32. Chapter 32
Chapter thirty-two
Day 16 Denali, Alaska
Aiden lowered the barbell to the rack, the heavy clang of metal hitting metal echoing in his ears. Sitting up on the padded bench, he sucked air in and blew it out of his laboring lungs. His heart was pounding hard enough to rattle his ribs. His pulse thundered in his ears. Sweat slicked his hair and trickled down his face. Christ, his t-shirt and shorts were already sticking to his damp skin. Grimacing, he used the bottom of his shirt to mop his streaming face.
It was embarrassing how out of shape he was. He’d barely been working out for thirty minutes, and at a weight set to half of normal, yet he couldn’t catch his breath. Hell, his legs and arms felt like pudding. He shouldn’t tap out so easily, or so soon. He couldn’t even blame the exhaustion on blood loss. The vamps in the lab had ignored him for the past three days.
Thank Christ, the weight room was empty. He could do without the taunts his so-called buddies would pile on him at this lackluster performance.
It was 4:00 a.m., two days after talking to Demi. He’d hit the gym early this morning, well before Wolf’s warriors would start arriving. Some alone time, that’s what he’d been looking for. A quiet space away from his quarters and the four walls he was climbing, a peaceful place to work his body, which always focused his mind.
He needed to launch a hard pivot in his quest to locate Kuznetsov. Devlin was still coming up empty, as were Wolf’s intelligence operatives. Nobody knew where the Russian was holed up and time was ticking down. That fucking weapon could go up for sale at any minute, and they had no intel on who’d developed it, or where it was located. They needed a break, and fast.
The urgency to take action kept ramming into his inability to act. He couldn’t even work up a strategy until they located the asshole and knew the terrain they’d be inserting into. The frustration was enough to drive him to drink, particularly when combined with the sucker punch Demi had delivered to his heart.
Concentrating fiercely on his heavy breathing, he backed away from thoughts of Demi, and locked down the loss and regret. She wasn’t his future anymore. He had to accept that and move on. He needed to focus on Kuznetsov.
The door to the gym squeaked open and then banged shut. Aiden scowled and glanced over. His scowl gained strength at the sight of O’Neill standing in front of the door, his hand bunched inside the pocket of his sweats. Of all the guys who could have joined him so early in the morning, did it have to be this asshole? The one with a boulder sized chip on his shoulder?
But then Dev’s voice echoed through his mind.
The spook got a hit on a coded file…Stargate…classified by ODNI.
Aiden’s scowl faded. He eyed O’Neill thoughtfully. It was unlikely there was a connection between O’Neill and the super-secret file Dev had unearthed. But if Stargate had something to do with O’Neill, then the dude had connections. The kind of connections that might get a lock on Kuznetsov.
Of course, ODNI could—probably would—target him if the conversation got back to them. Those boys didn’t appreciate anyone nosing into their classified operations. He weighed the risk and shrugged. So far nothing was working, Kuznetsov was still in the wind. To take the Russian down, he needed to think outside the box. Asking O’Neill for help wasn’t just outside the box—it was outside the entire building. He pushed himself up from the bench. Praying that his mushy legs would keep him upright, he headed across the room.
His hand still bunched inside his pocket; O’Neill watched him approach. The closer Aiden got, the flatter the dude’s face became. Those eerie eyes turned cold and calculating.
“Winchester,” O’Neill drawled once Aiden stopped in front of him. He scanned Aiden from head to sneakers, looking supremely unimpressed. “You’re up early.”
His tone implied Aiden looked so awful he should have stayed in bed. Aiden couldn’t fault the dude for the disparagement. He suspected he looked every bit as shitty as the dude had implied.
“Could say the same about you.” At least when it came to the up early part of the greeting. Aiden studied O’Neill’s face. It looked shuttered and unwelcoming.
Someone wasn’t happy to have company this morning. Maybe O’Neill used early morning gym hours as his alone time too. This was the first time Aiden had hit the benches so early. He didn’t know when O’Neill worked out.
There was no non-confrontational approach to this conversation. The fact he’d asked someone to run a search on the dude through the soups network was already confrontational. If O’Neill was a spook, he wouldn’t be pleased to find an inquiry had hit his name—assuming he hadn’t already been alerted to the probe.
There was no sense in tiptoeing around the subject, so he went in with all weapons firing.
“I had a buddy run you through the soups and spooks network and fuck if he didn’t get a hit.”
O’Neill’s eyebrows climbed. Amusement touched his face. “I highly doubt that.”
