by Olivia Ash
Briefly, I debate putting a tracker on her. It would help me keep an eye on her, as well as let me know where she is if she gets into trouble.
Right. Because that won’t backfire.
I chuckle quietly to myself. I'm such a damn hypocrite. This must be what Jace feels like all the time.
I close my eyes, trying to force myself to sleep. Irena isn't some helpless girl. She knows her limits, and that's one of the reasons she hasn't left yet. After the coma, Irena isn’t at full strength. Her senses are off. Her body feels weirdly new. She has all these unfamiliar skills she doesn’t understand, and she misses things.
She’s re-learning everything she ever knew about herself—and that takes time.
Besides, I know she wants to watch over me, too. Maybe I can use that to my advantage to keep her here a little longer.
I groan, pressing my head further back into the pillow and give up on trying to sleep.
Surrendering to the insomnia, I roll out of bed, my hair a tangled mess as I yank on some clothes and strap my gun to my hip. If I can’t sleep, I’ll go visit Tucker. It’ll be a treat to see my weapons expert, and I might as well see if he knows anything about the Knights’ plans or movements.
Without so much as a creak of the hinge, I peek into the hallway and scan the empty corridor. The closed doors of the suites in this section of the castle stretch down the hallway—Tucker's, Irena’s and then Levi's, all in a row. Everyone's up here except for Drew, who Jace still has on lockdown in a less glamorous part of the embassy.
I frown as I walk toward Tucker's door, hoping Jace and Drew get the hell over whatever argument they're having now. It seems like there's a new one every day, and it's only getting worse.
I’m sick of it.
I twist the knob of Tucker’s door, fully expecting it to be locked. To my surprise, the door opens.
Huh.
I hesitate for a moment, simply staring at the now-open door, and it's difficult to believe that Tucker would leave his suite unlocked.
My impulse is to worry. To be on guard.
Something about this isn't right.
Why would a former Knight leave his door unlocked in a dragon embassy?
My hand impulsively goes to the gun at my hip, and I lean into the parlor, trying to get a sense of what might be going on. Nothing feels off. Nothing's out of place. The soft rumble of Tucker snoring filters through his open bedroom door to the left, and for a moment, I just stand there, listening.
No footsteps.
No creaks in the floor.
There’s no one else here.
I relax my shoulders and shut the door behind me, still careful to scope the room even though it doesn't seem like there's any danger.
When I reach his doorway, I lean against the frame and simply watch him for a second. He's sprawled across his bed, half tucked into his blankets as they drape over the side of his mattress.
For a moment, I just admire him. The hard muscle of his chest that peeks out from beneath the sheets. His handsome face. The stubble along his jaw.
My Tucker.
I set my gun on the nightstand and crawl into bed beside him, wrapping my arms around his waist as I burrow my head against his neck. He mumbles in his sleep, and I can't quite make out what he's saying as he wraps his arms around me, pulling me close.
“Hey, Rory,” he says groggily, his eyes still closed.
“Hey,” I say quietly, watching his face to see if he's waking up.
If he needs to sleep, I really shouldn't wake him—but I can't stop thinking about Zurie. About the Knights. About everyone who's coming after us, and all the ways we need to prepare.
“Is there any chatter from your father?” I ask softly. “From the Knights?”
With his eyes still closed, he chuckles. “Do you ever sleep, woman?”
I laugh. “Sleep is for the weak.”
“Then I’m a frail old lady because I need some shut-eye.” He grins, his eyes still closed. “Stop thinking and start snoring, will you?”
“I can't. I just—“
He interrupts me by putting his strong hand across my face, chuckling to himself as he wordlessly shushes me and snores at a comically loud volume to get his point across.
I laugh and pull his palm off my face. “Tucker, this is serious.”
Yet again, he interrupts me—though this time, he takes one of the pillows off the bed and gently sets it over my mouth. The soft fluff covers most of my face, and I’m barely able to peek over the edge to teasingly glare at him.
