“You are a soldier. Start acting like one.” The temptation to stick out my tongue at her is nearly more than I can bear. “And you.” He rounds on me, his neck stained red with anger. “What were you thinking to jump off that wall? You could’ve been hurt.”
“I’m fine.”
Bastien steps closer to me, blocking Niyah’s view of us as he gently takes my hand in his. “You nearly gave me a heart attack,” he whispers.
Painfully aware of Niyah’s close proximity, I step back and offer him a rueful smile. “I thought you like a bit of danger.”
A smirk cracks his stern exterior. He rushes to wipe it clear as he turns and addresses the men at his back. “Let’s head out.”
All are suited up and ready for battle. Their uniforms are black as night, their laser guns newly polished and charged. Thick woolen coats fall over their broad shoulders. Their faces are nearly completely concealed by facemasks to keep out the worst of the cold. Heavy black gloves protect their hands.
Small packs rest between their shoulder blades. There is no need for hiking packs. The trip to Drakon’s base will be done by vehicle.
It is time.
Niyah makes sure to bump my shoulder as she passes. “Stay away from Bastien or you’ll regret it.”
The winds whip about my legs with cruel intensity. I tuck my hands deep into my armpits to keep them warm. Strands of hair whip about my face, lashing against my wind-burned cheeks, but I don’t free my hands to tuck the strands back. There is no point. In only a few seconds, they’ll be yanked free again.
The metal truck bed below me is frigid despite the blanket tossed over the floor. Six men huddle around me. The sound of teeth chattering can be heard over the crunching of ice beneath the tires.
I haven’t spent much time in trucks. I can still remember the first time Kyan made me step foot into one. I clung to the dashboard with such force that I nearly ripped it clean from the windshield.
Gasoline is still a rare commodity. It is too volatile to be transported over open roads so it is smuggled in small barrels across enemy territory. Sky Ships are the best mode of swift transportation, but that won’t help us today. I personally don’t feel like being shot down from the sky.
The men around me are silent, each trapped within their own cocoon of misery. Mine has little to do with the elements, though. My internal battle is one that can’t be won, knowing my failure will endanger the lives of the men beside me.
These are the same thoughts I ponder each time before I enter battle, but today is different. It is not just my life that I worry about. I have never truly fought beside Bastien. We ran for our lives a few times but never really fought. What if he makes me lose focus and someone gets hurt?
Surely Kyan knew this would be a struggle for me. Knowing him, he thought it would be a good training exercise. He does have a way of turning potentially deadly situations into a learning experience.
My unofficial bodyguard sits beside me, his shoulders nearly wide enough to span a third of the truck bed. His arms are mounded with muscle, his neck so thick I doubt Bastien could fit two hands around it. His hair beneath his hat is cropped short into a military cut. His eyes are wide and alert as the forest blurs past us.
Bastien is being overprotective. If this had been Eamon, I would’ve accepted the guard with a lot of sarcasm and no small amount of protests, but not with Bastien. I know his fear is stemmed from an emotion far deeper and far more frightening.
We both know how horribly wrong this mission might go. Bastien’s only concern is getting me back out alive, mission accomplished or not. Gorgan will see to it. It wouldn’t surprise me, should the battle take a turn for the worse, if he doesn’t toss me over his shoulder and barrel straight through walls just to get me out.
Despite Gorgan’s imposing height and breadth, he is actually a rather gentle giant. His voice is deep and velvety. His smile is broad and warm enough to melt the ice from the end of my nose. “Are you warm enough, miss?” he asks, leaning in closer.
I nod, biting against the near constant tremor in my lip. Without asking permission, Gorgan curls his arm about my shoulder and draws me into his side. Bastien casts a glance toward us but nods his approval before returning to his conversation with Olaf, a man who loves his knives even more than I do.
“How many times do I have to ask you to call me Illyria?” I smile up at my guard.
“At least one more time, miss.”
I laugh and gratefully sink into his side. There is zero cushion to snuggle up to, but beneath his arm, I can feel the ice beginning to thaw from my bones.
Niyah leans forward to interrupt Bastien, placing a hand possessively high on his thigh. I try not to stare, but it’s hard in such a confined space. I would’ve felt better if he’d shoved her hand away, but he is too busy arguing his point to notice.