Aiden let nothing show on his face. Internally, though, he was one big grimace.
Sure, he’d hoped for some reaction to the news. But amusement? Not so much that. A reaction more guarded would be nice. Maybe a flicker of tension or sudden stillness. Mockery and sarcasm were not on his list of obvious tells.
But then, if the dude was ODNI, he wouldn’t give a damn thing away. Those boys were machines. Trained to kill. Trained to deceive. Trained for non-reaction to reactionary events. Aiden frowned. They were also trained to subvert, to disarm, to use whatever they could to muddy the waters.
Like mockery and sarcasm? Probably. But then, that could just be an O’Neill thing. Christ knew the guy was an asshole.
Aiden’s mind rewound to the meeting where he’d briefed the Shadow Mountain warriors on what had happened in Karaveht. O’Neill’s questions had been thoughtful, even surprising. Maybe there was more to the bastard than he let on. Maybe there wasn’t. Neither possibility mattered. He couldn’t afford to leave any stone unturned. If O’Neill was or had been ODNI, he’d have contacts, contacts Dev didn’t have access to, contacts that could prove invaluable.
He needed to ask the bastard for a favor.
Fuck, did that burn.
Scrubbing a hand through his hair, Aiden yawned and wobbled slightly as a sudden, bone deep exhaustion crashed over him. Again. What the hell? He’d gotten some actual sleep over the past two days. Plenty of it. He shouldn’t be so damn tired. Nor should those bench reps from earlier have drained him, not to this extent.
Maybe he should swing by the clinic when he left the gym, have the docs check him out.
“You okay?” O’Neill asked, the two words drawn out with obvious reluctance.
Hell, he must look even worse than he felt if O’Neill was expressing concern.
“Just peachy.” He grimaced and ran a hand down his face, hesitating several beats too long. Yeah, he was stalling. He dropped his hand and focused on O’Neill’s blank face and sharp eyes.
“Look, I don’t know if my contact’s info is square. No clue if you’re Stargate, or with ODNI. What I do know is that we’ve got a big problem. None of my or Wolf’s contacts are zeroing in on Kuznetsov or the nanobot weapon. We can’t afford to wait, not anymore. Not when that damn thing could go off at any moment.”
O’Neill was silent for one…two…seconds. “I’m listening.”
Well, that was something, at least.
Aiden nodded, taking a tired breath. Chills suddenly swept across his hot skin, leaving goosebumps and shivers in their wake. Damn, maybe he was getting sick. Which would make it the first time in… He tried to think back but couldn’t remember the last time he’d picked up a cold.
O’Neill, he abruptly noticed, was watching him with narrowed eyes and a wrinkled forehead. Much more of this silence and the dude was going to express concern again.
What had he been saying? Oh, yeah—contacts.
“I know we didn’t get off to the best start. But these bots are above us—above all of us. If they get loose—” he sucked in a sharp breath, the livid, raging faces of his dead brothers swelling in his mind. “We won’t be the only ones to pay the price. The entire world will blow up alongside us.” He broke off to massage the ache spreading through his temples. “I’m not asking for confirmation about your background. But if you are, or were a spook, then, for God’s sake, reach out to your contacts. Nobody will question where the intel came from. I’ll make sure of it. I’ll keep this conversation private. But we need a break. If you can provide that break, then for Christ’s sake, make some calls.”
He didn’t wait for a response, just brushed past O’Neill’s frozen form and headed for the door. Exhaustion dogged every step. A hammer chiseled at his skull. Chills coursed through him with increasing intensity. He didn’t have anywhere to be, anything to do. For all of two seconds, he considered swinging by the clinic, having them run more tests—make sure those damn nanobots weren’t rocking and rolling in his noggin.
Except they’d run every test known to the medical field and given him a clean bill of health. Plus, these new symptoms didn’t match the ones he’d witnessed in his team brothers. He checked his hand. No twitching. Nor was he feeling particularly enraged and paranoid. It was probably just a cold, which sleep, fluids, and some healthy chow would cure.
He followed the sidewalk to the elevator and pushed the button for the third level, where his quarters were located. A couple hours of shuteye, followed by a good breakfast were in order. If that didn’t curb the exhaustion, headache, and chills, he’d pay the clinic a visit.
