Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
Mace leads me towards the closest support point. He said he would have missed it if he hadn’t been paying attention, but there was something about the cluster of sensors that made him realise we’ll find shelter there.
‘We aren’t usually sent into this area for foraging missions,’ he says.
‘It figures,’ I reply. ‘They probably don’t want people lurking too close to that hangar.’
Mace scowls. I’m too tired and overwhelmed – I can’t really deal with this. There’s so much new information to process, but does it change anything? There’s no time to discuss anything, anyway, as we run away from Team Silver.
We speed away from the hangar, and I thank Stella in my mind for not taking the flyboards away from us.
I can’t wait to get to that support point and look at Mace’s wound.
And maybe pry into why he looked so pale when the current Central Command voted on staying at war with the neighbouring kingdom.
We finally make it to our destination, which is a narrow tunnel opening within a sheer rock wall. It looks like the entrance to the tunnels in The Citadel.
‘How come the other kingdoms didn’t find this?’ I say, hopping down from my flyboard.
‘There are shielding illusions that I deactivated before coming here,’ he says, summoning an opening in the rock and stowing away our flyboards. His moves are stilted, and I can tell he’s in pain. It makes me want to scream.
‘You shouldn’t have done that,’ I say, but he pushes through the opening of the tunnel.
‘Come on. We’ll find that support point and hopefully get some peace and quiet today. I’m done.’
Yes, I’m done, too. There’s a lot that I want to talk to Mace about, a lot of information that I need to sift through, but first I want to get to safety.
We walk down through the tunnel for what seems like ages, the only light the faint glow from a speck of our powers that we conjure in our palms.
Two dozen feet in front of us is a dead end. ‘Are you sure this is right?’ I ask, but before Mace has the chance to answer, holograms generate in front of us and behind.
‘Fuck this,’ I say. Mace is wounded and I’m done. I don’t think. I just let my power ripple out of me, great swathes of angry magic. The holograms are pushed back, back, back, just like I did with the Team Silver Warriors. I can hear Mace engaging the holograms behind me, a grunt of pain.
‘Good news,’ he says. ‘If I manage to land killing blows, these ones vanish.’
‘Excellent,’ I say. My power shimmers within me, roaring to be unleashed. And I do. I shove it out. Again and again, pushing the holograms back. It sounds as if Mace is in pain when he moves.
‘Can I help?’ I call out.
‘Nearly done,’ says Mace.
I still turn around, lifting my shield, ready to teleport to where Mace stands.
But he plants his legs on the ground, slices through the middle of a hologram in a blow that would have been gruesome on a real person and slaps his hand to the stone. The holograms shimmer out of existence and the stone wall slides to the side, revealing a wide chamber beyond.
‘Got it,’ he says. When he turns to me, he’s teetering on his feet. He’s pale. So, so pale. Blood is flowing freely from his ribs – he must have opened his wounds again – and he leans on the wall.
I rush to him, cursing through my teeth, slipping under his arm on his uninjured side. ‘Lean on me,’ I say.
He must be in a lot of pain, because he doesn’t object, and we step slowly into the support point.
‘If I see another fucking hologram today, I’ll implode,’ I say.
He chuckles.
And then, I take in the chamber we just walked into.
It’s not just a support point. It’s a luxury retreat.
In the middle of the huge chamber, there’s a large pool.
Palm trees are surrounding it, some of their leaves brushing the water.
A broad kitchen opens in the opposite corner, and there are six more doors that lead to spacious bed chambers, each of them with their individual bathrooms.
‘What is this?’ I breathe.
It’s gorgeous and luxurious, and in the middle of nowhere.
Mace laughs. ‘I always thought that the seasoned Warriors were pulling our leg when they said that Stella sometimes sends them to deluxe locations in the middle of the fucking wilderness.’
‘Why would someone waste resources for a place like this?’ I ask, still gaping.
‘Welcome, Team Gold,’ says Stella, her shape shimmering in the middle of the pool.
‘This is one of the select locations that Central Command sometimes uses to coordinate field missions. You may spend the night here if you wish. If not, I can lead you back outside through a specially designed tunnel.’
‘We wish,’ I say, just as Mace says, ‘The fuck we’ll spend the night outside.’
‘No jumping in the pool,’ says Stella.
I snort. ‘Let’s find a room.’ I can finally – finally – tend to his wound.
Stella says behind us, ‘You have been granted twenty extra points for finding this location. However, I had to deduct them again, because you used flyboards to reach it.’
