by Kallysten
“Take care of yourself. We’ll come as soon as we can.”
He took one last look at her, gave her one last smile, and closed his hand over the flame.
As he lay back down and shut his eyes, her image drifted to the front of his thoughts. He’d found his mate, at last. She was gorgeous, she sounded kind and courageous, she had a power that matched his own…
And she’d not only met Petro first, she’d also met the other man whose name she wore as a tattoo.
For all that they were coming to get him out of there, Paul couldn’t help but think things weren’t looking all that good for him.
CHAPTER EIGHT
It was a long night for Petro. After talking to Paul, he walked over to Sanctuary’s Leader Center—the heart from where Sanctuary coordinated with paras and allies not only in the country but across the entire world. The mile-long walk cleared his mind from the worry Paul’s ‘call’ had instilled in him.
He and his brother had never been close. Between their age difference and the fact that they wore the same name on their wrists, their relationship had always been strained, and Petro could admit that it was in large part his fault. Still, whether they were close or not, Paul was all that was left of his family, and the idea that he might die at the hands of bigots was unendurable.
So, he wouldn’t die. Petro would see to it. After all, he’d made it his job to get paras out of the clutches of the UIPP. He had no doubt that he could get Paul away from a bigoted sheriff and his deputies.
By the time he reached the main square from which Sanctuary was governed, determination filled him, the seeds of half a dozen plans already starting to grow at the back of his mind. South of the square, a large, two-hundred-year-old mansion remained the homestead of the Littlefeather family even decades after they’d started welcoming other paras onto their domain. Various newer buildings surrounded the rest of the large square, where public events were held, and concerts, even plays were occasionally performed. The Leader Center was a sprawling one-story building with red bricks framing extensive bay windows in a strange mix of traditional and modern architecture.
At this hour, the resource coordinator wasn’t at her desk by the entrance, but Petro’s personal security code opened the glass doors for him, and the lights switched on automatically. Like the outside, the inside was a mix of the old and new, with heavy wooden tables and armchairs that wouldn’t have been out of place in an antiques shop serving as desks and working centers for state of the art computers. Petro approached the closest table, turned on the laptop, and while it booted up went to help himself to a cup of coffee from the back room.
Not everyone was allowed to peruse the multiple databases, but as a member of the squad Petro was a frequent visitor. The network was self-contained, with no direct link to the internet. Communication with the outside world happened upstairs, from computers that were in no way linked to the databases. The information gathered here was just too sensitive to risk it been hacked and falling into their enemies’ hands. If the UIPP or other human authorities ever put Sanctuary under siege, the Leader Center was rigged to blow up rather than surrender its secrets.
With a coffee mug at hand and a small notebook in front of him, Petro spent hours poring over maps to trace a route from Sanctuary to Freetown. Taking the highway would be simple enough, and would get them there with time to spare, but things were never quite that easy for paras.
He carefully jotted down every bit of information that might prove useful: areas where the UIPP had been particularly active recently, restaurants, diners and motels where paras had reported being harassed or where the staff had called the authorities on them, but also business places that quietly welcomed and protected paras, as well as individual allies, whether they were paras themselves or merely sympathetic humans, who might hide them if they needed a safe place to stay. They wouldn’t need all the information he was collecting, but in his experience being over-prepared always beat the alternative.
In the wee hours of the morning, he had a fairly good idea of the road he’d take—the highway up to a certain point, then smaller roads all the way to Freetown. He also had two rough plans in mind, one in which he acted alone, and one in which he had help. From the Leader Center, he moved on to the nearby rental garage. Again, being a member of the squad served him right, and the sleepy attendant merely asked him where he intended to drive the car and how long he’d be gone. He chose a gray sedan, nondescript but roomy.
Finally returning home, he made a mental list of what he’d need to take with him. A change of clothes for himself and for Paul, a first aid kit in case his wound needed tending to… Not much, really. This ought to be a simple mission.
He was just about done throwing a travel bag together when someone knocked on his door. Somehow, he knew before he even went to open who it would be—or maybe he merely hoped it would be Hazel.
He’d been trying to decide whether to simply go on his own or accept her offer of help. He could have been out of Sanctuary and halfway to Freetown before she even realized he’d left without her. Her presence here made that option moot.
Wearing heavy shoes, black jeans and a black t-shirt emblazoned with the logo of the Mated Wolves rock band, she stood with her arms crossed. She’d gathered her small braids into a bun at the nape of her neck. He knew that look: it was her ‘ready for business’ attire. Clearly she hadn’t come to tell him she’d changed her mind about coming with him.
“I heard from Paul,” she said without bothering with hellos. “Tomorrow night at sundown. That’s when they’re supposed to execute him.”
Petro took a second to absorb the news. He’d been basing his plan on the assumption that Paul would be killed in the early hours of morning. This gave him a few hours more.
“Good,” he said mechanically, only to have Hazel give him a startled, wide-eyed stare.
“I mean, good in the sense that it gives us more time to get there than if it’d been a morning execution,” he explained. “That is, if you’re still coming.”
