Of Blood and Bone (Chronicles of The One #2)(139)

“That’s not love.”

“It is. As real as any. Parent for child, child for parent, mate for mate. They loved. Now they’re grieving, and they’re hurt.”

“So are we.” Sticking his hands in his pockets, he looked up at the stars. “She liked killing. I saw that when she killed Denzel.”

“It gives her joy, causing death and pain. I … understand that better now. I felt, for a moment, I felt joy when I put my sword in Eric. I never want to feel that again.”

“I got that,” he murmured. “I get that.”

“We wanted revenge, both of us, so there was chaos. People fought, but there was chaos. There won’t be the next time. We’ll get more soldiers, make more, and we’ll have leadership instead of chaos.”

She let out a breath. “I failed.”

“Bullshit.”

“I failed because I went with impulse and anger.” Remembering, she rubbed a hand over the cuff on her sword hand. “I wanted Eric’s blood on my hands, and I got it, but I forgot strategy, tactics.”

“Not altogether.”

“Mostly then. You had my back. So, thanks.”

“I guess we’re even there.”

“How’s the side?” When he shrugged, she made an impatient gesture. “Lift up the shirt.”

“It’s fine, but maybe you want to see some skin, since I saw so much of yours.”

“Don’t be a dick.” She laid a hand on his side, palm to skin. “Still some heat.” She cooled it, remembering her mother’s advice. Slowly. Layer by layer.

“There. Is Tonia—”

He grabbed her as he had before, yanked her to him. “I need this,” he said before his mouth took hers.

She knew need, and it confused her. She wanted, didn’t want. Her blood beat so fast, so fast, she heard it in her head like tribal drums.

Her mind ordered her to pull away, but she gripped his hair, let out a sound of shocked pleasure as his tongue swept hot over hers.

He had visions of a windswept cliff over a boiling sea—and her. Of a forest so green the air tasted of it, and her, always her. A circle of stones under a sky red as blood, and her calling the thunder.

Of a bed in the moonlight, bathed in it, and her under him, moving, moving, moving, her eyes like storm clouds.

Visions swam and swirled through him until, dizzy with them, he drew back.

“Did you see that? Do you feel that?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know. I can’t think. I have to think. I can’t do this.” Storm-cloud eyes met his. “I don’t know how to do this.”

“I could walk you through it, but …” He turned, paced away, decided the best place for his hands was his pockets. “I think I need some space. I need to take some space, some time. And I need some distance from you. I guess you need it from me.”

“I can’t be distracted by—”

“Shut up.” He strode back to her, and the air seemed to quake and sizzle around him. “I really don’t like being called a distraction, so just shut up a minute. Which one of the bases could use me as an instructor? I’m good at it. It’ll be hard for Mom, but she’ll deal. I can help recruit from wherever that is. I can scout and report and help train.

“And take that space, take that distance.”

It stunned her, worried her how much she wanted to insist he was needed here. How much she didn’t want him to go. “You’d help most with Mallick. They’re so raw there.” And there he could train and be trained, she realized.

“Okay, I’ll go there. A couple of days, and I’ll go there. How long are you figuring, at this point, before we try for D.C.?”

“Two years, minimum. We’ll need to—”

“Two years,” he interrupted. “I can do that. That was your sentence, right? Two years. But I can flash back, report. That’ll make it easier for Mom to get used to it.”

He stood in the moonlight a few paces from her. “I’ll come back, and I’ll come back for you. You’ve got a couple years to think about that.”

“We have a war to wage and win, Duncan. Everything, just everything depends on it.”

“We have lives to live, or what’s the point? I’ll help you build and train your army, Fallon. I’ll fight with and for you. And I’ll come for you.”

He smiled. “You still didn’t say no,” he said before he vanished.

Alone, Fallon stood where she was. Two years, she thought. So much could happen. Lives lost, lives saved. When she thought of two years, she had to think strategically, not emotionally.

He stirred too many emotions.

Space and distance, that would be good for all.

She had an army to lead, battles to plan, magicks to make.

Two years, a blink of an eye, an eternity? Whatever it was, it started in the morning.

She went inside, lay on the bed without bothering to undress. For the good of all, she’d send him away. Would either of them be the same when he came back?

Half-asleep, she lifted a hand to light her candle.

And in dreams saw it guiding his way, her way, as they traveled their own paths.

Was it love? Was it need? Was it duty?

Could all three find a way to be one?