Veil of Shadows (27 page)

There was chaos within him. In his mind, his heart, so much chaos and he didn’t know if he could hold himself together once he saw her. But he had to—

Finally, after waging a war with himself, Xan slipped into her room. Just for a few minutes. Just long enough to reassure himself she had survived. That she was safe. That the Warlord hadn’t crept into the camp somehow and stolen her away.

Her room was barely the size of a closet, large enough for her bed and that was it. It wasn’t a large bed, but her slender form looked lost inside it. Stroking a finger down her cheek, he studied her wan, pale face. The sight of her was like taking a blow—straight to his heart. She was so pale. And weak—

Syn might not be hovering near death.

She might not have a gaping wound that should have cost her her arm.

But she was still weak, vulnerable, and that Warlord was in the area.

Healer or not, that man had been a Warlord. There was no denying what Syn was, what Elina was. After the power storm Elina had unleashed, any Warlord in the vicinity would know there was at least one witch left in the rebel camp. There was a buzz in the air, one that would take some time to fade, if he knew a damn thing about magic.

They were too vulnerable. No matter how strong they were, how well they trained, they were viewed as a prize the Warlords would do damn near anything to get their hands on, especially now.

The healer . . . who in the hell had he been? Why had he healed Syn?

He’d saved her arm, quite possibly her life. But why? Possibly because he had plans for her that didn’t include dying.

There were circles under her eyes, huge, dark circles that gave her face a bruised look.

So pale. She was so pale—her ivory skin had a grayish cast and her lips looked colorless, as well. She’d lost a lot of blood. He could still feel the heat of it as it pulsed out of her body and spilled onto his hands as he tried to staunch the flow.

In her sleep, Syn sighed and then she shifted. Pulling his hand back, he remained by her side as her lashes lifted, revealing her green-gold eyes. “Hello.”

He didn’t respond.

Syn yawned and reached up, rubbing her eyes. “If they have put you on bedside duty for the time being, we might need to rethink that. You’re not very good at it.”

“I’m not on duty.” He frowned as she started to ease upright. He braced a hand against her shoulder and said, “You need more rest.”

“I just want to sit up,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Don’t worry, I wasn’t about to get up and dance or start plotting out my plans for world domination. I can handle sitting up.”

She narrowed her eyes and shifted her gaze to the hand he still held against her shoulder. “Stand down, Xan. I may be out of action for the next few days, but I’m still a fucking captain in this base, and I’m not going go to be forcibly kept to bed.”

“As you wish,” he murmured.

Her gaze shot to his and he bowed his head, falling back precisely two steps. If all she wanted to do was sit up, she could probably do it. But if she tried to stand . . . well, Xan wanted to be close enough to catch her when she fell. Despite having a healer deal with her arm, she was still weak from blood loss. Nothing but rest, water and food would help that.

But she didn’t stand up. All she did was sit and draw her knees to her chest, smoothing the sheet down around her lower body. Under the simple white gown they’d given her, she looked incredibly frail—breakable.

The look in her green-gold eyes didn’t help. She stared off into the distance despondently.

He didn’t need to ask what had her so unhappy. She’d lost a friend in the attack—not just someone she knew, but a close friend. During this unending war, all of them had lost friends or family . . . both. But loss was something people never grew accustomed to—and if they did, they weren’t any better for it.

“You could have died, staying behind to lug me along,” Syn said quietly, looking at him from under her lashes.

“And if I hadn’t stayed to lug you along, you
would
have died.” He crossed his arms across his chest and stared at her with a resolute expression on his unyielding face.

Resolute. Unyielding. They were words that described Xan, Syn figured. From the top of his head to the bottom of his booted feet. He had as much give to him as some of the sheer rock walls that bordered the camp.

“It wouldn’t have helped us any if you had died, you know. We need all the able bodies that we can get.”

“If you had died, you’d leave this camp weaker. You’re needed here.” He closed the distance between them and stroked his fingers down her cheek before cupping her chin in his hand and arching her head back. He brushed his mouth against hers as he spoke. “The people in this camp need you.
I
need you . . . Captain.”

Somehow, when he said it, it felt like a caress. Felt like something intimate. How was that possible? Something warm fluttered inside her chest, but she shoved it aside. People had died because of her arrogance.

Lo
was dead . . . because of her.

She didn’t deserve his warmth or his comfort.

“I’m far from indispensable. Perhaps if you hadn’t slowed to help me, the survivors could have reached the camp more quickly and Lothen would be alive.”

“That’s absurd.” Xan shook his head.

“Is it?” She glared at him, jutting her chin up. She was trying to pick a fight with him, and she knew it. Even as she knew it was stupid, she couldn’t stop. “You were in charge of the team if I went down, and you were supposed to take care of
all
of them, not just me.”

“Are you angry with me because I saved
you
or because I didn’t save Lo?” he demanded, his voice harsh. Something glinted in his eyes, gone almost too quick to identify.

But not quick enough. Grief. Guilt. The same emotions threatening to choke her. Abruptly, her anger faded and tears burned her eyes. She buried her face against her knees. In a voice thick with tears, she whispered, “They keep winning, Xan. No matter what we do, no matter how hard we fight, they always manage to find a way to beat us.”

