Chapter 33
brYLEE
The cheers of the crowd and the constant calls from photographers to look their way blend into a cacophony of jumbled noise that jars me.
From beneath the cap of my formal gray dress uniform, I stare out at the faces of hundreds of strangers, all well-wishers here to catch a glimpse of their future monarch before he heads off to victory or death.
Clouds scud across the sky overhead, blown by the wind right in the direction we’re heading, and I wish I could join them. Soar that quickly to my destination because I’ve been waiting for days to reunite with my mates.
But I’m stuck nodding and saluting, following the direction of a bodyguard who’s on his walkie-talkie more than any other I’ve ever met. It makes me wonder if it’s his first day on the job.
Well, that would make two of us.
My impersonations of my brother have only ever been at Eros before. The ball was going to be my big shining moment where I tested out my actual acting abilities.
That didn’t exactly work out.
Instead, I’m here amongst a throng of people, marching toward a bus filled with other soldiers as a brass band plays our national anthem somewhere in the distance and people wave tiny flags over their heads.
I’m telling myself to smile, but not too wide because my brother’s smile is a tiny bit smaller than mine.
To straighten my back. To stiffen my walk.
“Prince Theodore!” an omega woman shrieks like she’s seen a movie star and clasps her mother’s shoulder, shaking the poor woman.
That’s the kind of moment Teddie would have enjoyed.
Should enjoy.
But might not.
I bristle, because without this damned war, without the constant fucking senseless violence, it would be easy to obtain the medicine that Teddie needs.
Easy because Noth scientists are renowned the world over for their medicines.
Why does the world have to be so hateful?
Why is reconciliation so hard?
Stupidity. That’s what I conclude. Stupidity runs the world, and that includes my selfish, arrogant mother. My cowardly father gets lumped in together with her because he lets her overpower him and refuses to stand up for what’s right.
Mario, the guard with me, glances back as we reach the steps of the bus.
His pencil-thin mustache moves almost comically as he asks, “You sure?” with a head-jerk toward the bus. “I can call another car…”
He uses the same tempting voice parents try on toddlers.
I nod toward the bus without speaking. It feels like the more alpha thing to do. Besides, the less I speak, the better. I may look like my brother, but my voice is definitely more feminine than his, even when I attempt to lower it.
The security detail doesn’t want me to ride with the commoners. But Teddie would never abandon the rest of the soldiers for a posh, armored vehicle ride to the battlefield.
My throat clogs thinking of him, and this heavy bodysuit makes me clumsy as I mount the steps. My bodyguard has already claimed the front two seats on the bus for us, so I give a quick nod in greeting toward the rest of the soldiers before sliding into my seat.
Shortly, we’re trundling and bumping clumsily over a pothole-filled road on the outskirts of the city. Trees and rolling hills with distant farmhouses make the countryside seem idyllic for the first few hours.
But then the fire-ravaged fields start to encroach.
Abandoned cars dot the sides of the road, and I can’t help but think they look like crypts, the lives of their drivers forsaken.
Tank tracks create argyle patterns across the fields, flattening crops.
The cries of buzzards grow more plentiful, their throaty delight at dead meat sending a shiver through me as the sun starts to sink and the sky grows red.
We pass half a house, the roof caved in, the walls blown apart, the flower garden blooming on one side, but the other half is a giant divot of ugly dirt—probably the work of a missile.
My throat dries as my imagination plays out the attack in vivid detail. A family, just going about their day…father in the fields, mother feeding chickens, two kids running to the tree line to play hide-and-seek—
WHOOOMP.
My hands fly out, grabbing onto the metal rail in front of me, and my eyes go wide as the bus shudders. My guard shoots to his feet and is in the aisle, gun drawn, facing the rear of the bus in less than a second.
What is he doing?
Didn’t we just hit a pothole?
Dread pockmarks my bones when the massive thumping sound is followed by the very familiar rat-tat-tat of machine-gun fire.
Unlike the practice shooting ranges at Eros, this sound feels very real.
Blood rushes up my cheeks, and my face is suddenly lava hot as I whirl in my seat to look behind us.
A soldier screams, the noise akin to a dying rabbit—serrating my eardrums and making bile rush up the back of my throat.
He slumps as one guy scrambles to help his friend, and the other men duck down behind their seats for cover.
“Get down, Majesty!” Mario shoves at me just as a green, open-air jeep comes barreling out from behind the shattered farmhouse.
Two men dressed in black, except for the dragon insignia of Nóthos on their arm bands, stand at machine guns mounted onto the top rail, and their belt magazines flop as the vehicle jolts over a rock.
Seconds later, they bombard the side of the bus with a spray of bullets that sounds like a hailstorm and sends tremors rocketing through my muscles.
The bus must be constructed of sturdier stuff than I thought because the rounds don’t immediately turn the sides into lace, just dimple the inner walls.
But I exchange a look with one of the other recruits, whose face is as ghastly white as mine feels.
