Unbroken Bonds (The Bonds That Tie #6)(56)

Stop panicking, Oleander, Nox sends to me. I dart my eyes over to him.

He's checking that his weapons are secured to his uniform correctly. Checking, double-checking, and triple-checking the way that Gryphon always has, the way he taught me to as well.

Now isn't the time for it. Gryphon has been trained to work through this sort of thing. We've lost a lot of people in our lives before and been forced to continue working. Don't count him out so quickly.

My eyebrows furrow. I'm not counting him out. I just don't think it's fair. I didn't want to move for a week after my parents died, and no one else has been given that opportunity. None of us! Everyone has just had to… keep on working. I don't want that for any of you. You had to go to your uncle's funeral with a brave face just so the rest of the community could watch and gawk at it. It sets my teeth on edge.

I want to scream as tears prick at the back of my eyes, but I duck down to fuss with the shadow creatures, swallowing roughly as I get myself back under control.

Gryphon's voice echoes in my mind, it's something I will think about later, Bonded, when I see my sister and go down to see my mom. Right now, all I'm thinking about is the potential for survivors. Don't worry about me. I'm more worried about you right now.

You should be worried about me, I send back, because when I get there, I am going to tear the souls out of every single living creature in that place that has ever wished harm upon our community or my Bonded. I'm going to commit acts of crime on such a scale that it will rock everyone to the core. You should probably prepare your men for that, and this isn't even my bond speaking.

A hand slowly wraps around the top of my arm and draws me up until I'm standing with my side pressed against Nox’s as he sends through the mind connection, Burn it all to the ground, Oleander. Burn it, and let's be done with it.





CHAPTER SEVENTEEN





Oli



I had thought that the horrific level of destruction at the Wasteland was the worst thing that I would ever have to face. I thought that walking into camps that had been turned into a field of blood and death would be the most chilling and horrifying thing I would see. That facing Silas Davies, enraged psychosis in his eyes as he stared at me like I was nothing more than an outlet for his rage and insane purpose, would be the bravest thing I could ever do.

As my feet touch the ground, Gryphon's hand slips away from my neck as the sickness eases, and I open my eyes to find myself in the worst type of hell.

Entire families are lying on the ground dead, mothers’ arms around small children, fathers covering as much of their family's bodies as they can, all of them in piles, all of them gone.

I think this street had once been a normal suburb, a cookie-cutter neighborhood that would be such a beautiful place for kids to grow up and thrive in. We're somewhere out in the middle of the country where no one thinks to go, somewhere the General would have assumed was so far out of reach to the Resistance and their cause. I suppose he'd put some thought into it, made a plan assuming that he was right, and come out here hoping for a better life for all of these people.

I assume all of this because to assume anything else would add even more pain and grief to this situation, and it's already overflowing with that.

What I guess was once grass all around us is now nothing but scorched earth from the Elementals they must have faced, and blood is covering every surface my eyes touch. My stomach doesn't just drop, it bottoms out with rage and grief at all of this destruction, and for what? Nothing.

Nothing but to draw us into a trap, to get our attention, to cause us to stumble.

All of these people were cannon fodder to the Resistance and the gods that live within them. These lives all meant nothing to them.

I try not to look at any of the faces as we begin to move through the rubble of the area. I'm aware that we've been living amongst these people for months now; there's a very real chance I will know some of them. I guess the best way to not fall into any sort of grief right now is to avoid it altogether.

Unfortunately, Gabe and Atlas don't do the same, cursing under their breaths as they recognize the faces around us.

I almost look when I hear the sharp intake of breath at my side, but then Gabe says, “Don’t, Bonded. It's bad enough that it's in my head now, I don't need it in yours as well. Let me carry this for us both.”

I swallow and nod, trying to forget the smell that lingers in the air, trying not to let any of this imprint on me the way that I already know it's going to. There's no avoiding it, no avoiding the way that every single time the Resistance hits our community, it chips away at us and our strength, our resolve and our sanity, eroding us until we're nothing but shells of ourselves.

I only hope that in the time between these attacks, we'll be able to build ourselves back up enough so that doesn't happen. It feels as though I've spent the last six months doing nothing but fighting. I feel drained at the prospect of any more time doing this, losing people senselessly and watching as those who are innocent of wrongdoing pay the ultimate price for those who just want power.

All of it is gut-wrenching and heartbreaking.

This is the worst sort of hell to be stuck in, and yet here we are again. I swallow back the bile that just won’t leave my throat, and I keep my eyes on North’s back as we move together. One of Gryphon’s TacTeams fans around us as they move through the street in their search for survivors. I feel terrible that they have to roll the bodies over and press their fingers against necks to check for signs that maybe a Healer will be able to repair the damage.