The Demon Prince Read online

  Sheyla raised onto her toes to whisper, “This won’t work. The rally point was arranged through channels, and they won’t agree to deviate from orders because a random Eldritch said so. They’ll question the veracity of the intel and probably wonder if it’s coming from the remnant of Talfayen’s traitors.”

  “I can’t raise those objections without a plan B. You saw how he reacted to my suggestion that using the comm could be risky.”

  Dammit. Only one solution that made sense. She was reluctant to speak up because she didn’t want to do it. The feeling was barely coming back into her fingers and toes, and she was so damn tired. Sighing, Sheyla rested her head against Alastor’s shoulder for a moment. Something flashed in his green gaze and then he brushed a gloved hand over her cheek, shaking his head in silent discouragement. Somehow, she knew he was thinking, You can’t.

  I must, she told him silently.

  “It appears you have an idea,” Gavriel said sharply.

  Belatedly she realized there were scores of witnesses to this inappropriate intimacy and pulled away. “I’ll go.”

  “That’s absurd,” Alastor snapped. “You’ve only just returned, and you’re a physician, not a scout.”

  “But I’m the only one the Animari will believe.”

  There was no arguing that. Yet Gavriel didn’t seem sold on the notion either. “I’ll send Zan with you for protection.”

  His lieutenant stepped forward; he had unusual eyes, dark as pewter, and burnished coppery hair, unlike most of his compatriots, though otherwise, he was all Eldritch beauty with fine features and a lean build. He executed a neat bow before her.

  “I hope we make good time. In Ash Valley, I’m a doctor, not a patrol officer.”

  Zan smiled. “Everyone knows who you are. You treated my cousin’s frostbite.”

  “Ah. Well…” It would be nice to have company, even a Noxblade she’d hardly knew, but she didn’t see how this could serve. “I doubt you’ll be able to keep up with me.”

  “Let me worry about that,” he said. “I’ll also carry provisions and gear for you, which should make your return trip more comfortable.”

  As Sheyla nodded and went to unbutton her coat, Alastor grabbed her hands. “You can’t actually intend to do this.”

  “It’s not my first choice either but it’s the best hope for saving our allies without compromising our position.”

  “She’s right,” Gavriel said. “We’ll maintain radio silence until we arrange a new rendezvous.”

  The prince clenched his jaw on whatever he wanted to say, holding onto her hands until she thought she might have to pull free forcibly. Then he deliberately schooled his features, opened his fingers and stepped back. He beckoned to the pale-haired girl who always seemed to be hovering in proximity.

  “Fetch the maps, lovely. We need to plot a new course.”

  A frisson of annoyance curled through her at the casual endearment. Alastor shouldn’t flirt with a girl who already saw him as the moon and stars. She resisted the urge to scold him as Zan leaned in to say, “As soon as they give new coordinates, we should go.”

  She nodded. Hopefully, the new site would permit them to skirt the huge group of Golgoth. Engaging those forces with their current numbers and supplies would be suicide. Sheyla didn’t realize she’d said it aloud until Alastor cut her a sharp look.

  “Unless we use the RVAC.”

  A weighted silence fell. Using an auto cannon in the field meant pure carnage. She suspected the group they’d intercepted had meant to lay siege to Ash Valley. Properly deployed, one such weapon would decimate hundreds of soldiers, even changed Golgoth shock troops. By Alastor’s grim expression, he was willing to make that dreadful choice. For the greater good. Judging from the flicker of self-loathing she caught before his lashes swept down, he too thought there should be limits to what sins he’d commit in pursuit of victory.

  She wanted to comfort him. The urge swept her from head to toe, and she even took a step toward him like they were magnets with an opposite charge. Zan stayed her with a hand tapping lightly on her shoulder. “What would you like me to pack for you?”

  “I’ve never had valet service before,” she said.

  His mouth quirked in quiet appreciation of her attempt at humor, considering their overall shitty circumstances. “It’s my pleasure.”

