Daybreak (35 page)
Nowhere to run
.
And no time to play.
With resignation, the lion efficiently finished the kill, though it would have been more fun to prolong the writhing and screaming. Tru didn’t share that inclination—the big cat had a cruel streak.
.
And no time to play.
With resignation, the lion efficiently finished the kill, though it would have been more fun to prolong the writhing and screaming. Tru didn’t share that inclination—the big cat had a cruel streak.
One leap later, he slammed the enemy’s would-be commander to the ground. The man flailed beneath him, trying to lay hands on a gun that had bounced away. Coolly, the lion bit down on the his spinal column, and that irritating movement stopped. The man’s rapid, terrified breathing said he wasn’t dead. His incoherent whispers said he wanted to be.
This one, Tru didn’t kill.
Paralyzed, the commander could still prove of some use in an interrogation. As the battle concluded, Tru grabbed him without regard for his injuries and dragged him back toward the command post. Arturi’s troops were full of wild excitement, having tasted the idea that their unconventional tactics could best a larger force—through a combination of magic, mundane weapons, and misdirection. Already someone was playing the drums, thumping out a triumphant rhythm. Later Tru would make sure Adrian was safe, check on the scouts from the mission, and find Pen to celebrate, just as soon as he finished up this grim business.
Back in human form, he dumped O’Malley’s hound on the ground outside Arturi’s tent. There was no way to knock, so he clapped his hands together twice as he’d noticed the others doing. Funny how little courtesies survived, even in the Changed world.
Arturi poked his head between the flaps, looking downright exhausted. And now that he was no longer “on,” Tru saw how worried he remained. If the man had slept more than two hours in a row since Zhara disappeared, he’d be surprised.
“What’s this?” Arturi asked, glancing down at the prone, whimpering form.
“He looked like he was in charge, so I thought he might know something useful. Like exactly where we can find the general.”
They had always known a rough location, based on information Pen gathered long ago, but the mountains were vast. Without more specific coordinates, they might need months to track the bastard. Time Zhara would not have.
Evidently Arturi thought the same because he muttered, “Get him inside.”
Tru dumped the prisoner on his wounded back. He wouldn’t feel pain because of the paralysis, but any man would find the absolute vulnerability of the position horrifying.
“I know you can talk,” he said. “And you will.”
“Fuck you,” the guy spat.
“This is how it’s gonna go. If you cooperate, if you tell me what I need to know, then I’ll kill you quickly. No pain. No suffering.”
The other glared. “You’re going to kill me regardless.”
“See, that’s where you’re wrong. If you refuse, I’ll get a healer in here. She’ll close the wound. But you’ll live on as a cripple. Nobody here will wait on you. Don’t worry, though. I’ll make sure you get enough food and water not to die. But cleaning you up?” Tru shook his head. “Sorry. You’ll have to sit in your own filth. And meanwhile, Arturi and I will make it clear to the others that they can do whatever they want with you.”
O’Malley’s man drew in a breath, eyes wide with horror, but he tried for bravado. “So? It’s not like they can hurt me.”
“Of course they can,” Tru said silkily. “There are places where you still feel pain. Your face. Eyes. Tongue. Throat. Parts of your shoulders. Maybe your upper arms. And I’m not sure if you’re aware of this, but people who’ve been enslaved often develop endless creativity when it comes to torture.”
“I won’t let them kill you,” Arturi added quietly. “But keep you? Oh, yes. Most of my people would
love
to get their hands on you.”
love
to get their hands on you.”
Whether by threat of cruelty or because of what he’d already suffered, the man broke. “I can give you coordinates. I will. Just don’t make me live like this.”
The bastard was a true coward. Giving up? No way. Tru would fight on as long as he still drew breath. But not this piece of shit.
Tru produced a blade, but Arturi only said, “I’ll send for Shine.”