Ass.
I sit up, poking him playfully on his cheek. At first, he doesn't do anything, so I do it again. As my fingertip presses against his skin, he grabs my hand. With a lighthearted tug, he pulls me onto his chest. His eyes finally open as he watches me, his strong grip pinning me against him.
“Fine. You win,” he says with a sexy smile. “But you have to help me clean my guns if we're going to be talking about work.”
A mischievous little grin spreads across my face as I playfully look down at his crotch. I wiggle my ass just a little, teasing him.
He laughs. “No, my real guns,” he says with a nod toward the closet. “Pervert.”
I laugh as Tucker releases me and stands. His well-defined muscles accentuate his gorgeous body, and with only pajama pants on, he gives me a full view of his beautiful back. The muscle along his spine trails toward his ass, and I’m tempted to just rip off what little clothes he’s wearing.
Sexy and shirtless—this man knows exactly what he does to me.
Tucker runs a hand through his hair as he walks toward the closet, and my eyes linger on his stunning body as he disappears into the closet.
I have to confess, I'm a little disappointed that he's actually going to put me to work—and not in the fun way.
He returns a moment later with a half dozen rifles in his arms and sets them on the bed before tossing me a rag. I briefly scan the weapons—various short-range dragon killers, as well as a more traditional rifle of a lesser caliber.
The kind of rifle you reserve for killing humans, rather than dragons.
My smile falls as he hands me that one to clean. It's a subtle reminder that he knows everything’s at stake. That he's been preparing. That he's doing everything in his power to keep us—both me and himself—safe.
I quietly begin to disassemble the gun, not entirely sure what to say now that I have him awake. There was so much I wanted to ask—so much I wanted to debate and discuss—but now the room feels somber.
In the silence, all I can do is get to work, to keep my hands busy and to let my mind wander about what's coming for us.
“There's no chatter from the Knights,” Tucker says, interrupting the silence after a while. He disassembles one of the dragon killers, checking the barrel as he wipes it down. “I suppose that's to be expected, since they think I’m a traitor to the cause.”
I pause, watching him as he works. “How are you doing, Tucker?”
He briefly looks at me, a bit of a confused expression on his face before he returns to the gun. “Fine. Why?”
“They were your family,” I remind him, setting down the gun I was cleaning. “They were everything to you before—well, before me.”
He shakes his head. “You’re wrong, Rory. They're just killers. They always have been, and even when I wanted them to be more, they could never step up. They didn't want to.” He pauses, looking at me with a small smile. “You’re my family.”
I grin, flattered as hell and equally as honored by the compliment. “When did you become such a softie?”
He laughs and nods to the rifle I've set on the bed. “I believe you have a gun over there to clean, babe.”
I chuckle. “A bossy softie, but still a softie.”
As we return to our work, the room once more settles into a solemn stillness. Every now and then, I check on him, glancing over to the former Knight as he becomes a bit too invested in his cleaning. He polishes the same spot on on
e of the barrels four times, his eyes slipping in and out of focus, and I know he's concerned. He has to be. He's lost himself in some kind of memory—or worse, some kind of dread.
It's not like him to keep things from me. Aside from Irena, he was the first person I ever trusted. For him to be this silent for this long means whatever he's about to say is going to be dark—far darker than I'm used to hearing from him.
My shoulders tense impulsively, my back arching as I wait for him to speak. The waiting is agonizing, but I need to give him space to work through what he wants to say. I need to bite my tongue and let him speak when he's ready.
“Knights aren't as sophisticated as Spectres,” he admits, his eyes still on his weapon. “But they are deadly and smart. They're not to be underestimated, and I think that's what a lot of people do wrong. They think the Knights are just a bunch of stupid terrorists who don't know better and make mistakes.” He hesitates, shaking his head. “They're wrong.”
