just like he wants. I got him into this, and I'll get him out." Roan paused, seeing Cayra grip the pole tighter. It appeared she was readying herself to push off and flee for safety. "And you can come in," he said softly, wondering if his words were too quiet for her to hear. "I won't hurt you. I wouldn't, ever."

  Cayra entered, her footsteps small and quiet as if worried she'd set off a land mine. "I just wanted to…" Stopped at the edge of the table, she grimaced, her gaze drifting over the weapons. "I just wanted to say thank you. For helping Jace. Trying to cure him. I know it must've cost you a lot." She gestured to the guns. "And now you're doing this. I can't imagine it's easy. Nobody would blame you if you just passed out. You look exhausted."

  He'd tried not to think about it. His muscles screamed to be released from the energy pulsing through him. Every few minutes, the nerves in his back twitched painfully, jerking his spine. A vicious migraine threatened to devour his eyeballs. His hands were raw and dry, the skin on the verge of splitting.

  "It's fine," Roan lied. Standing, he wiped his hands on a tattered rag. "I promised I'd help."

  "I know."

  "And I've tried everything, Cay, I really have. I know I'm no doctor. I know nothing about what he's got. So I tried everything I could think of. All the things I learned from people who took me and my mother in. Things I learned from Teach and other Vens. A couple I knew were medical practitioners before the governtary suspended their licenses." Roan sighed, his mind filled with faces he didn't want to remember. "They taught me a few things when no one was around. Really random, really awkward, but I tried to remember what they told me. I tried."

  "I know. That's all I asked. That's all any of us could ask." Cayra ran her fingertips along the table. "And I'm sorry."

  "For what?"

  Cayra pointed at his face. "Hitting you. I just…" She hugged herself, rocking on her heels. "I was so scared. Everything they said made sense. Do you understand that? Can you? That while they could be talking crap, they could also be
right?"

  "Yeah. I know." Roan tilted his head. "Just like I know you still don’t know what to think. You're not sure about me, not right now. Maybe not even tomorrow."

  "It's… complicated."

  "No, it's not. It's as simple as a plan. I realize that now. Everything those trigger-happy bastards said got me thinking, and it's as clear as day." Roan crossed his arms, triggering a domino effect of twitches down his back. He bit down hard to stifle his groan. "Kim let me escape, but not because she was sympathetic. It was a trick. She cut me loose so they could track me. They wanted to know where I'd go. That was the real war game. It wasn't about the people I was trying to kill. It's about where I'd end up."

  "You're saying you were—"

  "Bait. A little worm dangling on a goddamn pole, wondering what's going on and why it feels like hell."

  "And they think you'll go back? Just like that? They aren't worried you'd kill them all?"

  "They make monsters and expect us to be loyal." Roan grunted. "It's their idea of brand loyalty, as delusional as they've ever been. They like to think they've shocked us into ultimate obedience. And most of the time, they're right."

  "But not now. Not this time." Cayra swallowed and shifted her weight, flicking a glance at the guns.

  "No, not this time. This monster's ready to return the favour."

  Cayra nodded, both hands clasped over her stomach. "So it's happening—what Jace, the sentries, and the other clans have been talking about. I didn't want it to come to this. I wanted more. Just… more."

  "And we know that," Roan assured her. "It's why you weren't part of our discussions with Dix and Gin. Unfortunately, the only thing more I can give you is tactic and inside info. I can tell you where their armour is weakest. I can tell you how they like their battle plans. But I can't give you the peace you want—at least not the way you want it. They used me, and I'm an idiot for thinking any different. This is my fault. This is apparently how I'm getting you out of it."

  "I don't want to lose," Cayra whispered. She cleared her throat, touching one of the pistols. "Maybe I should stay. Stand up with the rest of you. As clan leader's wife, I should—"