Chapter 29
CHAPTER
TWENTY-NINE
They took her back to San Francisco, and she made sure every second of the trip was miserable for each and every one of them.
Cecilia had screamed herself hoarse by the time the masked Patrol unit transferred her into a blacked out van. They’d been forced to restrain her. If they’d had the option, she was fairly certain they would’ve gagged her, too.
At least Sloane had the foresight to drug her first. The yahoos who came busting into the parking lot, bolt rifles blazing, had no idea how to handle her kicking the backs of their seats or threatening to call their mothers.
She’d never been spitting mad before, and she’d always figured she was a bit too much of a coward to really fight someone, but when she saw a dozen armed men swarm her elf, she wanted to take them all on herself.
It was no wonder they looked at her like she’d lost her mind. Between bouts of screaming, kicking, insults, and attempts to jump on their backs, she got the impression that they believed they were saving a poor, defenseless arrant from some sort of monster.
What they got instead was a yowling, hissing, pissed off girlfriend who absolutely refused to answer any of their questions without a lawyer or her elf present.
So she wasn’t entirely surprised when the Patrol squadron who rescued her washed their hands of her. They drove her in the blacked out van for a chaotic and loud half an hour before they came to a screeching halt.
She’d been shoved in the back behind a metal screen, so she watched the men hop out of the van through tiny holes. Sweaty, with her hair sticking to the back of her neck and her throat raw from hollering, Cecilia slumped against the grate.
Beneath the raging fire of her fury was a sickly swell of fear. It rose and fell in tidal waves, tossing her insides around until she swore she would be sick. At least throwing up would serve a purpose. The prick who smashed his gun into Sloane’s head deserved a little puke in his face.
The fear was harder to handle. It was a helpless, awful kind of feeling.
Seeing Sloane desperately try to make his way through the throng to get to her, like all the rifles pointed at him didn’t matter, was an image that would cling to her for the rest of her life.
It colored every thought and every fantasy of what he was going through at that very moment.
Is he being beaten? Did they hurt him so badly that he’s in danger? Would they really kill him if they knew he’d found his mate? No, he said they’d only do that if we couldn’t be separated. Right?
She cursed herself for not asking more questions, and she felt like the world’s biggest asshole for dismissing Sloane’s warning like she had. If she hadn’t blown her top about him leaving her, they wouldn’t have gone to the rest stop. They might’ve made it to the border.
If he dies, I’ll never forgive myself, she realized, eyes stinging. Her throat felt swollen and lined with glass when she tried to swallow her tears.
Before the dam could break, the back doors of the van opened.
Cecilia squinted into the glare of the midday sun, her exposed skin prickling as San Francisco’s signature wet air rushed in, carrying the sharp, medicinal scent of eucalyptus.
Standing in front of the open doors were two masked figures who made her hair stand on end.
It took her only a moment to realize why.
The differences were subtle, but they were there. The helmet shape was different. Their armored clothing was ever-so-slightly more severe. And when one of them pushed their side of the door open wider, she caught a glimpse of a dark, round symbol on their bicep.
Sloane hadn’t worn his official uniform.
His clothing was armored, yes, but nondescript.
He looked like a member of Patrol, but there was no badge number, no unit symbol, or identification on it.
Obviously, he would’ve been pretty reckless to wear his official uniform to stalk her, so she hadn’t thought much of it.
But the helmet…
The helmet was exactly the same, and there was something indefinably familiar about how they held themselves as they stared her down.
Breathing hard, Cecilia squared her shoulders and demanded, “Take me to my boyfriend. Now.”
The masked figures shared a look. Unfortunately for them, Cecilia had recently come into a fair amount of experience interpreting stunted elvish soldiers’ body language.
“Hey!” she snapped, banging her heel on the floor of the van. “You’re gonna take me to see him or I’m going to be such a pain in your ass, there isn’t a healer in the world who will be able to help you sit right!”
A flat, modulated voice came from the slightly taller figure to her right. “You are very loud, Cecilia Marcella Warren.”
Blowing a sweaty lock of hair out of her eyes, she grunted, “Call me Cece.”
“Cece,” the figure to her left announced, “you are being remanded into our custody for questioning. It is in your best interest to come quietly.”
Despite the fact that her hands were cuffed behind her back, she lunged fearlessly at the faceless elves with a snarl. “What are you gonna do to me, huh? I don’t have to cooperate with you or anyone who thinks Sloane did a single fucking thing wrong!”
There was a pause. The figure on the right seemed to hesitate for a moment before they leaned slightly into the van.
“If you come quietly, we won’t have to handle you much, which means Sloane is less likely to pull our jugular veins out and turn them into a belt.
Your assistance in this would be greatly appreciated. ”
Cecilia blinked. “Um…”
The one on the left reached for her arm.
For the first time since everything went to shit, she didn’t struggle.
Together, the elves helped her out of the van and down onto a gravel lot.
All around her were massive, creepy-looking trees strung with pale moss leaning down from a circle of hills, and nestled in the center of the natural bowl was a stark military-looking building.
Staggering a little as she got feeling back in her legs, she let the elves support her as they began walking her past the small group of Patrol officers who’d escorted her there.
“Transfer complete,” one of her new friends announced, nodding toward the group. “You are dismissed.”
The man in charge, who’d taken the brunt of her ire, cleared his throat. He wore a mask, too, but it was nearly see-through and didn’t have the voice modulator. That made it easy to hear the relief in his voice when he answered, “Understood. And word of advice? Don’t uncuff her.”
Cecilia cast him her biggest, sunniest grin as they marched her toward the building.