Chapter 25
“You’re going to soak the whole room if you keep that up—just stay still,” the general said to the chimera as he filled the jacuzzi tub along the wall.
It was his favorite of all the changes Kyller had made to the house—not that he’d admit it was for his own pleasure.
He claimed it was because the chimera fit perfectly inside.
She drooped her ears and slowly sank into the water while Zion scrubbed her neck and then lower, where the fur ended and blended into white feathers at the base of her wings.
The bathwater was still brown, and this was already the second time he’d drained and refilled it.
“I don’t see why I need another bath when I already had one earlier.”
“And then you rolled in the mud by the fishing pier. Now you reek of carrion,” Zion retorted, working in the shampoo his partner had given him earlier.
He sat on the black marble edge with his legs dangling in the foul-smelling water. The stench of dead fish permeated every corner of the room, clinging even to his hair, which hung disheveled around his face.
“That, my love, is the scent of happiness. It’s not my fault your nose isn’t as good as mine.”
Zion held back a laugh, scrubbing even more shampoo into Kiara’s chubby body. He’d been at this for an hour now, trying to get the smell off the creature, and he was mentally begging for a bath of his own.
“If that’s the smell of happiness, I don’t even want to know what sadness smells like,” Zion said, rinsing his hands. He released the drain plug and kept lathering shampoo until only the scent of plum and macadamia remained.
“The smell of sadness is what wafts up from an empty food bowl. That’s pure sadness.”
He smiled and kept working on the dirt. As he rinsed the chimera, his mind drifted to the afternoon he’d spent with Kyller.
His furrowed brow betrayed his worry. He was seriously worried about how close she was to discovering what he did outside the walls.
That knowledge could shatter her quiet, normal life, and Zion didn’t want to see his partner dragged into his problems. Earlier, he’d been caught off guard by the revelation about her family and, not knowing what to say, had asked her not to press him—he couldn’t answer.
Still, he’d seen the curiosity burning in her eyes, and soon enough she’d lose patience.
Just thinking about what she’d told him made his whole body tense, protective instincts flooding his mind.
What she’d suffered in the army was beyond what he could bear to contemplate, which was why he hadn’t asked what life had been like there.
But knowing she’d faced other horrors before that left him even more shaken.
When the general found her, he hadn’t left a single soldier from that squad alive.
He’d already killed them all and was checking the perimeter for breeding camps when he heard her screams and descended to the basement.
His only regret was not making the slaughter last longer.
He wished he had the power of necromancy, just to raise them up and kill them all over again.
When the girl arrived—little more than bones and skin—Ambrose compiled a report of everything she’d endured.
Almost every bone in her body showed signs of regeneration; her legs and arms had been broken so many times they’d lost count, calcifications everywhere.
Skull fracture, ribs in tatters, whip marks, ears branded with hot iron, severe malnutrition...
The scars were countless, and even the doctor couldn’t explain how she was still alive.
Her gift had kept her heart beating against all odds, and “miracle” was the only word they could use to describe what had happened.
He shook his head to push the memory away. But as soon as that thought faded, another more disturbing one took its place: Kyller was the lost child of Lagherta and Ross—the biggest curveball fate had thrown him since discovering the partnership, naturally.
Lagherta and Ross Vidana had been undercover spies in a scheme that only he and a handful of others knew about. It wasn’t something to even think about within the walls—the danger was too high. One slip and everything would go down the drain.
Thirteen years ago, the Drutes queen had discovered the communication between the two nations and coordinated a hunt for the spies.
Since the couple was on the front lines, they were discovered first and pursued relentlessly throughout the city.
Lagherta and Ross died after a bloody battle, taking two hundred Drutes soldiers to the grave with them.
Zion remembered that as soon as Serguei learned what had happened, he’d tried to gather information to save the child, but no one knew where the girl was.
Some infiltrators under Lagherta’s command stopped sending intelligence for fear of being discovered, leaving Zion and Serguei in the dark for a time—long enough for the girl to vanish completely.