With a few loud clicks and a grunt of effort, he reassembles the largest dragon killer, snapping the barrel into place as he examines it. “The nearest Knights facility is ten hours away by car. They’ll guess I’ve told you about it, and they’ll leave it abandoned, maybe stage some activity to throw us off their scent.”
“What will they do instead?” I ask as I snap my rifle together, finally done cleaning it.
“Easy.” His voice is deep and dark, his mouth a grim line as he grabs the next gun to clean. “They’ll assemble at the second-nearest encampment, a facility Father was never fond of using because of its isolated nature, far from supply lines.” His biceps flex as he disassembles the new rifle. “Seeing as you and I are enemy number one for them, they won’t wait long to mobilize against us. They’ll be getting recon and coming up with a possible plan of attack—one they’ll act on quickly. For the moment, none of the other missions will matter as much as either capturing or killing us both.”
I square my shoulders, ready for whatever they try. “What are they going to do, Tucker?”
He shrugs. “They're going to try to switch things up. To surprise me,” he says, staring off out the window. “They're going to pull out old techniques, old strategies. Ones they think I haven't studied. If I had to guess, they’ll probably pull a terrorist event and blame dragons, frame them in some way.” He grimaces and checks the scope on his rifle. “They're going to try to stir up some dissent, to make the humans hate the dragons all the more. It’ll be an attempt to get Jace and Harper to kick us out, which makes any and every Fairfax dragon the Knights’ prime target.”
“By terrorist event, you mean they're going to blow up human-run buildings?” I ask, disgusted as it all clicks for me, making perfect—albeit absolutely deranged—sense. “They’re going to hurt people, all to make their attack seem like some pro-dragon assault?”
He nods. “Anything to stir up trouble. They have all kinds of propaganda stored all over the world in every language. Pamphlets, banners, signs—you name it. If they can make it seem like the dragons are trying to orchestrate a hostile takeover and overthrow human governments worldwide, they can undermine any dragon alliances with human militaries.” He pauses, shaking his head. “It's been on my father's list for a while, something he's always talked about but never quite had the resources to pull off.”
I balk. “You think he's found a way to secure the resources he needs to orchestrate something as monumental as this?”
“I don't know,” Tucker admits. “But he's desperate enough to try even if he doesn't.”
With a deep and discouraged frown I have to admit—Tucker has a very good point.
“The Knights have tens of thousands of troops worldwide,” Tucker says. “They get more every day, every time the dragons do something short-sighted or outright cruel. But it's still not enough. So, as long as they can't outright attack dragons, they'll try to villainize them instead.”
“As awful as it is, it makes sense,” I admit.
“They've done it before.” Tucker cleans the barrel of his dragon killer and clicks it back into place. “Here and there—small trials, just to see if it'll work. They…” Tucker grinds his teeth, trailing off as he shakes his head in disgust. “They've destroyed small towns, Rory. Killed everyone there. Man, woman, and child. Humans. Fellow humans,” he says, his voice nearly breaking. “All to make the dragons look worse.”
My chest tightens with horror. With revulsion. I don't even know what to say. There aren’t words for that kind of evil.
Tucker’s gorgeous green eyes settle on me, slipping briefly out of focus as he relives something horrible. He pinches the bridge of his nose to distract himself from the memory and shakes his head. “Nothing’s beneath my father.”
I lean forward, kneeling on the mattress as I tenderly brush my thumb across his jaw. He looks at me again, those gorgeous eyes stealing my breath away, and something in him relaxes. It’s a subtle movement, but it’s there—knowing he’s not alone. Knowing I’m always here for him, no matter what his father has done—or forced him to do—in the past.
Tucker grabs my wrist and gently kisses the heel of my palm. “We have to be careful, Rory. In fact, all Fairfax dragons have to be careful right now because they're protecting us. They’re at the greatest risk. The Knights will probably find and torture anyone who’s even remotely connected to the Fairfax family.”
I frown, swallowing hard as my gaze drifts down toward the gun beside me. A familiar rage starts to brew within my core, smoldering and simmering as it flickers to life.