  It took all of five minutes to load Zan’s rucksack with useful items, another five for Gavriel and Alastor to decide on a new site to meet up with the Animari. Before Sheyla shifted, the prince leaned close and his whispered “come back to me,” gusted so sweet against her ear, that she shivered.

  “Ready?” Zan asked.

  “As I’ll ever be.”

  “Then let’s do this.”

  Wrong. You cannot take her. She is my, my…my what? Once, the answer would’ve been doctor, and he could’ve stopped there. But now, there was only one word for her, one he could never speak aloud.

  Mine.

  As the Noxblade assigned to protect Sheyla spread his cloak so she could change, Alastor bit back a snarl. He could’ve happily snapped that bastard’s neck for sheltering her, for touching her clothes, plucking them from the snow and tucking them away in his pack. It didn’t matter that he was only following orders; that knowledge did nothing to assuage Alastor’s wrath. He rumbled deep in his throat and clenched his fist against the burn of the spikes needling down his spine. From the hot trickle of blood, he guessed he wasn’t entirely successful. Ded clenched his forearm, he contained himself. Took a deep breath. Another.

  “Enough,” Ded growled. “This is bigger than you. And her.”

  The other man had acted as his bodyguard and friend for years, but never had he served as the voice of reason. With effort, Alastor turned his back and moved away. Each step felt like he was treading across razor wire and broken glass. A glance over one shoulder showed him the faint spatter of red left from his near lapse of control.

  This is best. This is the safe course.

  Yet no amount of logic silenced the word mine echoing in the back of his mind. Alastor didn’t look again until he was sure she’d gone. Instead of thinking about the doctor, he strode toward Gavriel, conscious that everyone was waiting to see what he’d do next. His own people knew of his condition, but it wasn’t common knowledge among the Eldritch yet.

  “There’s no need to push the men,” he said. “We can pause for a meal before we move. The new rendezvous will take longer than six hours to reach, even at a hard march, and we have to allow Dr. Halek time to reach the Animari.”

  “Agreed,” Gavriel said. “But the no-fire rule still applies.

  Alastor shrugged. “My people will eat the meat raw. Will yours?”

  In answer, the Noxblade jerked his head toward the caribou, which was nearly carved down to the bone. His men had such expert knife skills that they were slicing the steaks wafer thin and wolfing them down. Reluctantly amused, Alastor inclined his head, acknowledging that the assassin had scored a point.

  “We are not as squeamish as you imagine,” Gavriel said, and there was a wealth of darkness in his blood-red gaze.

  “That’s an unsubtle hint if ever I heard one. Consider me cautioned.” With a faint smile, he spun and raised his voice to carry. “Time to feast, you will need your strength!”

  From their expressions, the men wanted to shout their support, but they contented themselves with raising an arm skyward, and then, one by one, they dropped to a knee and bowed their heads, pressing a fist against their chests. The silent act of fealty and obedience moved him so fiercely that he had to swipe at his eyes. Alastor blinked once, twice, and then scraped away moisture that froze almost the second it formed.

  “Enough,” he muttered. “Eat. Eat!”

  When he turned, Gavriel was there, like he always was. When Alastor moved to step around him, the Noxblade spoke. “I wasn’t sure until this moment, but I understand now why they follow you.”

  “And why is that?”

&nb
sp; “Not from fear of your brother. Not out of respect for your good deeds. It is pure love. There’s nothing stronger to compel complete compliance.”

  “I don’t care if they obey,” Alastor snapped. “I wouldn’t stop a single soldier who wanted to go his own way, even now.”

  “Your men know that. It’s part of why they love you.” Gavriel paused, not seeming to be aware of the picture he was compressing into the snow. It looked to Alastor as if he was forming the letter T. “Our princess is that way. She cares nothing for hierarchy, only free will.”

  “I’d venture to guess that you esteem her more than most,” he said.

  The Noxblade let out a sigh. “We’re all guilty of wanting what we can’t have from time to time.”

  “Why can’t you?”

