Immortally Yours, An Urban Fantasy Romance (Monster MASH, Book 1) (37 page)

My heart slammed in my chest. Oh hell no.
 

Galen gave no reaction. He simply sat rigid, like the soldier he was.
 

He couldn't even be considering...
 

"I'm not going to kill you!"
 

"Shhh..." Shirley elbowed me.
 

Galen shook his head, "Petra, I—"
 

"I'm not going to kill you," I hissed. I wouldn't. I couldn't. It was against everything I stood for. I didn't kill people, I saved people. And Galen wasn't just any person to me. I cared more for him than I had for anyone in a long time, and it was wrong and sick and disgusting to ask me to kill him.
 

He turned to me slowly. "I'm a soldier."
 

"I don't care." Fear trammeled through me. I was prepared to make the final sacrifice. I could die to save the people in this camp and countless other mortals. But I couldn't fathom killing Galen. He'd burst into my life and he changed it around and he actually made me
feel
. And now that I'd had that and had him, I wasn't about to let him go.
 

He gave me a gentle, tight-lipped smile. "I do what's right. I fight. I die so others don't have to."
 

"I'm not going to kill you." There had to be another way. But even as my mind scrambled to find one, I knew there was no hope.
 

It felt like a joke. A sick, sick joke.
 

He looked me straight in the eye. "It didn't say you were the one who had to kill me," he said, as if that made a difference.
 

I couldn't believe we were discussing this. "That's not the point."
 

Galen—damn the man—was as stubborn as a rock. "It's not up to us."
 

It had to be. My mind swam as I fought back rising panic. "Fuck." It didn't make sense. It was so unfair.
 

So wrong.
 

"Petra." With a groan, he hauled me close. His hands caressed my arms, my shoulders, my neck until he cupped my face. Then he lowered his mouth to mine.
 

He kissed me like a man on a mission, his fingers shoving upward into my hair, tangling in it as he commanded me even closer. He shook against me, his arms taut with tightly held emotion. It moved me that this man who had so much to give was so willing to give it all away.
 

I wrapped my arms around his neck, stroking it, doing my best to comfort him as I moved my fingers to the spiky hair at the back of his neck. He was vulnerable, even if he didn't want to admit it to me or the rest of the world, even if he was trying to protect us.
 

He kissed me long and deep. Tongues entwined, I gave back with everything I had. Because this time it was different. This wasn't the same as the passionate kisses and urgent touches we'd shared before. This time, he was beginning to say good-bye.
 

Chapter Twenty-Five

It was too much. I had to get out of there. I broke the kiss and took one step back from Galen, then another.
 

Fear welled up inside me and I dashed for the exit, pushing through the mass of bodies. They were oblivious, talking a mile a minute, blocking the aisles with their animated chatter. I had to get out. I had to get away. I had to go somewhere, do something. Nothing made sense anymore.
 

"Hey, Petra." Rodger grabbed my arm not five feet from the door. I hadn't even seen him. I'd been too focused on the darkness outside. "What do you think?" Rodger beamed, and it took me a second to remember he was talking to me. "Isn't this fantastic? Do you know what this means?"
 

I stared at him. "No." I didn't know what any of it meant anymore.
 

Only that this prophecy was no cause for celebration. It was wrong and degrading and tragic. I didn't want to lose Galen that way.
 

How could I make love to him, knowing I was going to kill him?
 

But Rodger couldn't stop smiling. "Aw, come on." He clapped me on the arm. "I know PNN is a little crazy. But if this prophecy comes true, I get to see my kids again. I can go home."
 

"That's right," I managed to choke out. If I went through this, soldiers like Rodger would get to be with their families again. It was the one thing he lived for down here, his only hope in the middle of this barren wasteland.
 

I didn't want to have to be responsible for the souls of thousands of innocent people. If I didn't stop this, I was banishing soldiers like Rodger to hell for all eternity.
 

He'd never see Mary Ann and the kids again—not even when they were all dead.
 

My eyes grew hot with tears. I couldn't do that to him. I couldn't do that to anyone.
 

There had to be a different way.
 

"Galen!" Rodger waved over the crowd.
 

"I gotta go," I said, ducking away.
 

"What'd I say?" Rodger called after me as I ran out into the night. I didn't want to see him, or Galen, or anyone else. I just wanted to run, leave, and never see this place again.
 

They'd check my hutch first, so I went the opposite way, past the motor pool and through the cemetery.
 

I was used to deciding between two bad options—which wounded soldier needed to be on the table first and which would wait for care. Whether to leave my family for good or try to explain I was part fairy.
 

Whether to save Galen or sacrifice him.
 

And so I ran. I kept running until I saw the red lantern burning outside Father McArio's hutch.
 

I stopped, out of breath. Hands on my hips, I turned to look at the path behind me. Shadowy hulks of machines littered the minefield.
 

Amazing. I'd made it through without tripping any of the booby traps.
 

I sniffed and wiped my nose and eyes on my sleeve.
 

God, why was I here? For all I knew, Father McArio was back in the mess tent. And if he wasn't, what would I even say to him?
 

A collar jingled, and pretty soon I had a hellhound jumping on my leg. He yipped, his red eyes glowing in the night. I hesitated for a split second, but after what I'd been through, hell, who was I to judge?
 

"Hey, Fitz," I said, reaching down to pet his velvety head. I melted a little when he tried to press his entire body against my hand. "Oh come here," I said, picking him up and just holding him for a moment. He wriggled like a piglet, but I didn't care. He was soft and warm, his fur stubbly against my cheek.
 

"I see you found Fitz," Father called, his lantern bobbing as he ambled down the path.
 