There’s the rev of an engine and the screech of tires behind us, and I peek up over the bottom edge of the window just in time to see my security detail's black car veer off the road toward the jeep. A back window rolls down, and a rifle emerges.
My detail shoots at the jeep.
A roar erupts from the recruits behind me, and the bus fills with the feral, spicy stench of alpha fury, a thick, pungent smell like a locker room.
“FUCKING GET THEM!”
“LET’S GO!”
The cheers sound more like football game fanfare than war-appropriate sentiments. But I’ve never been to war before, so what do I know?
My mind races as I try to decide if Teddie would cheer with them or if he’d be more reserved. But I can’t decide. Can’t play the role when panic churns every thought I have to meaningless static.
“Shit!” someone shouts.
I glance outside again.
Suddenly the dark car lurches, and it feels like it takes my stomach with it.
As the car tilts, it’s as if the world has slowed to a crawl.
The front end tips down and smashes into a ditch that was hidden behind some tall grass, and the impact smashes my teeth together, my heartbeat throbbing painfully.
Before the Hypso alphas can emerge from the car wreck, one of the assholes in the jeep has a rocket launcher out. The bulky silhouette over the man’s shoulder is instantly recognizable from all my classes but is also somehow utterly unreal.
My brain glitches and can’t seem to process the fact that I’m staring at it. That this is actually happening.
I've barely blinked before the entire car seems to explode at once in an orange blast that makes my kitchen fireball resemble a matchstick flame. The conflagration engulfs the car in under a second, then stretches thirty feet into the sky, wild and flickering. Spitting sparks.
Horrified, I smack my palm over my mouth.
There's no way they've survived—
The jeep jerks to the right and avoids that ditch and fire, rising onto the paved road behind us. Mario shoves his way into my seat and boxes me in just as bullets shatter the back windows.
His meaty hand shoves at my shoulder. "Get down! And stay down!"
I comply as he radios for help, and another pained grunt reverberates through the cabin from somewhere at the back of the bus.
Is someone else hit?
My mind races as all around, alphas rustle through their bags for whatever weapons they have. But this was supposed to be a simple deployment. I don't think anyone's armed well enough to compete with that jeep. I know I'm not. Basic handguns won't cut it.
We aren't even close to the battlefield…
We're still well within Hypso territory and shouldn’t be facing this at all. But we've been ambushed.
"I've got sixteen rounds," someone calls out.
"Nine," another responds.
"Aim for their tires!" a third man yells.
Blasts bellow from the back of the bus, but curses follow.
Hot tears prickle at the backs of my eyes as regret throws a grappling hook that digs into the back of my throat and starts to climb, kicking at my vocal cords, choking me.
Was this a mistake?
Did I escape the Noths twice, only to be taken out on the side of a road?
Fuck! What will this mean for Ted? For my mates? What will they do if they discover I died trying to get to them? Will they be able to move on? Will they know it’s not their fault? I can't have anyone discover my dead body this way…
And then an even darker realization strips me down, flays my mind, and leaves me with a raw ache.
This attack is because of me.
Because they're after Ted.
Those soldiers at the back of the bus are dead because I couldn't stand to be apart from my mates. Because I couldn't bear to take the armored entourage…which would have included a second car. More protection for everyone.
It's my fault.
The knowledge slams down like a guillotine.
Chops like a blunt axe.
Skewers me.
I can't let anyone else die because of me. But what the hell can I do?
My gaze bends around Mario's legs as I beg inspiration to strike.
It doesn't.
A bullet does.
My guard goes down one second.
The bus driver slumps forward onto the wheel the next.
SHIT. SHIT. SHIT.
The time for contemplation is over. I force myself to inhale when all I want to do is deflate into sobs. Shoving myself up on shaking legs, I check Mario’s pulse. It’s faint.
“Can someone help him?” I call out.
Almost immediately, another man slides forward and wraps his arms around the guard assigned to me, lowering him to the ground and reaching his hand toward the wound at Mario’s neck. My gaze drifts toward the driver’s seat.
There’s a hole in the back of the driver’s skull, and the bus is drifting across the yellow lines, slowing since the man’s foot has gone limp.
Leaving someone else to help Mario, I slide into the aisle to see what else I can do.
Our best chance is to drive like the fucking wind.
When I reach the driver, an older, paunchy man, I wrap my fingers around the collar of his shirt and yank.
His body starts to lean toward me, but I meet resistance, and he flops back down.
"Seat belt," an unnaturally calm voice says behind me, and I turn to see one of the alphas I met the day I signed up for classes at Eros.
No clue what his name is, but I recall thinking of him as Mole Man due to the distinctive mark on his face.
I nod at him and then lean across the driver, unclipping the seat belt as the other soldier pulls the driver's limp form to one side.
Sliding into the driver's seat and telling myself to ignore the blood splatter, I squint out the side window at the long mirror that warns Objects may be closer than they appear. The jeep grows larger every second.
My heart jangles like a wind chime in a thunderstorm as I clench my fingers around the wheel.
Then I smash my foot down on the gas pedal and yell, "Everyone, hold on!"