Veil of Shadows (26 page)

Lo lifted his pulsar and said absently, “Do me a favor—if you make it through this, tell Janis I love her.”

The two men began firing as one. Others joined them. Shrieks filled the air.

Not all of them came from the demons. Hot, red blood splashed against his face. He couldn’t turn his head to see—couldn’t take his one good eye from the enemy coming at him.

But it was human blood.

Jorniaks didn’t bleed red.

Hurling his pulsar down, Xan reached for the blades at his back. Pulsars were nice little weapons to use if you had some distance between yourself and the target. He had next to no distance. Besides, he preferred the bladed weapon over the blasting kind any day.

He fell into a fog—a fog made of his own driving need to keep the demons from Syn and their fetid, hungry breath clogging his every breath.

Then there was only one demon.

He lifted his blade to take it down, but it hit the ground before he could strike.

A man stood there, just behind the demon.

A blond man, with midnight eyes and fresh, black demon blood splattered across his face.

The feel of him made Xan’s skin crawl.

Power—a Warlord’s power, and this man had it in spades.

The stranger glanced behind him, his gaze lingering on Syn.

Lips peeling back from his teeth, Xan lifted his blade. “You can’t touch her.”

“And you can barely stand, you fool.” The blond circled around him and knelt beside Syn, tearing away the makeshift bandages.

Warmth pulsed through the air.

It knocked Xan back—a palpable force. From the direction of the camp, he heard voices calling out. He looked away from the man for just a moment—good—help. Thankfully. Finally. Gripping his blade, he went to attack the unknown Warlord, although he barely had the strength to stand.

When he looked back, it was just in time to see the back of the blond man’s head as he disappeared into the forest. “Get the hell out of here,” he muttered. Away from Syn.

Swearing, he crouched down by her side and reached for the discarded bandages. But when he went to press them to her wounds, he realized they weren’t needed. The deep, gaping gashes in her arm were no longer deep, gaping . . . or open. Fine ridges of deep red scar tissue were there instead.

Startled, Xan lifted his head and stared into the trees. He couldn’t see the other man anymore.

A healer . . . ? Not a medic or some sort of herb witch, but a real healer.

He lifted his gaze and looked around. A healer—they could use a healer.

But then he realized . . . no. They couldn’t use a healer. Syn was no longer bleeding and those still standing might need medical attention, but a healer’s gift would be wasted on them.

And nothing could help the fallen.

Including Lo.

Syn came awake to find Elina leaning over her.

A familiar, unwelcome smell filled her nostrils, and she promptly closed her eyes. “I’m still asleep,” she said baldly.

“Nice try. Now sit up or I’ll pour this shit down your throat.” In a taunting voice, the witch added, “And you’re really not strong enough to stop me.”

Syn hated to admit it, but the bitch had a point. Popping one eye open, she glared at Elina. “I don’t need that stuff. I’m fine.”

“You’re not. You could have lost your arm and there’s an infection settling in the bite wound in your leg.”

“My arm?” Now Syn sat up. Elina moved back but more to keep the hot tea in her hand from spilling onto Syn’s chest. She lifted both arms and stared at them. She saw right away which one she’d almost lost. Her left arm had three raised ridges high on it. Deep inside the arm, she ached. She could feel the pull of healing muscles and the itch of healing flesh. It looked like an injury that was a few weeks old. But she hadn’t had it that morning.

A memory flashed through her mind.

She could remember Xan, hauling her back to camp even as the Jorniaks and Raviners swelled around them. It was bizarrely dreamlike—just outside the camp, Xan had stopped, put her on the ground.

Lo had been there. A few others. She heard screams. Heard howls. Smelled the blood.

Then nothing—a brief flash of darkness, followed by one startling clear memory. A man’s face, surrounded by a shock of pale hair, followed by the rush of a healer’s touch.

“Morne.”

Elina cocked a brow. “I assumed as much. Nobody else around here can do what he does. All the smart healers do the same thing the smart witches do—stay very, very far away from the Gates.”

Syn closed her eyes and slumped back against the jelapad. One nice thing about getting injured—the patients in the medicon got all the good beds. The bed conformed to her body, cradling her. “Guess that means he’s not as smart as we always thought he was.” With a smirk, she added, “And neither are you. After all,
you
left and then came back.”

“Yes. I guess that means I’m either very, very foolish or just a glutton for punishment.”

The smell of the insian tea grew stronger, and Syn could feel the heat of the cup close to her cheek. “Come on, Syn. Drink up.”

Syn turned her head aside and held out a hand, grimacing. She could either drink the shit and feel better shortly or fight Elina, feel like a fool when she lost, and she’d still have to drink the damn stuff. “Fine. Give me the damn thing, and go find Kalen. I want a report on the losses.”

“He’s already on his way. I buzzed him when I knew you were waking up.”

Forcing her body upright, she gulped the tea down in four big swigs. It was hot, burning her tongue. Not enough to kill her taste buds, though, unfortunately. It was like drinking water laced with mold and fecal material—utterly vile.

But it worked.

Within a few heartbeats, the pain in her arm eased, as did the lingering headache she hadn’t even been aware of. “You would think there would be something to make that crap taste better.”

“There is—grinding it down into a powder and making tablets out of it.” Elina smirked and added, “But we kind of lack the technology to do it out here and the bastards back east are too stingy to share the good stuff, I guess.”

