From the Ashes

by Angela White

  She heard the Eagle closest to her moan in distress, but couldn’t even open her eyes. She’d never felt pain like this.

  I needed to check the healer’s mind, the witch answered evasively.

  You aren’t sure, Angela realized in fear.

  I dread ever having to face the choice, the witch confessed miserably, but is that not how you would have it?

  Angela barely heard that, tears now oozing from under her closed lids. This pain!

  “Do something for her!”

  Marc’s glare was refused by John. “She’s not strong enough for anything more.”

  Marc turned to glower at Adrian. “Help her.”

  Adrian also shook his head. “I can’t.”

  “Can’t or won’t?” Marc accused. He knew Adrian was gifted in more ways than he’d let his men see.

  “It’s limited by gender,” Adrian replied evasively.

  Thick blackness swam around the edges, muting the conversation while waiting for Angela to surrender, but she held on grimly. These might be her last waking moments and she wanted every second of them.

  “So, there’s nothing we can do?” Marc asked angrily.

  It was a realization that the other men there had already come to accept–and loathe.

  Adrian didn’t answer and the witch reached out.

  Will you give them up? the demon seduced. Trade the herd for her?

  Can’t I have both?

  Never.

  Not without a small measure of pity, the witch withdrew to her fiery den instead of making him feel worse. There were always prices to be paid. Having so many of the descendants together was wonderful in the uses, but it was also heavy in the weight. Adrian would carry as much of her discomfort as he was able to ease, but in time, he would need the same favor. Heartbreak was not to be lightly dismissed. It was one of the most dangerous things that humans gave to each other.

  Sure she wouldn’t be awake long, Angela took advantage of the respite to fulfill a promise that she’d made to herself while Adrian burned her.

  Thank you for choosing us to stop the slavers. It was our honor to serve as YOUR hand of justice.

  Still connected, Adrian flinched as if stung. He had turned her into a killer and she was thanking God for it. Was there a more perfect woman anywhere?

  At her side, Marc covered her tenderly with his jacket.

  “Mmm…”

  Feeling things start to come together again gave Adrian little comfort this time, thrusting him back into the role that he feared he was growing weary of. Carrying so much guilt was staggering.

  Marc was glad to see that Angela was breathing easier than when he’d arrived, and allowed himself to hope for the first time since being swarmed by a blast of dry heat. Most people would have ignored the moment, but Marc knew that sensation. He’d left camp ten minutes later.

  Now, his inner Marine began estimating her chances of survival. John’s words had been far from reassuring, but learning of the doctor’s illness almost was. John would do anything he could to save Angela, so that he could save himself. There was no higher motivation.

  Turning to face the room, Marc slid down and leaned his head against Angela’s arm.

  Exhausted, he fell into a light doze, broken only by fifteen-minute checks of her and the room.

  6

  An hour later, Adrian motioned for him to switch with Neil, and Marc realized he wasn’t as furious now. Adrian had saved her life. There was no way any of his Eagles had been ‘around’ enough to think of car lighters.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Marc found he actually held a bit of sympathy. Hadn’t he made his own grave error in Versailles? He’d been the one to get this all rolling by leaving her alone, forcing her to kill.

  “Hearing her screams will give a grown man nightmares,” Marc stated carefully.

  “Yes.”

  Adrian’s expression said sleeping was something he wouldn’t do until forced to. Allowing females into his army might have been the smartest thing their leader had ever done…or the worst choice he’d made. From here, it was impossible to know.

  As Marc slid carefully into Neil’s warm spot, Adrian revealed his inner turmoil.

  “What would she do now…if I pulled it all?”

  Other than people turning their way, there was complete silence at Adrian’s show of doubt. It was unexpected, especially after his words to them before the wolfman had arrived.

  Marc didn’t want to answer, and again, it was Cynthia who blurted the truth.

  “Die.” Her voice lowered to a mutter as the males in the room turned to glare at her. “Along with Safe Haven…and our future.”