“You’re wrong.”

Was she? She honestly didn’t know anymore.

She didn’t hear him move, but she sensed it. The heat of his hand curved over her neck, comforting and gentle. “You haven’t been
beaten
.”

“It certainly feels like I have,” she muttered, her voice harsh and bitter.

“You’ve suffered a loss. But that’s not the same as being beaten. You continue to fight, and you’ll continue to do so for as long as you live. People die in war, Syn. People die in battle. You know this. Lothen risked his life to buy the rest of the unit time to get to the camp—he knew what he was doing, and he did it of his own free will. Don’t dishonor his memory by questioning his choice. He deserves better than that.” He cupped her chin and lifted her face to his. Quietly, in a hoarse voice, he said, “You would have made the same choice, and we both know it. If it was Lothen standing here instead of you, would you want him beating himself up with guilt?”

“No.”

He dipped his head and kissed away her tears. “He laid down his life for his friends—for this army. And if I know anything about the man, he was honored to do it.”

“Yeah. That’s Lo, all right.” She forced a smile at him and wiped away her tears. “But even knowing that, it doesn’t make it any easier.” She clenched her hands into fists, tight—so tight her nails bit into her flesh and drew blood.

“Nothing makes it easier . . . including giving up.” He gave her neck one last, lingering stroke. He pressed his lips to her temple. “You need to rest, Syn. You lost a lot of blood. Lie down for me now.”

Because he asked, and because she was damned weary, she let him ease her body back until she was lying down. “Will you sleep?” he asked quietly.

“Will you stay with me?” She caught his hand and twined her fingers. She couldn’t stand the thought of being alone right then. Even though the bloody dreams would haunt her no matter what, it would be easier to tolerate them when he was close.

“I am not going anywhere,” he promised. He drew the blankets back up and then stretched out next to her. It was a tight fit—the narrow bed was barely wide enough to accommodate his body, much less his and hers. Easing onto his side, he drew her close. Syn turned into his heat, one arm around his waist. He cuddled her close and nuzzled her brow. “Sleep.”

“As far as my area goes, supplies are damn low.”

A grim look on his face, Kalen listened as Gunner gave a quick report of weapon materials. It was in line with the reports he’d gotten about rations, too. They had other supplies. They were still running fine as far as food went, but with winter coming, they needed more if they wanted to make it through in good shape.

Syn, Elina and Bron were seated across from the commander. It had been a week since the attack and despair continued to cling to the camp like a heavy, wet cloak.

They were in bad shape. Very bad.

“What are we going to do?” Syn asked quietly.

Kalen pinched the bridge of his nose and said, “I really don’t know. I’ll keep sending word back over the sat-comm but . . .”

“It’s a waste of time.” Elina sat with her arms folded over her chest, her legs crossed, one foot swinging angrily back and forth. Her eyes glinted like green ice and right then, her face showed about as much emotion as Syn had ever seen. She looked like an enraged queen. Regal fury. “Your military contact is paying about as much attention to us as the rest of the world. They’ve forgotten about us.”

His voice a low growl, Kalen demanded, “Do you think I’m not
aware
of that?”

“It’s the damned barrier the military got set up,” Bron said. He stared off into space, brooding. “They put it up to keep the wyrms out, but it also works to keep the rest of the demons trapped inside this area, too. I bet my ass they’ve got it rigged so that anything with nonhuman DNA gets vaporized when it tries to cross. They don’t think they need to worry about the demons anymore, which means they don’t give a damn what happens to us now.”

Syn closed her eyes. God above, she didn’t want to think he was right, but deep in her gut, she suspected he was. “Again, what are we going to do?”

“I’ve got an idea or two,” Bron said, a nasty smile curling his lips. “I say I grab a couple of the techs and we go screw that barrier to hell and back.”

Kalen slanted a look at Bron. “We’ll hold off on that. Appealing as it might sound, I’m not going to do anything about that barrier—it’s protecting millions of lives by keeping the demons trapped here. Still, we need to figure out something.”

“I have an idea.”

Everybody turned to Elina. She had a hard smile on her face, hard enough to cut through glass. “It involves blackmail and unsavory things like that, but if it works, it would take care of our supply issues.”

Kalen leaned back in his seat. “Blackmail and unsavory things . . . I like it already.”

“I’d need a vis-comm because I’m not having the conversation on a sat-comm. I want it recorded and I want copies.” She uncrossed her legs and rested her hands on the arms of the chair, her fingers curling around the wood as though she wanted to gouge it with her nails. “We’re going to record the whole bloody discussion and if we get screwed over, I’m sending it to the media contacts I have back east.”

Kalen winced.

Once upon a time, the media had fawned over the broody, sexy leader of the Roinan rebellion. Sat-images of him had been streamed across many media-sets, flashed on the front screen of digiports. Over the past few years, after the Jivan and Yorkton Gates were destroyed, people waited with bated breath to see if Kalen Brenner could pull off a similar miracle. But then their interest waned, and when the Roinan Gate finally did fall, it barely made a ripple in the outside world.

The world had indeed forgotten them.