I know this feeling all too well—it’s the kind of hate that burns me alive anytime I see injustice. It sparks and fizzes, growing more powerful with every passing second I think about the General.
The longer I stay here, the more Fairfax dragons I put at risk.
The more I put Harper at risk.
“The things he's made me do, Rory,” Tucker says quietly, his voice cracking with anguish. He sighs and sits on the bed, his back to me with his head tilted to look out the window.
I hug Tucker from behind, my arms wrapping around his hard body as I hold him to my chest. He sighs and grabs my wrists, pulling my arms tighter around him, like he’s afraid I’ll let go.
“I've always hated him for that,” Tucker admits. “Every torture session he forced me to join or lead made me hate the man more. The screams, the begging for mercy, the begging for death…” Tucker trails off, his body rigid as he remembers things I'm sure he doesn't want to recall.
He's lost in it.
In the grief. In the pain. In the memory of all he's had to do to stay alive. Of all the ways he's had to compromise his morals and who he is, just to survive.
Tenderly, I kiss his neck. I hold him tightly, letting him know I'm there without having to say a word.
Together, we share the silence.
I lose track of how long it goes on because it doesn’t matter. All that matters is that we’re here for each other, always and forever.
His pain is eerily familiar, and I know exactly what he went through. What he’s going through now. Zurie forced me to do unspeakable things, often to people and dragons who didn’t deserve that kind of brutal agony. I’ve assassinated. Hunted. Stolen. Tortured. I’ve been her executioner while she simply sat there and watched, all to prove a point.
To punish me, she tried to strip me of the things that made me human—my values, my decency, my sense of right and wrong.
She failed, of course, but not for a lack of trying.
From a young age, I was nothing but a tool to her. Nothing but a weapon. Nothing but something to sell or be used as she saw fit.
“We found another way, Tucker,” I say tenderly. “We escaped that life.”
He shakes his head and looks at me over his shoulder. “You gave me another way.”
Our eyes meet, and for once, he's not grinning or joking. He simply sits there, uncharacteristically serious, and I can feel the gratitude radiating off of him. It's breathless, and just
like that, I get it.
I get him.
“You’re so gooey,” I joke, grinning.
He laughs and turns around, kneeling on the bed as he pulls me into a tight hug. His hands cradle the back of my head, his fingers weaving through my hair as he holds me tightly.
“The Knights and the Spectres are coming for us both,” he says quietly. “They're not going to stop until we're dead. You know that, right?”
“Then we kill them first,” I say, weaving my hands around his waist. “Or better yet, we destroy them all and stop them from ever hurting anyone else.”
He chuckles. “You're such a sweet talker.”
I laugh, setting my head against his chest—and, deep down, I think he suspects I’m joking.
But I’m not.
Not even a little.
Chapter Ten
Naked and wrapped in Tucker’s sheets, I awake to the patter of stealthy footsteps creeping through the living room toward me.
Toward us.
The warmth from Tucker’s naked body seeps through the sheets beside me, so it’s not him slipping through the shadows.
Whoever’s coming toward us, they shouldn’t be here.
With my left hand pinning the sheets to my chest, I grab my gun off the nightstand and sit up. In one fluid and deadly motion, the barrel of my gun is aimed at the door and ready to take a life.
Silent and still, I wait as a silhouette steals through the darkness outside the bedroom. My thumb presses against the cold metal as I cock the gun, the subtle click of the mechanism almost inaudible in the cold, silent night.
The shadow nears, stepping into a beam of moonlight cutting through a gap in the curtains.
Irena.
I sigh, releasing the tension in my shoulders as I lower my gun and glare at her. She holds a phone in her hand and frowns as she watches me, stern and utterly unsurprised that I'm naked in Tucker's bed.
I open my mouth to speak, to demand that I get some privacy now that I’ve finally gotten to sleep—mostly thanks to Tucker wearing me out with some exercise between his sheets.