The small man stuck his head out of the tent and called for a runner. When the trader appeared, she was out of breath and pink-cheeked from the celebratory dancing. Tru heard the party in full swing now. Everyone was so proud—and they’d earned the chance to cut loose.
“What’s up?” She was a cool one, calmly ignoring the man on the ground. Business as usual.
“Just a little truth telling,” Arturi said.
“Go on, then.”
Arturi knelt beside the prisoner. “Where is General O’Malley’s base? Be as specific as possible.”
In a quavering voice, the man gave latitude and longitude.
Shine nodded. “He’s telling the truth.”
“No one has used coordinates in years,” Arturi said. “but an older citizen should know how to chart it.”
Tru nodded. “What about Burke? If anybody could do it, I bet it’s a seasoned sailor. Is he still with us?”
“He didn’t stay at the mission if that’s what you’re asking.” Arturi glanced at Shine. “Do you know if Burke survived the fight?”
“He did, sir. Yes. Stayed with the riflemen.”
“Get him in here,” Tru said. Arturi made the order less peremptory with a gracious smile.
Shine ran to do his bidding.
The request had served another purpose. While the trader was gone, Tru kept his promise. He spiked a knife into the man’s heart and stopped it dead. By the time Shine returned with Burke, he and Arturi had dragged the corpse behind the tent for later disposal.
Cold, yes, but necessary.
Tru left then, knowing the others could map and navigate better than he. Best to let everyone play to their strengths. Finally, he felt free to look for Pen. On the way, he grabbed a string of smoked meat. His belly rumbled after the long fight in lion skin, and he required protein to get back on even keel.
He expected to find Pen hanging back, playing the Orchid, while she watched the party with longing eyes. Instead, to his delight, he found her drinking among the victorious. They weren’t calling her Orchid either.
Pen sprang to her feet, more than half drunk. The smell of fermented fruit wafted around her as she took a step toward him and stumbled. She beamed as if her clumsiness was hilarious—and it was, rather. Tru put an arm around her. Music washed over him, pounding drums and vibrant strings. Simple instruments and simple melodies had survived the Change. So had they.
His heart, which had been hers for the longest time, swelled at seeing her as a flushed and exuberant woman. Not separate. She didn’t seem aware of any burdens, though that could be the alcohol churning in her veins. Maybe his hopes had merit after all. Maybe this woman could be his wife without feeling she’d given up something valuable in trade. God knew he never wanted her to
settle
for him. Not when he loved her so much.
settle
for him. Not when he loved her so much.
“Glad to see you,” he said softly into the curve of her neck.
“It went well.” Her voice was a little slurred, her smile sunny. “Tru, this is Xialle’s partner, Jules. And there’s Maya and Koss, and you know Reynard.” She grinned. “They’re my friends.” Such a proud little stress on the word, like she’d never had any before.
Maybe she hadn’t. The idea of her being so lonely broke his heart. She wouldn’t be anymore. He’d see to it. As he’d told her before, he kept his promises.
“A pleasure,” he told the group in general. “I’m Tru. Pen’s husband.”
Hours later, after the party wound down and he carried his laughing wife back to their tent, he realized few moments had ever been prouder than that one—when he introduced himself as Pen’s man for the first time.
THIRTY-SEVEN
Two weeks had passed, as near as Pen could tell. All she knew for certain was the full moon had come and gone, as had her menses, which began the day after their victory celebration. It was her second cycle since becoming intimate with Tru.
In the beginning, she’d been frightened when he released his seed within her womb. The idea of bearing a child held a terrifying power, like staring into the sun until her eyes saw only black. But since declaring themselves to one another, Pen hoped that one day they would bear children. A new future. A new life, created by two people who loved each other.
She stood by as Burke used Arturi’s compass and the light of a fading evening to check their position. The waiting was growing tedious, just walking and searching. Inside, where her mind worked without impediment, she prepared herself for the possibility that a baby wasn’t meant to be. The only couples she’d known to conceive were both skinwalkers—or both human. The Changed world meant there would always be children who needed security and guidance, yet she couldn’t help longing for a son with Tru’s soulful eyes and poet’s soul. A quiet, strong harbinger for a better future.
