Shadow Soldier (9 page)

Roux couldn’t believe he’d actually slung her over his shoulder like a fucking caveman and carried her down to the infirmary. As she’d suspected, her cut hadn’t needed stitches. After the doctor had cleaned and rewrapped the wound, he’d given her a prescription for antibiotics and another for pain medication, should she need it.

“Are you speaking to me now?”

She hadn’t said anything at the Bastille, or during the walk to the pharmacy. Deke had tried to engage her in conversation while they’d waited for her prescriptions to be filled, but she’d done her best to ignore him. All the while, however, she’d been daydreaming about knocking that smug grin off his face.

“You’re pretty damn pleased with yourself, aren’t you?”

Deke held his hands up—both healed now—in mock surrender. “I did warn you, female. I also gave you a choice.”

“So, this is my fault?”

“Your words, not mine.”

Yes, she was definitely going to murder him. “You’re lucky there are witnesses.” After picking up her meds, he’d taken her back to the Square, but he still hadn’t said why. “Where are we going?”

“You haven’t eaten.”

The answer caught Roux off-guard, and anything she might have said in return died in her throat. The clothes, the infirmary, the medications, even the coffee—that had all been for her. Plenty of guards had seen her in the Square and at the Bastille. If she suddenly came up missing now, no one would suspect Deke, and everything would go back to normal.

He had no reason to go out of his way to help her, not now that he had what he wanted. Deke had delivered on everything he’d promised, and he hadn’t asked for anything in return. Throughout the morning, he’d fed her, clothed her, tended to her wounds, and he’d even taken her to the Bastille to see Cade and the others.

She’d been running for so long, always looking over her shoulder, and it had kept her alive. Now, the game had changed. Focused on getting out of the city, she hadn’t stopped to consider what would happen next. On her own, she could move quickly, quietly, but without the security of a group to watch her back, she likely wouldn’t last long.

Every cell in Roux’s body believed Deke would let her walk out of the city if she still wanted to go, but leaving no longer felt like the safer option. Then again, she’d also kissed a shifter that morning, so maybe her instincts weren’t to be trusted.

“Come on, kitten. We’re going to be late.”

“Huh?” Blinking, Roux shook her head and looked up at the shifter. “Late?” She ignored the stupid pet name. Making a fuss over it would only encourage him. “Are we meeting someone?”

Deke laughed. “You ask a lot of questions.”

And he deflected just as many. He never gave her answers, not real ones, anyway. All morning, he’d offered her just enough to satisfy, a taste, but never anything more. Every question she’d asked had been met with a vague, non-answer while he promised something more substantial “later.”

“Yes, we’re meeting someone,” he admitted, stopping in front of a glass door painted with a red and gold dragon. “Do you like eggrolls?”

“I’m not picky.”

That hadn’t always been the case. As a child, she’d refused to try new foods, sitting at the dinner table for hours until she finally fell asleep over her plate. After a while, her parents had given up on forcing her to eat fruits and vegetables, not that she blamed them.

As an adult, she’d been a little better, and over time, she’d learned to tolerate most vegetables. She still hadn’t cared much for fruits, unless they came glazed, sautéed, or baked into a dessert—preferably covered in chocolate.

Living under the radar, dodging the Coalition, even simple things like peanut butter had become a luxury. Soon after, food became something to sustain her, a tool for survival, and with so little of it, turning her nose up at an apple wasn’t an option.

The interior of the tiny Chinese restaurant looked like a thousand others of its kind. Tapestries stretched across the walls, depicting tranquil gardens or fiery dragons. A soft, oriental melody drifted from the overhead speakers, and spicy incense mingled with the delicious smells coming from the kitchen.

Roux tensed and jerked away when Deke took her hand. “Sorry,” she mumbled. “Kneejerk reaction.”

The shifter only smiled and placed his hand against her hip instead, leading her through the restaurant to a table in the back. A petite woman with pin-straight blonde hair looked up from the book she’d been immersed in as they approached, greeting them with a thousand-watt smile.

“Deke! It’s so good to see you.” Standing, she rounded the square, four-top table and rushed forward to throw her arms around him. “Where have you been keeping yourself?”