"More like he found me." I swallowed and shoved some of the hair out of my face. I was a mess.
 

Father saw, and his expression softened. "Come on inside."
 

Once we made it into the father's hutch, Fitz was eager to attack a table leg. I sat on a camp chair. Father hung his lantern and, calm as ever, took the chair across from me. He didn't press. He just waited.
 

I sniffled and wiped at the tearstains on my cheeks. Thousands of thoughts and emotions collided, but I couldn't get a handle on them. I couldn't force the words out. It left me feeling turned-around, helpless.
 

It was too much to take. Impossible to explain.
 

Father placed a hand on my knee. "Start from the beginning."
 

The tears threatened again. It was almost as if speaking out loud would make it real.
 

I wanted out. I needed a do-over. Whatever I did to bring us to this point, I wanted to take back. Destroy it. Burn it. Scatter the ashes and hide.
 

But there was nowhere to run anymore. I was trapped, with this knowledge, this fear eating a hole inside of me.
 

I took a deep breath, gathering my courage. Before it slipped away, I said, "Galen told me about the Mountain of Flames," I swallowed, "how the new gods made a deal with the lords of the underworld."
 

I glanced up to find Father leaning forward, elbows on his knees, his hands clasped in front of him. "I'm not sure I understand what you mean."
 

My head pounded and my body ached. I closed my eyes tight. I didn't want to tell him. I didn't want to be the one who changed this good man's view of the world forever. Father believed in something more for every single person in this camp, something better. And now I got to shatter his illusions, tear at that belief, hurt him while he tried to help me.
 

But there was no other way. He deserved to know the truth. He'd earned my candor. And maybe, just maybe, he'd help me figure a way out of this.
 

I explained to him about the underworld gods and their offer to back the army that delivered the souls of it mortal soldiers and staff. As I told it, I still couldn't imagine any creature—god or not—willingly brutalizing another for all eternity. Hate rose up in my belly.
 

They'd gladly send someone like Father McArio to hell.
 

His eyes widened as he grasped the enormity of it, the complete and utter wrongness. I laid it in his lap, watched him shrink into himself as the worry lines on his face deepened and his fingers instinctively found the silver cross he wore around his neck.
 

The old gods would damn us in a second. The new gods vowed to destroy us before the old gods could use us. They were playing chicken with our very souls. I wiped at my eyes. "The armies are attacking right now."
 

Father gasped and began to cough. I rose to help him, but he waved me away. "But the prophecy," he choked.
 

Acid crawled up the back of my throat. The prophecy. If I never heard that word again, it would be too soon.
 

How could he possibly understand?
 

Father watched me expectantly. Oh God. He actually had hope.
 

"Petra?"
 

The back of my throat tightened as I let out a sob. This was so impossible.
 

Say it. Just say it.
 

" 'As armies rage, the lifesaver will join bodies in love. Afterward'"—I forced myself to finish—"'she will find new peace as he finds death.' "
 

Father leaned back. "I see."
 

No, he didn't. I didn't even understand. "How could I do that?" Be intimate with Galen, share everything with him, give him my body—and then kill him? Every fiber of my being said
no
.
 

"Galen is a good man," I protested. Surely Father understood that. "He's the reason I've gotten so far." He'd pushed me as I fought him. He'd let me rile against him. "He saved me from the Shrouds in the desert. I wouldn't be here, doing this, if it weren't for him and now I have to end him?"
 

And I couldn't say it out loud, but I knew. I knew in my heart that sleeping with him might not be enough.
 

Fuck it all. I had to open my own heart up. I had to love him and I couldn't do that. Not now.
 

Father folded his hands in his lap, his expression grave. "How does Galen feel about this, Petra?"
 

"That's what makes it worse. He's willing to die." Ready to sacrifice. And I could kill him and it wouldn't be enough.
 

I stared at the red lantern above Father's head until tears blurred it. He was so willing to give, but me? No. Maybe it was because I'd had so little for so long. I thought I'd learned to live without comfort, affection. Love.
 

But now I felt like a part of me was being ripped out whole. I'd never be the same again.
 

He'd die in glory and I'd be alone. Always alone.
 

I knew it was selfish and I knew it was wrong, but what about me? Bit by bit, he'd cracked open my defenses. He'd slipped past the barriers that had kept so many others out.
 

He came to me. He saw the real me. He'd wound his way into my heart, and now he was going to march off into the sunset. His death would kill me, too. There would be nothing left whole and good anymore.
 

I broke down, letting the tears come. I was tired of fighting. "I don't know what to do."
 

Father placed a comforting hand on my shoulder. "I'm sorry."
 

Me, too. I was sick as hell of people I loved being noble and dying. I knew I was supposed to applaud them, but the selfish, lonely, scared part of my being wanted to ask: What about me?
 

What about the person who gets left behind?
 

"I'm not strong enough for this." I'd survived through blood and guts and war, but I was at my limit. "I can't take it."
 

Father touched my shoulder. "It's the nature of sacrifice. To be willing to suffer for what you know is right. It applies to the one who leaves, and maybe even more to those left behind."
 

It wasn't fair.
 

I should know by now that nothing about war is fair.
 

Another horrible thought slammed into me, confusing and angry. "If I do this. If I go to Galen now, it would only be to make the prophecy come true. I'd be trying to influence it." We both knew the disaster that could come from a move like that.
 

"I don't know," he said, looking as lost as I felt. "I just don't know."
 

"At least you're honest."
 

He gave a small smile. "Have faith, Petra," he said with utter conviction.
 

"You realize who you're talking to." I didn't know how he did it, how he believed so much.