She didn’t hesitate for a second before saying, “I am,” but she did pause briefly before adding, “And so is Paris.”
Only then did Petro notice the man leaning against the car a few feet behind her. Or maybe he hadn’t wanted to let himself notice him.
Of a height with Petro, he was lither, though still imposing. His shaved head showed three parallel scars on his skull, each barely lighter than his dark skin tone. No doubt it added to the intimidation factor. It wasn’t the look Petro would expect from a doctor, but from what he’d heard, Paris knew his stuff. Not that Petro cared about him or anything.
“No,” he said, crossing his arms in a mirror of Hazel. “Absolutely not. He’s got no training—”
“Except his training as a doctor, you mean,” Hazel cut in sharply. “Your brother said he was shot, remember? You don’t think he’ll need a doctor to have a look at his wound ASAP? He said whoever gave him medical attention just made sure he’d live, they weren’t trying to actually heal him.”
“And I did go through basic training,” Paris added, coming forward. “I can hold my own in a fight.”
As he stood by Hazel’s side, it was all Petro could do not to put his fist in the man’s face, and he had to force himself to turn away not to succumb to the temptation.
It wasn’t that he didn’t like Paris. He didn’t know him, so there was nothing for him to dislike about him. What he did know was that Hazel had chosen him. She’d chosen a man she’d barely met—a man she wasn’t even involved with yet, Petro was absolutely sure of it—over someone whose bed she’d shared for five years.
What Petro had done that she’d take the first chance to dump him like this, he still couldn’t understand.
“If you think basic training is enough to go on a mission, then you’ve got no idea what it’s like out there.”
Paris actually laughed at that, drawing Petro’s frown back to him.
“I was ‘out there’ unt
il less than six months ago,” Paris said pointedly. “I know exactly what it’s like. I know how to blend in. And I can take orders, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“I’m not worried,” Petro replied automatically. He didn’t like one bit the thin smile Hazel tried to disguise when he said as much, and opted to ignore it. “I just don’t understand why you’d want to come. Unless you’re just worried your mate might jump ship again as soon as she lays eyes on my brother. Or did she not tell you he’s the third one?”
Her smile disappeared in a flash, leaving behind a wounded expression that made Petro want to apologize. He bit the inside of his cheek rather than say another word, and shoved his hands in his pockets so he wouldn’t reach out to her.
“She told me.” Paris rested a hand on her shoulder. “And this is why I’m coming. But I’m not worried. Not any more than I was worried she’d go back to you during your mission. If that’s what she wants—”
“Not now,” Hazel hissed at him, and Petro, curious to know how his rival would have ended that sentence, almost countered with “Yes, now.” But why would he draw her annoyance back to him when it was now directed at Paris? Better to let them argue.
There was no argument, however. Paris withdrew his hand from her shoulder and raised an eyebrow at her, but he didn’t say anything else. She was the one who asked, “So, when do we leave?”
“I’m almost done packing,” Petro said in a business tone. “I’ve mapped out the way to Freetown. As soon as you two are ready, we can get on the road.”
In response, Paris retrieved two backpacks and a medical bag from the trunk of his car.
“We’re ready,” he said as he came back.
And there went Petro’s last chance of heading out on his own.
Fifteen minutes later, with sunrise no more than a rosy promise on the horizon behind them, they were driving away from Sanctuary. Petro was behind the wheel, while Paris had insisted to take the passenger seat and leave the entire backseat for Hazel.
“Try to get some sleep,” he encouraged her.
Petro met her eyes in the rearview mirror and knew at once that she was too keyed up to sleep. Too wary, too. What did she expect would happen if she did? Did she think that Petro and Paris, finally within arm’s length, would resort to violence to settle their claim over her?
There was nothing left to settle, was there? She’d made her choice. And that choice turned up the awkwardness of this road trip beyond what Petro would have thought possible. Silence weighed on the car, as palpable as another body settled in the back seat. Even as Petro hit the highway, time seemed to slow down. The temptation to push the car beyond the speed limit to get to their destination that much faster became an irritating itch between Petro’s shoulder blades, right where he couldn’t scratch. He couldn’t risk getting stopped for speeding now. The last thing they needed was to attract attention from the authorities before they even reached Freetown.
By midmorning, Petro stopped to refuel. Hazel and Paris both came out to stretch their legs and entered the gas station together, although Paris quickly returned alone with three steaming cups in a holder.
“Coffee?” he offered, holding the cups out toward Petro.
Petro finished filling up the tank before he accepted one of the cups with a shallow nod. Petty, maybe, but what else could he do?
“Where is she?” he asked gruffly, leaning back against the car.
“Ladies’ room. She’ll be out in a minute, so let me say this quick before she is. I never asked her to choose between us. And I never will. I’ve told her since the beginning of our relationship that if she wants to keep seeing you, I have no issue with that. Just thought you should know.”
At a loss for words, Petro did nothing more than take a sip of the too hot coffee. He burned his tongue, but couldn’t have cared less when his mind was suddenly in shambles.
