A Calculated Attack #2
A deafening explosion rips through the air, flames swallowing steel and stone as the Indomitable’s building collapses in on itself, shockwaves splitting the snow and sending debris screaming into the darkness. Heat washes over us briefly as the fire surges to the sky.
“No!” the dying captain cries out, collapsing into human form as he stares at the inferno, horror hollowing his features. “You killed everyone! You killed her!” His arrogance from earlier, when we first arrived, is gone.
I approach him slowly, boots crunching through blood-stained snow, my expression indifferent to what’s unfolding around us.
I crouch before him. “You shouldn’t have chosen the wrong side,” I murmur coldly before I break his neck without hesitation and rip his heart from his chest.
The victory cry rises behind me as my battalion erupts, relief and triumph bleeding together as they take in the destruction left behind. I survey the battlefield, the dead bodies, the destruction of the grounds, and the silence that has begun to settle in now that the screams have faded away.
I feel no guilt or regret, simply satisfaction.
The hunters have become the hunted, and I relish it. I don’t know what that makes me, and I really don’t care.
“Gather our dead,” I command at last, turning my gaze to the darkened sky as snow begins to fall again, already trying to erase the evidence of what we’ve done. “We’re moving out.”
And as we turn away from the flames, I realise I feel nothing, almost… numb.
We return home a few hours later, carrying our wounded and dead on our backs.
I’ve shifted, too, and I’m carrying one of our warriors who is in pretty bad shape.
The poison in my own shoulder is aching, making my neck stiff.
The healing has kicked in, but it’s far slower than it should be thanks to the poison.
It’s not wolfsbane, as we carry an antidote for that, and I took it as a precaution, but it didn’t help.
We travel in silence. Even if victory was ours, my men are exhausted. Travelling to and from the location is tiring, and we’re not from the same packs, so mind-linking is out of the question, and we only shift to human form for breaks.
Darkness fell long ago, and the thrum of the dome is ever-present as we pass through the gates of our outpost. I’m instantly met by our men who take the wounded and dead from us. We’ve lost six men from my battalion, and five from the other two who joined us.
I shift back to my Schattenblüte pants and boots, the cold biting into my bare torso. My shoulder still throbs painfully, and someone puts a fur cloak around my shoulders as I walk towards the entrance to the barracks.
“Congratulations, Captain. You did it!” someone says, squeezing my good shoulder.
It was only one outpost of theirs; there are plenty more. The door to the barracks is open, and I’m hit by the light.
“Get the injured to the infirmary,” I command.
“You need seeing to, Captain,” someone says.
“I will, once my men have been,” I say, stepping into the common room and walking over to one of the chairs and dropping into it. Never has a chair felt so fucking comfortable. I massage my neck, placing one boot on the table. “Is the Second-in-Command back?”
“Yes, they are, Captain,” one of the men who is seated at one of the tables says.
“Good,” I reply, groaning as I roll my neck, the ache from the fight and journey back lingering. I close my eyes, allowing the bleak warmth to settle into my bones.
Fuck.
The side door creaks open, and I’m hit by a scent that is far too familiar. Cherries, moonflower and amber; an intoxicating concoction of pure seductive power.
I stiffen as it clouds my senses, and I slowly turn my attention to the door that Uncle Alejandro has just stepped through.
“Oh hey, Jayce. You’re back. Well, there was a change of plans. Sienna was sent instead of Delsanra,” he says gruffly as he steps aside. The tension is growing thick in the air.
Then I see her.
Dark red curls braided back, lips so red and soft they look like they might bleed if even slight pressure is applied.
Seductive red eyes, unguarded yet somehow still fucking daring as they burn into mine.
She’s standing there like a doll carved to tempt, and I feel the weight of her gaze sinking into me, my heart thundering harder than it has in hours.
My chest tightens, and I hate that it does. I hate her for the way she still gets under my skin. The way she makes me feel. The emotions she draws out of me.
I clench my jaw, focusing on letting the cold wash over me instead.
My eyes narrow as I lean back, my boot still resting on the table as I turn my attention to the fire instead, the picture of arrogance and indifference, even as her scent alone threatens to pull me apart.
I won’t give her the satisfaction.
Through my peripheral vision, I can see her chest rising and falling. I can see the way she’s holding herself, the tension in her arms, the defined curve of her waist – every part of her – but I refuse to look at her. Refuse to give in to my wolf or my instincts that are screaming at me.
I came all the way out here to get away from her, and somehow, she still made it here. And this time I have nowhere to go.
I clench my teeth; I don’t smile. I don’t show her that I want her more than I want to breathe.
She thinks she has me; she thinks I’ll cave, but she’s wrong.
This was planned. And my refusal is, too.