Syn was only marginally aware of Elina’s voice. She was remembering—trying to work past the cloud of pain that fogged the memories.

Xan.

Lothen.

The cloud of death she’d sensed, even before the attack had begun.

Somebody had died.

“Elina.”

The blond witch sighed and settled down on the bed next to Syn. “What, honey?”

“You do know that you’re about the only person with the guts to call me honey, right?” Syn smiled, but it wobbled and faded as she looked up and met Elina’s gaze. “How bad was it?”

“Pretty bad. From all accounts, there were a couple dozen Jorniaks, at least, probably more. There were also Raviners.”

Syn swallowed and said, “I remember calling for everybody to fall back. The demons doubled back, didn’t they?”

“Yeah. They didn’t catch up until your men were almost at the camp—we sent men to get the injured. I was able to catch some of them with fire. Still, we would have lost even more, but . . .” Elina stopped talking and swallowed.

Screams echoed in Syn’s ears. She remembered.

“Xan and Lothen guarded the retreat,” Syn said softly. “I remember it. I was going in and out, but I remember him carrying me. Then he put me down and I heard them—heard one of them scream; then I was gone again.”

Elina reached over and covered Syn’s hand. “Lo’s dead.”

Syn nodded. Lo—one of Bron’s best friends. A guy about her age—he was goofy and liked to tease, liked to laugh. Fought like a demon. Had a thing going with one of the medics—Janis—he’d adored that woman.

Now he was dead.

“Was it quick?”

Elina nodded. Under the warm gold of her skin, she was pale. Very pale. Grim-eyed, she said, “The secondary units went out to sweep for survivors. They brought his remains back. He died fast. Very fast . . . and I . . . Well, he didn’t hurt much.”

Syn blew out a breath, tried to breathe past the pain knotting inside her chest. “What about Xan?”

Elina nodded her head toward the medicon doors. “He’s standing guard outside. Very grim look on his face. I’ve got to tell you, Syn, he’s a sexy piece of work.” She wiggled her eyebrows and gave Syn a wicked, somewhat forced smile. “And the way he watches you, it’s something else. I’m kind of surprised he’s not already in here.”

Syn didn’t have a chance to even think about how to respond to that one, because the door opened and Kalen came striding in. He stopped in the middle of the room, arms folded over his chest, a dark look on his face.

“We have two men unaccounted for—two confirmed dead—Lo and Saurell,” he said bluntly.

Syn nodded. “I saw Saurell go down. I heard about Lo—Elina told me.”

He stared off over her shoulder, but he wasn’t seeing the plain white wall, she knew. Lo had come to the Roinan camp about the same time she had. They’d trained together, fought together. “I’m giving Bron a day or two off. You’re taking a week.”

Syn scowled at him. “I don’t need a week.”

“You’re lucky you’re not being shipped out,” he snapped. He gave her arm a pointed look.

It felt like the bottom of her stomach just dropped out. Okay, she hadn’t quite managed to get her thoughts around to that point. Absently, she reached over and ran a hand down the ridge of scars. “Don’t suppose Morne showed up in the camp, did he?” she asked softly.

“Briefly.” His mouth twisted in a smile, but it wasn’t a happy one. “Not that anybody saw him. He attended to some of the other wounded and then disappeared—not a damn soul saw him. Didn’t linger around to say two words.” He glanced at her arm. “Did he say anything to you?”

Syn grimaced. “Hell, I don’t really even remember
seeing
him. I thought maybe he was there, thought I sensed him. But he could have been dancing with the Jorniaks for all I can tell you.”

“Well, I’m pretty sure he wasn’t dancing with the Jorniaks.” Elina wrapped an arm over Syn’s shoulders.

Something in the other woman’s voice had Syn looking at her. “He’s okay, Elina.”

“Okay enough to come in, heal three of our more critically wounded and then disappear, alone, into the forest again.” Elina sighed and rose, moving to stand at the foot of the bed. She slipped her hands into her pockets and stared up at the ceiling. “Yes, he is okay . . . for now. But for how much longer? Not even he can hope to fight every last demon out there. The longer he is out there alone, the more likely it is he will die.”

Huh. I’ll be damned,
Syn thought. There was something there. Slowly, she pushed herself to her feet and went to stand by the other witch. Now it was her turn to wrap an arm around her friend. She couldn’t reach Elina’s shoulders so she settled for hugging her waist with her uninjured arm. “Morne will be fine. He’s a survivor. I’m sure enough that I’d bet my arm on it. The bad one—I need at least one good one or I can’t kick Kalen’s tail until he lets me back on duty.”

“You’re off duty for a week.” Kalen didn’t look at all fazed as she turned and gave him a pitiful look. “You need it. Hell, we
all
need it. Go back to bed. Sleep. Take your week off and heal.”

“I want to know more—”

Kalen narrowed his eyes. The silvery gray darkened to pewter and he said, “You’ll obey orders, Captain, or I’ll have you confined to quarters for the week—
without
your self-appointed bodyguard.”

He’d do it, too. Glaring at him, she made her way to the bed and sat down. “I’m sitting down on the bed because I’m tired—
not
because you ordered me to.”

“Oh, trust me. I believe that.”

The commander left.

Eventually Elina left.

Xan needed to see her—
had
to. But he had to protect her, and when he saw her, saw that she still breathed, still lived—