  There it was, Cynthia declaring her loyalty to the dream.

  Marc closed his eyes in distressed resignation. “You shouldn’t do that. She gets cranky when you take away something she needs.”

  Heart crying behind his wall, Marc tucked Angela safely against his warm body and tried to rest until it was time to go.

  Chapter Two

  Ellsworth Country Club

  May 13th

  1

  Twelve hours after Marc arrived, the convoy rolled out of the rest stop with Angela’s ragged breathing filling the truck. Cushioned by jackets and blankets, she clutched Marc’s shirt with her good hand and soaked them both with her tears.

  It didn’t take long for John to do what the other men had wanted all along. He sedated her–slipping the needle into her arm before she had a chance to protest again.

  The wreckage around the site wasn’t smoking anymore, only stinking and smoldering resentfully, and the pristine grounds of the country club were a welcome change of scenery.

  Despite their careful movements, Angela’s wound was bleeding by the time they got her settled into a front room of the wealthily furnished club and John added a few quick stitches while she was unconscious. When he was satisfied, he took the chair on her left.

  Marc settled into the one on her right.

  Adrian and his Eagles gathered on the long, white porch to make plans.

  “Midnight tomorrow, the main mission team rolls out. Myself, Seth, and Jeff will take John back to Safe Haven. Everyone else remains with Angela. When the gunfire with the slaver camp starts, we’ll guide the herd here. Get us set up to stay a week, and make a plan in case we can’t.”

  Realizing Safe Haven would come to her, the men fell into the details with lighter hearts. Angela had looked rough as Marc carried her inside. Another road trip might kill her.

  As the others moved off to take care of things, Kyle stayed on Adrian’s right, waiting for the details their leader usually wouldn’t give to anyone else.

  Instead, Adrian asked a question that both men had already answered for themselves.

  “Would you change anything?”

  Kyle wanted to say yes, but couldn’t. “No. They’re dead–she’s not.”

  “She feels the same.”

  “I know.”

  “But?”

  Kyle had been thinking about his purpose in this new world, and he revealed his fears (sins) in a low mutter of confusion. “Before the war, I had killed five men…and one talkative prostitute.”

  Adrian waited, finally getting the reason for almost not welcoming Kyle into his Safe Haven. His first instinct had said that Kyle was indeed the killer-for-hire he appeared to be, but a second voice had promised that the Italian would only kill for him now. That had been enough to sway Adrian. It was a role that he had needed to fill–desperately.

  “I’ve racked up near a hundred as an Eagle, and that’s only the ones I’ve done, not those I’ve ordered.” Kyle was flooding with something he knew they didn’t need right now, but couldn’t help–guilt. “I’m damned.”

  “We all are.” Adrian was sympathetic, but his expression said Kyle had known what he’d signed up for after the very first mercy run.

  Kyle wanted something Adrian couldn’t give–absolution–and he stopped himself from saying anything else. Usual
ly, talking to their leader was a comfort, but this time, it had drawn anger.

  Flashes of holding Angela while Adrian burned her slapped Kyle, and he reluctantly went to her room.

  Marc and John snapped-to when he opened the door.

  “What?”

  “Is there a problem?”

  “We’re 5-by.” Kyle’s gaze went to Angela, who was crying again from under closed lashes. “What about her?”

  “The same.” John’s tense body language revealed his worry.

  “Not…dead yet,” Angela denied weakly.

  You sound like it could happen any minute, honey.

  As if to reinforce Kyle’s thought, Angela turned her head and threw up.

  Kyle eased out of the room as John and Marc rushed to help, closing the door with a shaking hand. This time, he went to the mission team and prepared to do his duty. Damned or not, someone had to pay for this awful weight. A few of the Eagles and probably most of the camp would blame Adrian, but not Kyle. He was clear on who was responsible, and he was glad to have another target and a group of slaves to rescue. Maybe after this next run, the sense of doom might lift from his shoulders.

  2

  Brady?”