  Gavriel only lifted a shoulder and headed for the raw steak. That seemed like both a good idea and an indication that the conversation was over, so Alastor followed. With Ded and Rowena close at hand, he ate his fill. There was next to nothing left when everyone finished, and Alastor suspected some still weren’t full. Physical comfort had to wait until they reached the comparative safety of Hallowell, assuming it wasn’t already too late.

  “How long until we make the new rendezvous?” Alastor asked Rowena after she’d eaten.

  “Twelve hours, if we move a little faster than before.”

  Inwardly, he winced. He was already running on fumes. He gave a curt nod. “Let the Noxblade know, will you?”

  She hesitated. “Must I?”

  Alastor tipped his head. This was the first time she’d ever quibbled over a request. “Has Gavriel done something to offend you?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Tell me,” he ordered.

  “He seems to think I’m…”

  “What?”

  “A camp follower. It’s nothing he’s said. Just… an impression I get. Maybe I’m being too sensitive.” Her shoulders hunched and once again, she couldn’t meet his gaze.

  “Unlikely.” Considering how broken she was when he pulled her from the block, it was a huge leap forward that she trusted him enough to object. “Never mind.”

  In the milling confusion of two separate squads, he found Ded sucking the marrow from a rib bone, then he crunched up the shards and downed them with relish. “You need me?”

  The guard had to be exhausted from holding his changed form for so long, plus battling primal instincts. Alastor asked, “Did something happen between Rowena and Gavriel?”

  “He gave her a…look that first morning. After the fight. Seems to think that she was the center of an orgy. She was in my tent, and most of the men were entertained with each other.” That was a lot of words in base-Gol, and the conversation drew stares from the Eldritch nearby.

  A few narrowed their eyes, like Alastor was plotting against them. He ignored the scrutiny. “Fuck. Regardless, it’s not his place to approve or disapprove. I guess the Eldritch tend toward prudery. I’ll talk to him.”

  “I recommend you drop it down the priority list. We have more important issues.”

  “Noted. I’ll put a pin in it. Let’s get the men motivated, shall we?”

  Gavriel joined them in time to hear that. “Sounds like a plan.” When he beckoned, an Eldritch ran toward him. “I need you to check our route. Double back instantly if you spot trouble. We only get one shot at this meetup.”

  “Understood, sir.”

  The group rolled out ten minutes after the scout, and by then, Alastor had mustered enough energy that he could pretend he wasn’t half-dead already. Pain throbbed through him, so generalized that he couldn’t even figure out what was hurting. They had only been running for an hour when the sentry burst from the trees, snow churning beneath his feet.

  “They’re moving,” the man gasped. “Only a few klicks out.”

  Gavriel swore. “They’re on a search and destroy. Either us or the Animari.”

  “Or both.” At this point, it hardly mattered who the Golgoth death squad planned to kill. Sooner or later it would be everyone who refused to swear fealty to Tycho.

  “Best analysis?” Gavriel prompted.

  The scout took a deep breath. “It’s impossible for us to avoid hostile engagement before we rendezvous with the Animari. I picked up some chatter on the comm… they’re running vehicular sweeps in a twenty-klick radius with shock troops on standby. They’ve got two C-TAKs, a whole Rover full of artillery, and—”

  “We must clear a path,” Ded cut in.

  There was no way he could permit those soldiers to carry out their orders. Knowing his brother, this would end in a scorched earth initiative, and the worst part was, there must be multiple units in the field, geared for mass extermination.

  Have mercy on my soul, Alastor thought.

  Then he made the only decision he could. “I want the best tech we’ve got, front and center. We need the RVAC targeting system online as soon as possible.”

  10.

  Sheyla’s ears flicked backwards.

  They were finally on the right track. Dark had fallen hours before, and for the first time, she caught a scent of wolf on the wind. Her breath huffed out in relief, as she’d been worried that she wouldn’t find the Animari before they reached the original rally point. Zan had been quiet during the run and surprisingly swift. Not once had he needed to ask her to slow down or let him rest, a feat she’d inquire about when they had time to spare.

  As the brindle wolf broke from the evergreen tangle, she shifted and said, “The main group can’t be far behind. Take me to them.”