Shifting away from Deke’s side, Roux fisted her hands against her thighs and gritted her teeth. Heat rushed into her cheeks, and a red haze descended over her vision as she valiantly resisted the urge to rip the little bitch’s hair out by the roots.

Whoa.
She didn’t know where the hell the urge had come from, but she didn’t like it. At no point had she staked any claim to the captain, nor did she want one. He could cuddle up with any little tramp he wanted.

“Abby, I want you to meet Roux Jennings. Roux, this is Abigail Dawson. She works at the registration office.”

“So, you’re the one causing all the commotion this morning.” With a warm, welcoming smile, Abby offered her hand as she bobbed her head. “I can see what all the fuss is about. It’s very nice to meet you, Roux.”

Taking the woman’s hand, Roux squeezed it briefly, then pulled away. “I assure you, it’s not.”

Abby blinked a few times, her brow creasing. The expression cleared almost as quickly as it had come, and a slow, knowing smile graced her bow-shaped lips.

“I see.”

Pressing his fist to his mouth, Deke coughed twice, but it didn’t completely hide his laughter. When he caught Roux glaring at him, he ducked his head and rubbed the back of his neck, though he didn’t quite pull off the look of contrition.

“I’m going to hit the head,” he announced, squeezing past Roux but not looking at her. “Order whatever you like.”

“Should I order your usual?” Abby called, beaming when he responded in the affirmative.

Again, Roux had to resist the urge to drive her fist into the woman’s too-perfect smile. Whether it had been a deliberate ploy to goad her or not, it had worked. Roux just didn’t know why she cared so much.

“You want to hurt me right now, huh?” Still smiling her plastic, Barbie doll smile, Abby sashayed around the table and settled into her seat. “Please, sit.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”
Much
. “I don’t even know you.” Tucking the bag of clothing she’d taken from the Bastille under her chair, Roux dropped into the red, padded seat and folded her arms.

“Oh, honey, you can lie to yourself, but don’t lie to me.” Abby’s lips twisted into a shrewd grin, and she tapped a manicured fingernail against the side of her water glass. “You want to claw my eyes out, but you don’t know why.”

A young man wearing a white, button-down shirt and a pair of black slacks hurried up to their table with his pen poised over a small notebook. “What can I get you ladies, today?”

Unsure of what her stomach could tolerate, Roux ordered fried rice with sesame chicken and a glass of iced tea. Abby, on the other hand, ordered enough food to feed a small army.

“When does Deke have patrol?” she asked Roux, holding a finger up to the server.

“Um, I think he said four.”

Abby nodded. “And a Corona with extra lime.”

“How do you know Deke?” Roux blurted once the server had left.

“He’s a friend.” Leaning back in her seat, she crossed one leg over the other and sighed. “Deke saved my life. He brought me here and helped me get a job.” Her hazel eyes took on a faraway look, and a tender expression fell over her heart-shaped face. “He introduced me to Peter.”

“Peter? The bakery guy? You two are a thing?” Roux definitely had to be missing something. “But, you’re human.”

One of Abby’s golden eyebrows winged up toward her hairline. “Yes, I am, and no, we’re not a
thing
. Peter is special to me, though. Is that a problem?”

“Not a problem, just surprising.” Nothing in Trinity Grove was like she expected. The humans she’d seen so far appeared happy, content with their lives, and none of them seemed to be in a hurry to leave. “Are you a pet?”

“Where did you hear that term?”

It was Roux’s turn to smirk. “Your baker.”

“Bloody idiot,” Abby muttered under her breath. Then louder, “For all intents and purposes, and as far as the ruling body is concerned, yes. I am a registered personal companion.”

“And you’re okay being the equivalent of the family dog?”

“Don’t be so naïve, Roux. Being strong and independent is fine, encouraged even, but turning down help where it’s offered is neither of those things.”

“You’re a fucking slave, Barbie. That’s not help.”

The seconds ticked by while Abby watched her through narrowed eyes. “I like you, Roux Jennings. So, I’m going to give you a little piece of advice.” Splaying her hands across the table, she leaned forward, pinning Roux with her intense gaze. “Don’t wait until it’s too late.”

Her advice might have been more helpful if Roux knew what the hell it meant. “Where is Deke?”