  Marc came to her side with a bottle of water, not acknowledging Zack as the tight-lipped man took a shift keeping her warm. The trucker had insisted on pulling his weight and after her not moving for seven hours, Marc had been ready for a break.

  “Hi, honey!”

  Marc’s cheerful greeting didn’t match his worried blue eyes.

  “How ya doin’?”

  Under the heavy daze of the pain, Angela found him slowly. “Better now…stronger.”

  The men around the door exchanged silent concern as Marc knelt down by the makeshift bed to help her get a drink.

  “What...” Angela tried to form sentences through the thick fog in her head. “How long…?”

  “It’s dusk, a day after,” Marc answered, wiping away some of the blood on her chin by using the small drops of water that she spilled.

  Her profile flooded with despair–physical and mental–as memories and pain swarmed down.

  Now was the time she might change the path she’d chosen, but Marc already knew. “Say it.”

  “I don’t regret…anything.”

  Marc leaned down to press a light kiss to her hot forehead. “Then hurry up and get better, so you can do it again.”

  Angela’s lashes closed. “Love you, Brady.”

  Marc drew air into shrunken lungs. “Love you, too, baby-cakes.”

  She chortled in surprise and then cramped up in agony.

  “Let her rest!” Behind her, Zack’s glare was unexpected. “And give her something for the pain!”

  “She’s got a bit to go,” John stated from the other side of her bed. He’d been puffing restlessly on his empty pipe for hours, worrying and stewing. “And she needs to eat.”

  Zack noted the beads of sweat popping out on Angela’s pale skin. “No way. She’s rockin’ rough.”

  John quickly gave her a fresh dose of the calmative, and Angela looked at Zack in gratitude as her stomach eased. It should have felt odd, or maybe even dangerous to be lying in the trucker’s warm arms, but there was only a sense of being protected. Kenn had another surprise coming.

  “Can you eat now?” Zack asked.

  “Maybe.” Angela closed her heavy lids.

  Surprising those listening, Zack kept the conversation going. “We have a wide variety for the patient to pick from–all canned, though.”

  “Applesauce,” John ordered, wishing he had her in camp with all his equipment.

  “Some…variety,” Angela muttered.

  Her joke eased the tension a bit, and she huddled against Zack’s warmth, feeling Marc’s stare, his thoughts.

  “One of them…will tell you,” she forced out, blurry vision resting on her gun in his backup holster. She couldn’t use it now, and that hurt as much as the gaping hole in her shoulder.

  “I’ll wait,” Marc stated, wondering exactly what was upsetting her. It wasn’t the battle they’d left behind. He wasn’t sensing any remorse.

  “Tell him what?” Zack asked, confused.

  “He wants to see what went down, what went wrong.” Standing in the doorway, Adrian gestured bitterly toward the rest stop. “With that aftermath, wouldn’t you?”

  “You wanna examine it? Ask one of us!” Zack snarled, angry for reasons he refused to name. He grabbed Marc’s wrist with his free hand. “Don’t make her relive it!”

  Marc froze at the ugly flashes. He understood Zack could only do it because he was touching Angela, but it was a shock to realize that the trucker also knew that he could.

  “Go easy…” Angela moaned.

  The angry man didn’t spare Marc at all as he went through every scream, every gush of blood he’d witnessed. It went on for a long time, and Marc’s expression darkened steadily.

  When Zack finally let go, the tension crackled.

  Angela shuddered, and Zack realized she had relived it anyway, through him. He snapped his mouth shut.

  “I’m sorry…it was so awful for you,” Angela gasped, shoulder and back alive with torment as the painkillers dissipated.

  Zack snorted violently in protest, jarring her, and she groaned.

  “Damn.” Now guilty of what he had punished Marc for, Zack let his head drop to his arm–gently. “Someone get the damn applesauce already.”

  Over their heads, Adrian met John’s eye. “Soon?”

  The doctor nodded. “In a few hours. I’ll call you.”

  Adrian moved away, not looking forward to the wait. Angela’s pain and suffering wasn’t over.