Mace leans harder and harder on me. I make an effort to keep myself together. Just for a few more minutes. ‘Killjoy,’ I say.
Mace chuckles, or tries to, before it turns into a grunt of pain.
I lead him to the closest room and sit him on the edge of the bed, before untying his backpack, and then mine. ‘I wish we could have left your backpack behind,’ I say. ‘Ferrying it around didn’t help with your wound.’
‘Over my dead body,’ he says. ‘If Team Silver found it, do you realise how many points we’d have lost?’
‘You and your points,’ I mutter.
He’s trying to smile, but I can tell it’s becoming increasingly hard for him. He’s paler than ever and covered in a thin sheen of sweat. I peel away his shirt and then rummage for my Pocket Healer. ‘We’ll get you fixed up in no time,’ I say, more to calm myself down, rather than him.
The sight of his blood makes me nauseous, and unsettles my magic in a way that makes me want to crawl out of my own skin. I quickly wipe his wounds with disinfectant. My hands are trembling.
Mace touches my cheek with his callused fingers. ‘Hey. It’s okay. It’s just a scratch.’
It’s too much – the rasp of the calluses on his skin, the warmth in his voice – so I tear away and punch the necessary settings into the Pocket Healer.
‘I can’t believe what an idiot you are, fighting on with that wound.
We should have gotten out the moment they wounded you. Nothing is worth this. Nothing.’
‘I got distracted. Do you know how fucking sexy you are when you get angry? When you started blasting those holograms back in the tunnel. There’s a little frown that builds here,’ he says, drawing his fingers down my forehead to make a point, ‘and it’s irresistible.’
I can feel his touch and his words down to the tips of my toes. ‘Mace,’ I say.
The Pocket Healer is doing its job to heal, wrapping the gash in a dome of green light. And I feel like I can breathe again.
‘Besides,’ he says, ‘I couldn’t have possibly lived with myself if you’d gotten hurt.’
I bring my hand to the unharmed side of his chest, feel the strong thud of his heart underneath.
There’s a pull I’ve always felt to Mace that I can’t put into words.
‘I’m not a fighter, though,’ I say. ‘I hate it. I hate having to cause harm.’ I can’t bring myself to do it, unless someone I care about is in danger, apparently.
The wound closes, angry pink ridges on top of his ribs. As soon as the Pocket Healer informs me that there was no damage to his vital organs, I toss it on top of my backpack.
Mace shifts, picks up his discarded T-shirt, and starts wiping the blood off the side of his body.
My mouth dries at the sight of his muscled torso, the golden skin, the dozens of nicks, scars he must have gotten in the training arena and the Disputed Lands.
Our gazes meet and I realise he’s seen me staring at him. It’s as if we reach a decision at the same time.
He cups my face with his fingers. ‘Ellie, I can’t say how much I’ve fucking wanted to do this.’
‘Is that so?’ I say. ‘What stopped you?’
His thumb rubs the corner of my mouth, and warmth blooms in my belly. I want more. I want everything.
His other arm comes like a hard band of iron around my waist, pulling me to him, turning me so that I’m sitting on his hard thighs.
I curl into him, an arm around his shoulders.
I feel every inch of the hard heat of his body.
He lowers his head, and his lips begin sliding against mine.
I respond in return, and my blood fills with liquid fire, making me feel bright and warm and sparkling.
His tongue coaxes the inner side of my upper lip, and when I open for him, his responding groan takes a life of its own and licks down my spine, softening my knees, making me hold on harder to him.
His other hand slips down the length of my ponytail, coiling it in his fist, pulling my head back to give himself better access. And it’s that tug, the pull I feel everywhere in my scalp, the soft, sensuous glide of his tongue, that wrenches a moan out of me that he swallows greedily.
I want to crawl under his skin, I want him to make me feel everything.
I’m aware of every point where we touch, and I’m a heap of putty in his hands, holding on tight to his shoulders, digging my nails deep into his flesh, as if he’s the only real, solid thing that can keep me anchored to this world.
I pant, arching, desperate for more, desperate for him not to stop. My fingers tangle in his soft hair, pulling him closer, urging him on. His hands slip down my waist, to my hips, holding me tight.
The steady pounding between my legs is begging me to give him more. Because in this space, there are no Warriors or Apprentices or the bleak prospects of The Citadel. It’s just him and me, and this nearly unbearable heat between us.
But then, he pulls back.
Of course.
It was too wonderful to last.
‘We can’t do this,’ he says, his voice low and rough. ‘I can’t give you everything.’
I’ve heard this before.