“I can’t,” she’d told him just two nights earlier. But what she’d really meant was “I don’t want to,” wasn’t it? Or did she fear Paris didn’t really mean it?
She returned before he’d figured out what to say to the fool standing just a yard from him. Yes, he really was a fool. Why else would he even consider sharing his mate with another man? Petro himself had always said he’d never share her with his brother if it turned out the same woman was meant for both of them. The mere thought of it had fire running through his veins.
“Ready?” Hazel asked, accepting one of Paris’ cups with a strange, forced smile.
They started back on the road, and with each mouthful of bitter, unsweetened coffee, something like grief tried to sink under Petro’s skin. Had he lost her because he wasn’t willing to share?
CHAPTER NINE
Although Hazel had cracked open one of the windows, the inside of the car still felt stuffy. Night had fallen a long time ago, and the air had cooled down enough that the AC wasn’t necessary anymore, but the humidity remained too high for comfort.
Then again, the discomfort might also have to do with the fact that she was stuck in this enclosed space with both her former and current lovers, hardly her idea of the perfect road trip.
“Tell me again why we couldn’t take the plane?” she asked with an exaggerated sigh.
Petro sighed back, just as pointedly.
“Because the squad needs it to bring the people we freed to Sanctuary. And because this isn’t official business, remember?”
She knew that edge in his voice, knew what the tapping of his thumb on the wheel meant: he was on his last nerve and trying to contain himself. Well, he had no one to blame but himself for this overlong trip.
“Maybe we should have made it official business,” she pressed on. “Surely Millie would have—”
“Oh, give it a rest, love,” Paris interrupted, his words a little slurred from the nap he’d been taking, wedged against the passenger door. “We’re almost there, it’s too late for ‘should have’ and ‘would have.’” After yawning widely, he added, “It’s too late for anything for that matter. Maybe we could stop at the next motel, get a few hours of sleep.”
Outside the car, the darkness pressed in from all sides. It was a fairly busy road by day, but the bursts of light when a car passed them going the opposite way had grown more and more infrequent in the past couple of hours.
“What are you complaining about?” Petro asked, the edge of a snarl in his voice. “You were sleeping not two minutes ago. Or maybe this isn’t comfortable enough for you? I’m so sorry you’re being inconvenienced.”
“And I’m so sorry you’re too much of a jerk to let me or Hazel take a turn behind the wheel,” Paris replied deadpan. “And sorry as well you’re too thickheaded to understand we’re only here to help. And if this plan you’re not ready to share with us yet involves storming the town in the middle of the night when you’re both sleep deprived, by all means, let’s keep going. But if not, maybe a few hours in a bed would be helpful in the long run.”
From where she sat in the back Hazel could see Petro’s hands tighten on the steering wheel. She was sure he was about to explode, and without thinking she reached out and laid a hand on his shoulder. Paris half-turned to look at her, but he didn’t say anything more, and she couldn’t see his expression well enough to take a guess at what was on his mind. As for Petro, the tension under her hand slowly ebbed away until he sighed again, this time in tiredness.
“All right,” he said. “There’s a motel at the exit after next, the owner is a para and doesn’t ask questions. We’ll stop there and start again in the morning.”
“How do you know about that motel?” Paris asked, his tone curious rather than challenging. “Have you been around here before?”
“Never,” Petro said somewhat grudgingly. “But we have a database at the Leader Center of places that are safe to stay at when we travel.”
“Oh, neat. The Leader Center, it’s that big glass building on the main plaza, isn’t it? I’ve never been in there.”
Petro was silent for long enough that Hazel thought the conversation was over, but he soon proved her wrong.
“Not everyone can access the databases, or at least not without prior authorization and a good reason. But you should be able to, if you want. There are files about specialized surgeons or doctors that have worked for Sanctuary in the past, if you ever need a second opinion, or another pair of hands. I know there’s also the beginning of a shifter anatomy database, because I was asked be part of it in dragon form. Talk to Lily Littlefeather, she’ll tell you anything you want to know about it and she can get you in.”
It was now Paris’ turn to fall quiet, and Hazel could guess he was just as surprised as she felt. How strange that Petro would volunteer this kind of information after he’d made it clear he didn’t want to talk to Paris.
“Thank you,” Paris finally said, sounding very solemn. “That sounds like it could be really helpful to my practice. There’s a dragon shifter, a woman. She’s in a near catatonic state. I’ve been visiting her for three months and I’ve never pulled a word out of her, and she hasn’t shifted in all that time I’ve been told. I’ve been trying to rule out physiological conditions, but I’d never treated a dragon shifter before, so it’ll be helpful if I have a baseline, so to speak.”
“Marigold,” Petro said, nodding, and he shot Hazel a look in the rearview mirror. “How long has it been… a year?”
She scratched her neck absently with a finger as she thought back on that particular mission. “Almost. We got her out in… August, wasn’t it?”
“August, yes, you’re right.” To Paris, he added, “She’s never said a word as far as we know. The only reason we know her name is because that particular jail labeled cell doors with the prisoners’ names. The other two people we freed were so frail, they died soon after we got them back to Sanctuary.”