Zion never said anything, but he knew Serguei blamed himself for failing to save her.
He’d seen the man destroy an entire room when he learned the child was missing and might have died in the battle.
And then, once again, fate had toyed with their lives.
Kyller was the lost child, and she’d ended up exactly where she belonged.
It was further proof that Serguei always got what he wanted, no matter the obstacle.
“Can I get out and dry off?” the chimera asked, pulling the general from his thoughts.
“If you come back dirty again, Kyller’s going to make you sleep in the garden, and I won’t intervene,” he warned Kiara as he opened the window. A night breeze greeted him, tousling his hair.
“No paws on the ground,” she said excitedly.
He smiled and scratched the side of her ear.
Better to let her air-dry on the wind—using the blow dryer would be far too much work.
Before she left, he pressed the button on her collar and she grumbled.
Kiara hated the thing—it was a tracker—but even though Zion trusted her strength, he still wanted to know where she was.
If she ran into trouble, he could reach her immediately.
“I'll leave the window open. When you come back, come straight here.”
The chimera nodded, climbing out of the bathtub and leaping into the night, spreading her wet wings.
Zion could finally take his bath in peace.
He stripped off his clothes and stepped into the shower.
Memories of Kyller lying beside him filled his mind.
Her red hair gleamed under the sun in a way he'd never seen before.
Sunlight was her beauty's greatest ally—if she was beautiful in the shade, in the sun she was something beyond perfection.
Her upright posture, her elegant, understated walk, even the way her unruly hair swayed—the general couldn't take his eyes off her.
He'd been weighing the idea of training her for days and knew the risk posed by their bond was dangerously high, but after what he'd seen in the alley, he decided to set aside his fears for her safety.
It wasn't that she lacked skill—he could see her agility and strength during fights.
The issue ran deeper, rooted in the past.
Zion had noticed that of all the girls in the class, Kyller had the most resilient body—firm, toned muscles—all without even working out.
Her impressive physique was genetic, impossible to ignore.
Yet even with everything it took to be one of the best students, there was no spark in her eyes.
In most fights, Zion saw only fear disguised as indifference.
He'd implemented the knockout rule so she'd lose her fear of fighting, so she'd see that even the strongest fall, and so she wouldn't be afraid to give a fight everything she had.
The tactic had worked for him when he was young, but with his partner, it had the opposite effect.
It was as if her mind refused to accept confrontation, reluctant to land a solid blow.
And with each passing day, Zion grew more certain this stemmed from some psychological block or trauma from her old life in Drutes—it was the only explanation for how she handled fights.
He was finishing his bath when he felt the familiar touch on his mind, and a claw scratched against his protective shield.
He straightened, his muscles going rigid as steel cables. Another claw scraped across his ears, an agonizing mental screech. The general gathered his thoughts and opened a small window in the barrier.
A blue-green eye stared at him from the other side.
“What's the point of having a cell phone if you never turn it on?”
The voice held itself back from booming—the man had a deafening mental voice, and it was strange that he was restraining himself today.
“And what's the point of being a psychic if you use a cell phone?”
“I thought you didn't like being contacted mentally,” the man taunted from the other side.
“Actually, I don't like being contacted by you. The method doesn't matter. What do you want?”
“Do I need an excuse to visit you? Can't I just check in on how you're doing?”
Zion felt a chill as he sensed the probing interest threatening his barrier. Nothing good ever came from that man, especially when he showed up to pry with those melancholy phrases. He was too broken to tell love and protection apart from toxicity and violence.
“I'll ask one last time. What do you want from me?”
The eye on the other side studied him with greater intensity, as if deciding whether punishing the general for his petulance was worth the trouble.
Zion held his breath—he'd be ready if it came to that, but he didn't want to fight again.
He'd already lost decades of his life to pointless battles.
After a few seconds, the large eye withdrew.
“The provisional general is waiting for you at the royal palace. The meeting with the king is in one hour.”
“What should I know about this?”