Blood Bonds(The Bonds That Tie #3)(2)

We might all finally get some answers.

There’s a static sound in my earpiece and then Gryphon’s voice comes through, “Prisoners are in the biggest tent on the east side. Bravo team, move out.”

I unholster one of my guns and then hold my palm out to call my nightmare creatures back into myself now that the majority of the Resistance here have been dealt with. There’s still a chance that we’ve missed some, thus the gun, but the risk of killing innocents is too high to keep them out and consuming.

Most of the creatures melt away back into me as though they’re obedient, others go back in snarling and screaming. The biggest of them all, the one that I refuse to call August, stops short to stare at me with it’s glowing void eyes.

It stares at me like it is the docile puppy Oleander seems so intent on it being. It stares at me like it’s pissed off she’s not here, dropping to her knees to shower it with love and affection.

It stares at me like it knows something is wrong.

“Is he still giving you shit thanks to Oli?” Gryphon says as he walks up behind me, bolder and less cautious now that he’s seen the creature heel to our little Bond.

“It is, yes. There’s something… off about the camp. Keep your eyes peeled, and stick close.”

He smirks at my distinction of the creature, enjoying riling me up on Oleander’s behalf, which is both new and completely typical of him.

He’s going to be a nightmare going forward, especially if he stays the only Bonded of us all.

I have to wrench my mind away from that particular path, something that could occupy me for days if I really wanted to follow that thought process. Maybe being stuck in council meetings has been a blessing in disguise, keeping me distracted and busy so that I don’t have to think about our little mysterious Bond, who might just have had a real reason to run from us after all.

I hold my hand out to the creature again, a battle of wills and mental strength, until finally, with a soundless huff and snort, there’s a pop sound as he disappears back into me. My bond rears its head in my chest, not so eager at being forced to heel, and I take a deep breath as Gryphon calls out again to get everyone moving.

Nox doesn’t call his creatures into himself at all, but they’ve always been completely obedient to their master. Once he starts moving through the tents and clearing them, the other members of the Alpha team are happy enough to follow his lead. They’re still cautious but no longer stuck standing rigidly like statues, like they are around mine. Something about the size difference, or the very obvious way that mine are rabid, reinforces the general rules of staying the fuck away from them nicely without any of our Bond Group having to say a word.

Gryphon takes his backup second with him to scout out a cluster of smaller tents that we already know from intel are the lodgings of the higher members of the Resistance. His second, Harrison, is Arthur Rockelle’s son, and a highly trained Flame who has always been loyal. He’s the easy choice to back Gryphon while Kieran is on Oleander’s protection detail.

I follow Nox to the torture camp.

He always goes to the questioning and processing areas first. He finds the men and women working there himself, just to make sure that they die a very messy and painful death at his hands, because the idea of a bullet between the eyes for their kind just doesn’t sit well with him.

Or me.

I’m just a little less zealous about it.

Sure enough, we find an Empath and two Neuros in there, huddled together. Their panicked, whispered plans are useless and redundant, and I watch with a cold sort of interest as Nox stalks towards them with his palm outstretched, the black stains of our curse darkening his skin as their screams fill our ears.

He always does play with his food before he lets his nightmares eat them.

An hour later, we’re climbing into the back of the truck with the knowledge that every Resistance member here is now dead. Gryphon calls out to the driver to get us back onto the road and headed back to the rendezvous point, blood covering us all from the knees down.

The Bravo team will stay behind and move the recovered Gifted to our version of the processing camps, only instead of poking and prodding at them to figure out what use they’ll be to our manic mission, we’ll be starting the long process of undoing all of the programming and torture they’ve endured since they were taken.

Some of them will die there.

It doesn’t sit well with me, it never has, but sometimes they’re too far gone, the damage is too much to come back from.

I blow out a breath and tip my head back against the seat, enjoying the quiet moment without having to think about council meetings or political moves. As much as I didn’t want to leave my Bond behind, definitely not after the revelation of more Resistance interference, there’s something about getting away from all of the trappings of being North Draven the Councilman that I desperately needed.

It all feels like bullshit, like sand slipping through my fingers while the world burns around us all anyway.

William would’ve known what to do, more than I ever have.

There were fifty captive Gifted here and we got thirty-eight out alive. It sounds like a terrible amount of casualties, and in other situations, heads would be rolling about losing twelve Gifted, but these sorts of recon missions… twelve is right about average.

We’ve never gotten everyone out alive before. We’re outnumbered and always running on the defensive, our greatest weakness as a society, and with that comes far too much blood being spilled. It’s easier to digest the numbers here on the ground, watching the TacTeams work their asses off to get the worst of the brainwashed victims restrained before they become a danger to themselves or others, but in my office back home when I get reports, those numbers burn a hole into my deepest marrow. It’s never enough. Nothing we do ever is.