Adrian clung to him like a vine, absorbing Tru’s experience and attention as a plant would light and rain. She looked up from the star charts and found them across a clearing, engaged in a lesson in martial arts. The air was thinner and cooler up in the Appalachian foothills, but Tru had stripped his shirt. Twilight shadows accentuated the flex and play of his lean muscles as he demonstrated a low, aggressive fighting stance. Watching him move that way, out where everyone could see, seemed even more intimate than within the confines of their private tent. She could stare all she liked.
My husband.
Adrian did his best to mimic the move. She smiled when Tru feinted left and managed to take the boy down. But it was a close call. Adrian was getting
much
better.
much
better.
The best part of their relationship was the easy camaraderie. Even if she had been able to protect Adrian long enough to get him to Arturi’s camp, Pen never would have formed such a special bond.
Tru extended his hand, pulling the boy to his feet. A flick of Adrian’s upper body sent Tru hurtling to the ground. Flat on his back, face to the waning moon, he only grinned.
Pen’s heart twisted with such emotion. She turned away from where Burke and Arturi bent over a tree stump, then pressed a fist over her heart. She loved Tru so dearly that it bordered on pain, but a pain that reminded her that she still drew breath.
“He’s a good man, Penny,” Arturi said at her shoulder. “But then, you’ve known that for some time.”
She smiled. “Intuition, maybe. Certainly not magic. Just . . . believing capable of being to
me
.”
me
.”
Arturi’s eyes looked very dark in the evening shadows. But even without a great deal of light, Pen sensed the strong tug of his sadness. “Another day off, I think.”
“Yes,” she said, knowing his thoughts were with Zhara. “One more day.”
“When the scouts return by morning, we’ll know enough to plan our assault. With any luck we’ll be able to proceed as we did against the last two encampments. Magic and skinwalkers and bullets.” He clenched his jaw. “We will win this thing.”
She grasped his hand and gave it a squeeze. “Yes, we will.”
A screech drew their attention. The familiar shape of Reynard’s turkey vulture form swooped across the night sky—nearly black on black. An image of blood slashed over her line of sight, like a wash of red paint.
“Something’s wrong,” she whispered. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Tru and Adrian jogging to meet them. She held out a hand. “Wait! Watch for where Reynard lands!”
She couldn’t follow the flight of the bird, not when the night and that smear of red muddled her vision. Tru nodded once. He sighted Reynard, even as the ungainly vulture angled toward the treetops. Shadows seemed to erase his form.
Another screech, this from a different bird. A crow. “That’s Xialle.” Arturi’s voice held a note of unease. “Neither was due back until morning. Six hours, at least.”
Xialle’s caw cut a shiver across Pen’s skin. If she’d thought Reynard difficult to follow, she had absolutely no chance of tracking a crow at midnight.
“Find Jules, her mate!” Arturi called to the camp. “And follow her. We’ll bring healers once they’re found.”
“You assume they’re injured.” Pen’s throat felt thick around the beat of her heart.
“You don’t?”
“Something’s not right,” she said again. “But I don’t think they’re injured. Neither of them flew any different than usual.”
An image flashed in her mind. From Tru. Just a picture. Reynard in human form, sprawled on a carpet of brown pine needles.
She took off at a run, dead on toward where Tru had stalked into the woods. Arturi huffed a rhythm at her back. He kept pace despite his shorter legs and stockier build. Always at the front, just like her. Maybe that’s why she had been drawn to his mind, to his soul. Even as a child she’d needed that leadership, feeling grounded in the companionship of one who felt as she did.
“Tru! Where are you?”
He called her name, and she pounded through the undergrowth to a small clearing. Pine trees at this altitude. The nip of cooler night air in her nostrils—sharper, colder than down by the sea.
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