  The wolf growled; she understood enough rudimentary canid to know it was an assent. Switching forms yet again in the cold, after running for what felt like two days straight, sapped the last of her strength. All four of her legs trembled as she sprang after the scout. She went muzzle first into the snow and hissed as she scrambled up before the Eldritch could offer a hand.

  There’s no time for this.

  She found enough reserve energy to catch up with the wolf. The smell of unchanged wolves and bears lit up the forest, but well before that, she heard the clanking gears of the vehicles transporting the promised war machines. Luckily, they didn’t have to run far, less than two klicks before they reached the Animari reinforcements. The scout shifted first and shouted for the company to halt; Sheyla took the opportunity to layer up and keep from developing her own case of frostbite.

  The icy wind still bit through her clothes. She didn’t recognize any of the wolves by sight or scent, but Callum McRae must be overseeing the delivery of armaments for the Order of St. Casimir. She tucked her gloved hands into her sleeves, wincing at the cold ache that went all the way down to her bones. Professionally she knew she needed to worry when the feeling went entirely, but this still sucked. The soldiers didn’t seem happy to be cooling their heels in the cold either, but this was life and death.

  Now changed and dressed, the brindle wolf scout turned out to be a rangy man with salt and pepper hair and permanently weathered features. “What the hell is this?” he demanded.

  Sheyla shook her head. “Don’t waste my time, we don’t have a lot of it. If you don’t have clearance to authorize a new rendezvous, find me somebody who does. I’ll talk to Callum and whoever’s in charge of the wolves.”

  He stared for a long moment and then whirled with a mumbled, “Fucking cats.”

  “Is there tension among Animari factions?” Zan asked.

  Probably she shouldn’t answer truthfully, but they were allies, right? “Some is inevitable. Generally, we get on well enough.”

  She stamped her feet, pacing in a tight circuit, until a towering figure broke through the lines and strode toward her. He looked like a statue come to life, stone-faced and imposing, wrapped in layers of wool, leather, and bristling fur. She would’ve recognized the bearded Callum anywhere; it was a relief to find at least one familiar face. A lean, silver-haired woman followed him, wolf by the smell of her.

  Callum was terse, as ever, one
of the things Sheyla liked best about him. “This is Raff’s second, Korin. You have something to say?”

  Thus prompted, she spilled the news about the Golgoth combat unit and provided the new rendezvous coordinates. “We can’t afford to lose any of these supplies,” Sheyla said.

  “We might be able to take that many Golgoth on the ground, but if—”

  “The battle goes south, Hallowell is fucked,” Callum finished. “We won’t risk it.” His long legs ate up the distance as he went to spread the word.

  Watching him, Korin sighed and shook her head. “He didn’t bother telling me your name since he already knew it.”

  “I’m Sheyla Halek, resident physician in Ash Valley.”

  “Korin Bowery.” The other woman surveyed her and then asked, “How long has it been since you ate?”

  Sheyla shrugged; it was too much effort to count back. Beside her, the Eldritch assassin was subtly tallying men and equipment. That shouldn’t worry her since he was a member of Gavriel’s team and surely he was well-vetted, but the cries of the wounded from the bombs Talfayen had set off were still fresh in her head.

  “Follow me. One of the vehicles has hot food.”

  She had no thought of protesting. As she took the first step, the ground rumbled beneath her feet. Zan caught her when she went sideways, eyes locked on the massive orange glow on the horizon. The booms and rumbles kept coming after that first strike, continued for a solid five minutes, while everyone stood in shocked silence. Icy winds carried the smell of burning wood and molten metal, charred earth and—

  “They used it,” Zan whispered.

  Before she could reply, Callum had a hold of her arm, shaking her until her teeth clacked. “Who has the RVAC? Someone authorized a strike, I need intel.”

  Sheyla knocked his hands away so hard that it probably would’ve broken fingers on anyone else. “You won’t get info any quicker by pissing me off.”

  “Cal,” the wolf lieutenant chided.

  “Fine. Sorry. Now speak.”