Abby lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. “Probably slipped out for a minute. He’ll be back.”

The information filled her with more anxiety than it probably should have, but it also irritated her. She’d been pretty obvious in her dislike of the blonde, and yet, he’d abandoned her to the woman. In fact, he’d seemed downright amused by the entire situation.

If she had to be stuck with the hussy, she might as well get some information out of her. “You said you’re registered? What does that mean?”

“Do you really want to know? Or are you just going to continue to mock me?”

As much as she hated to admit it, Abby made a decent point. “Okay, fine.” She dipped her head toward the other woman. “I’m listening.”

Sliding her fingers along the delicate chain necklace hidden under her hair, Abby extracted a teardrop-shaped sapphire encased in an antique silver setting. When she turned the jewel around, Roux had to lean closer to read the words engraved on the back of the pendant—Abby’s full name, followed by Peter’s, then a series of letters and numbers.

Remembering her promise to listen and not judge, she held her tongue, though every part of her rebelled at the idea of being collared like a shelter rescue. But, she simply nodded, motioning for the woman to explain.

“I see that look on your face,” Abby chastised, “but this pretty little trinket marks me as claimed. Meaning,” she continued a little louder when Roux started to interrupt, “that I’m untouchable. You think belonging to someone is so awful? Try being an unclaimed female in this town.”

Roux sat up a little straighter, suddenly much more interested in the conversation. “I thought this town was all handholding and campfire songs, that humans didn’t need to be afraid of the Gemini?”

“Oh, don’t be so obtuse. The world wasn’t black and white before the Purge. Why do you expect it to be that way now?” Inhaling deeply through her nose, Abby held the breath for a heartbeat, then released it through her parted lips. “Are you going to sit there and tell me you met no raiders in the Deadlands? That every human you met had only honorable intentions?”

Abby already knew the answer, and judging by the way she spoke, that knowledge came from experience. “Point taken,” Roux responded grudgingly, her nostrils flaring as she struggled to keep her voice even. “Not all humans are monsters, and not all monsters are human. There are bad eggs in every group. I get what you’re saying.”

Abby snorted, a very unladylike sound, especially for such a prissy looking woman. “Look, cupcake, whether you like it or not, this is how the world works now. You and I? Humans? We’re not at the top of the food chain anymore.”

“So, we’re supposed to be happy being slaves?”

“There’s that word again.” Abby shook her head as she drummed her fingernails against the red, laminate tabletop. “I have a job. I get my hair and nails done once a week. I spend time with my friends.” She waved her hand to indicate the restaurant. “I go out to lunch, dinner, and sometimes, I even have a drink on the weekend. Does that sound like a slave?”

No, it didn’t, but Roux still couldn’t reconcile how belonging to someone equaled freedom. “So, Peter has staked his claim and peed all around you. Which means…what?”

“It means that if anyone even looks at me in a way I don’t approve of, they’re ass is toast. It means I don’t have to deal with tawdry advances on a daily basis. It means I can walk down the street without being harassed or subjected to random searches.”

“And Peter? What does he get out of it?”

“There are a variety of reasons for the Gemini to claim a companion. Some need someone to clean their houses or maybe cook dinner for them. The vampires might choose a companion so that they don’t have to use the blood bags the Coalition provides.” Glaring, Abby held up her hand when Roux opened her mouth to interrupt again. “It’s a trade, Roux. No one is forced to be a blood companion.”

“Fine, but you didn’t answer my question. What does Peter get out of your…relationship?”

Abby regarded her for several, long seconds before she finally answered. “Many of the Gemini register a companion in an effort to protect someone they love.”

Roux could feel her mouth hanging open, but it took a while for her brain to work out how to close it. “Peter loves you? I mean, you’re in love? Together? With each other?” Clearly, the news had fried her brain. “You know what I mean, but I thought you two weren’t an item.”

“Calm down.” Chuckling, Abby tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Yes, I love him, but I’m not
in
love with him. We take care of each other, but it’s not romantic.”

“Please don’t tell me he’s like your brother.”

Abby laughed again. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but that’s exactly how it is. Peter is family,” she added with conviction. “It’s never been sexual, nor is it something soul deep—like a mating bond, for example.”