Kinked (Elder Races #6)(75)

She didn’t recognize the sound of her own voice. “She grounded me. She maimed me. Maybe I’ll fly again, but MAYBE I WON’T.”

She tried to shove him away, but he had braced himself with one foot back, and he pushed against her hard, elbows planted on the door on either side of her face. It left his sides wide open. If he wasn’t wearing the armor—if he were the enemy—she could have sliced into his abdomen and gutted him before he had a chance to take another breath.

Except that they had gone beyond committing such destructive acts against each other, gone far beyond it into territory that was unrecognizable to her.

She fisted her hands and pounded at him. It didn’t do a thing to shift his position or change the determined expression that hardened his face. “Goddammit, listen to me,” he growled. “We will go after her, Aryal. I promise you, we will, but we can’t right now. If she finds out that we escaped, she may send some of her pack to hunt the others. They might be able to hold off one shadow wolf in order to cross back over to Earth, but they can’t handle several at once. We have to give them as much time as we can.”

She stopped struggling as his words sank in. He looked into her eyes, and whatever he saw seemed to satisfy him, because he eased up from pushing against her.

“And here are some hard truths, sunshine,” he said, speaking rapidly. “ We—you and me—are not ready to confront her. We’re partially healed and not fully rested, and there’s only two of us. On the other side of the equation, she’s not only one of the most dangerous magic users in the world that Dragos knows of, but she also has her pack. We’re going to get her, but we have to be in control of how it happens and when, and we have to be at the top of our game. Do you hear me? Right now we have got to get back to the cell block.”

Breathing hard, she managed to nod. He gave her a not-quite smile, pulled back, and as she stepped away from the door, he shut it. Then they raced through the barracks, out the door that wasn’t visible from the pier, and back through the lower levels of the palace to the cell block. Once they were inside, Quentin picked the lock shut again, and they both leaned back against the wall as they looked at each other.

“She might have had a change of heart,” she said. “She might have come back to bring food.”

“I really f**king hope so,” said Quentin with a hard smile. “But I doubt it. She’s already responsible for one death that we know of, and you outed her. We don’t know what she’s doing, or what she’s looking for. She might have just come back to follow a lead.”

She said harshly, “Maybe she found what she’s looking for, and she’s leaving Numenlaur.”

He thought about that. “Even if she did, I doubt she can travel as quickly as those three scared Elves can. The others will still make it out first, as long as her pack doesn’t go hunting for them.” He reached out and squeezed her hand. Her talons had disappeared when he talked her down, and he rubbed the tip of one of her fingers with the ball of his thumb. “And if she leaves Numenlaur, we’ll go after her. We’re going to get her, Aryal. I swear it.”

The tension in her body eased as she soaked in his conviction. She believed him, and it helped to calm the pain that raged inside. She laced her fingers through his.

“Thank you.”

He leaned his head back against the wall and gave her a slow smile that was guaranteed to set some kind of internal burner on simmer. “Don’t mention it. You can pay me back with sex.”

Just like that, from one moment to the next, he brought her from rage to laughter. She admitted, “Sex with you is on my to-do list.”

His smile deepened. He squeezed her hand. “Yes, but our bargain is a done deal. You’ll have to owe me something else. You should know, I charge interest by the hour on debts that are owed to me.”

She smiled back at him. Yes, he was always going to be a bastard. It was comforting to know that some things don’t change.

They watched out the window and waited. The witch didn’t bring food.

A lack of action was also a choice, and it was one that Galya Andreyev kept making. Quentin felt nothing but contempt for her. It would have been better to kill them outright rather than lock them up and let them starve to death. She was the worst kind of murderer.

At one point he walked through the silent cell block, taking time that he hadn’t before to note the bodies in some of the cells. What a lonely way to die. If Camthalion had gone as crazy as the story said, these prisoners might have been good, decent people. At any rate, they hadn’t deserved this kind of end. Nobody did.

A couple of hours passed. They each ate their fill again and took turns napping. After a while they were going to have to make a decision to leave if nothing happened. At least they would leave better fed, rested and healed. They had gotten the Elves away, and they had weapons, healing potion and magic-resistant armor. This morning’s activity might be frustrating, but so far it was tallying in some essential positives.

Then, just after midday, as he paced from the window to the cell block door and back again, he glanced out—and a sailing boat had appeared again on the sea, headed for the island.

Surprise pulsed. He strode to “their” cell where Aryal lay on her stomach, her dark head cradled in folded arms. She had discovered the second bottle of apple brandy, which sat near one elbow.