  3

  Angela shivered despite the baking heat of the two men holding her. The fever had come shortly after she’d thrown up, and had resisted John’s attempts to get it under control. By midnight, it had been soaring and he’d chosen to operate.

  “Hold her still,” John ordered.

  Grips tightened, and Angela groaned, biting down to stifle the scream.

  Kyle barely noticed, meeting Marc’s terrified eyes. The look said it wouldn’t be much longer, and Marc tightened his mental grip.

  “Almost there…” John grunted, tensing his wrist against the pressure, and the needle slid through. One firm tug, and the ravaged artery was closed. “Squeeze the bag!” John snapped at Neil.

  The doctor quickly removed the packing sponges he’d inserted while repairing the nick. He worked steadily, taking the ready sutures from Adrian’s hand.

  John slid the last of the gauze out and gave a harsh grunt. “Bingo.”

  “Good, right?” Angela croaked out, needing the distraction.

  Billy smiled down at her. “Yes, you are 5-by.”

  “Um… Shit!”

  Blood sprayed them and the wall.

  “Pack it off!” John demanded.

  “What’s wrong?” Marc asked tersely.

  “Blew a stitch, that’s all,” John soothed, quickly replacing it.

  He added an extra layer of thread, and there was silent fear under every labored breath Angela took.

  “Okay. Get ready,” John warned.

  Neil grabbed another wad of gauze and squeezed the bag faster.

  Zack, who John had known was the same blood type, was already hooked up to her.

  The stitch held this time, and John sprinkled on another layer of the battlefield clotting agent that Adrian had used.

  “Roll now, slowly, towards the wall…there. Hold it.”

  John nodded at Marc, who delivered a shot of calmative, and a gentle swipe of the sweat from her brow.

  “Halfway there…” John sliced into the infected scabs on her back.

  4

  “We’re being watched.”

  Adrian wiped Angela’s blood from his hands, sweeping the early morning fog. There were no obvious signs, but Kyle wasn’t wrong. There was a clear sense of eyes on them.

  “Should we sneak out and
take care of it?”

  Adrian shook his head, thoughts still on the surgery. Would it be enough? “They’ll come to us soon enough. Revenge is best served cold, but few have the patience to wait for it.”

  Kyle scowled. “More slavers?”

  “Probably. We look like an easy target, I’d guess, to any of them who survived. Keep the men calm,” Adrian instructed. “Our enemy likes to strike when the lights go out. There’s time to be killed.”

  Kyle waved Neil over and Adrian moved toward the small room he’d chosen. He was aware of Cynthia trailing him, but didn’t stop to talk. He was hoping for a few hours of quiet contemplation before all hell broke loose again.

  Adrian left the door open, and began removing his shirt. He hadn’t had a clean one on in days and the reek coming from this garment said it would burn instead of being washed like he did with most of his clothing.

  “I want…need something else from you.”

  Adrian looked up to see Cynthia standing stiffly in the doorway, dark eyes wide with something he recognized instantly.

  “Can I come in for a minute?”

  He nodded, considering the answer before she asked the question. He noted that she only stepped a foot inside the room–still respecting the old boundaries–but closed the door.

  Cynthia didn’t speak. Staring at his bare chest, she wasn’t sure that she could.

  Adrian didn’t need to hear the words. Her cheeks were flushed, swollen body begging for a man’s knowing touch...and after what she’d done, one of his Eagles wouldn’t satisfy that itch.

  “I’m not sure that I can.” Adrian gave a regretful sigh, body already responding. Another layer of guilt sank onto his shoulders–that he would enjoy this moment while Angela fought for her life nearby, was unconscionable.

  Sensing the opposite of his answer, Cynthia inched further into the dimly lit room. She knew how it worked after a bloody battle, how the Eagles sought out their relief sources upon returning to camp. “You’ll try?”

  “Of course, Ms. Quest.” Adrian watched her carefully search for exits, still shocked that she had been the one to save Angela.” I aim to please.”