Day 16 Denali, Alaska
His fingers fiddling with the small leather pouch tucked in his pocket, O’Neill watched the Shadow Warrior’s chosen one stagger out the door. The squid looked wrecked, like he’d just climbed off a hell of a bender. The gray face. The stumbling. The obvious fatigue. The sweats. Okay, maybe not the sweats. Wolf’s younger bro had been working out, after all. But Winchester was ripped, a sure sign of someone who’d turned exercise into an obsession. Guys who zealously worked out didn’t sweat so copiously.
Except Winchester didn’t have that telltale stink of boozy toxins seeping from his pores. Nor had Winchester’s eyes been red or sensitive to the light, which ruled out the hangover theory.
Something else must have been ailing the chosen one. Woman trouble, perhaps? There had been obvious friction between the bright-haired woman on the plane and Wolf’s little bro. O’Neill considered that for longer than he should have. It made no difference if Winchester and the woman on the plane were splitting. He had no iron in that fire.
Except for the cat. He liked the cat.
Still, it was hard to imagine that breaking up with some chick would hit Winchester like a hangover. Whatever was going on with the dude had to be something else. Something more. Not that it was any of his business. Not that he cared, even if the bastard had the balls to ask him for a favor, which brought up something else entirely.
Annoyance rippled through him. Did the asshole really think O’Neill had to be asked to reach out to his contacts? That he hadn’t done so immediately when it became clear how dangerous this new weapon was? Did Winchester and the rest of them really think he’d let the world go insane and all the people in it slaughter each other unless someone asked him nicely to stop it?
He huffed a disgusted breath, bitterness rising. What the hell was wrong with him? Why was he still here, skulking around this motherfucking base, where nobody bothered to talk to him, but everyone thought the worst of him? He scowled, his fingers clamping over the heschrmal totem in his pocket. He should slide back into the shadows and do his part to keep the world safe all by his lonesome.
Except he couldn’t leave. Not now, not when everything the Taounaha had shown him was coming true.
The ability the heschrmal had given him was more curse than gift. He’d used it three times since the spirit lion had appeared before him. Its use the first time had been accidental and drove him from the Brenahiilo. The second time, it had been used against him deliberately, and forced him back among those who despised him. This last time, when he’d attempted to use it on the prisoners from California, the gift had proved useless. But then none of Winchester’s fancy drugs had pulled info from them either. Maybe his heschrmal talent hadn’t failed. Maybe those two assholes had nothing useful to share.
He’d spent a full year hanging around base because of what the Taounaha had shown him. What a waste of time and tolerance. The mouthpiece had advised patience, had told him his presence was required early, even though the apocalypse hadn’t yet tiptoed into view.
Benioko stressed building rapport and trust with Wolf and his warriors. O’Neill grimaced, every synapse in his brain vibrating with irritation. Yeah, that hadn’t gone well. He was still jie'van. The unwanted one.
Outcast.
He would have left months ago if those damn visions Benioko had shoved into his mind didn’t still haunt his dreams, if the knowledge of what was coming didn’t fill him with dread.
O’Neill hadn’t asked to see it, hadn’t asked to be involved, didn’t want to be a part of this Herculean attempt to save the world—and all the people in it. But he couldn’t turn his back on it either, and he sure as hell hadn’t asked to witness his own death or the irony surrounding it.
And the kicker—the greatest irony of all—was that the only person he’d trusted way back when, the one person he’d exposed his true self to, would never know that despite her betrayal, he’d still knowingly sacrificed himself to save her life along with everyone else on the planet.
He scoffed beneath his breath. She’d done him a favor, really. Taught him to trust no one, count on no one. Her betrayal had driven him from the Brenahiilo and stung a promise from him. The promise that he’d never return, never let anyone betray him again.
Yet wasn’t that exactly what he was doing? Setting himself up for the ultimate betrayal? None of the warriors on this base gave a shit about his ass. When the situation went sideways, which it would, he’d be left out in the cold.
He never should have let Benioko talk him into joining Shadow Mountain. He should have stayed put and fought against the end of humanity from the shadows where he worked best. He’d still end up dead, but on his own terms, watching his own back instead of sacrificing himself to keep other warriors alive.
Grimacing, he turned toward the door. Aiden Winchester was right about one thing, though. It was time to reach out to his people—again. His real people. The ones he could count on. Find out if they’d pinpointed who was behind this apocalyptic weapon and if they had a location on Kuznetsov yet. But most of all, he needed to brace himself, because the storm was coming and about to swallow him whole.
The Taounaha and the Shadow Warrior owed him one. A big one. Like fucking everything. When he joined the web of his ancestors, he had better live like a king.