Stolen (13 page)

Chapter 21

W
ES KEPT HIS FACE IMPASS
IVE AS
he herded Nat and Brendon across the deck. His mind was racing from a torrent of emotions.

He had seen her die, had seen the missile's rainbow of fire arc toward her.

She should have died.

There had been nothing he could do, no way to recall the drone missile, no way to stop the inevitable from happening.

Watching that rocket fall was like watching the world end. He had braced himself against the helm, said a prayer, and closed his eyes.

When he opened them, he saw a brilliant flash light up the ocean and turn the sky white, bright as a sunny day, a day Wes had never experienced before, a day from the time
before,
a bright brilliant day.

Which should have been impossible, because there could be no light in a world without her.

And yet Nat was still standing there, surrounded by the flash of white, blinding light.

It was her.

She was the light.

Somehow, she'd torn the missile into a thousand shards. She'd saved herself and everyone left on that ship.

Lovely Natasha Kestal.

Wes saw her as he'd seen her the first time at the casino, when she'd stolen his chips and taken firm ownership of his heart, and he remembered her face when he had kissed her, and the words she had said to him that had burned into his soul.

I love you, I love you so much, but I can't.

Her dark hair fell below her shoulders, and she was wearing some sort of black slim-fitting leather, with a shield strapped to her back and a sword holstered on her side. She was as beautiful and dangerous as she had always been, now even more so.

I can't.

Then he realized she was standing in the middle of a burning ship, and he had to get her the ice out of there. The
Colossus
was slowly sinking, its deck covered in debris, and there were holes in its hull.

“SHAKES! GET ME AN INFLATABLE!” Wes ordered, planning to head over to the cruiser as quickly as possible. He radioed the
Colossus.
“THIS IS LIEUTENANT WESSON! STOW YOUR WEAPONS, I REPEAT, STOW YOUR WEAPONS!” He couldn't take the chance that one of the grunts would fire on Nat, even though it looked as if she could take care of herself. He nearly fell down the stairs, stumbling over the risers as he hurried from the command tower to the deck.

Shakes and a group of soldiers were already lowering a boat into the water, and Wes squeezed between a pair of the younger recruits. “Tell Farouk to set a course and follow us,” he ordered Shakes. “And get ready,” he said meaningfully. This might just be the opportunity they were looking for, a way out of the bind. In chaos was opportunity, a wise man once said.

Wes steered the small motorboat over to the burning ship. “Keep your weapons holstered. The smallmen are unarmed and, well,
small.
There's no need to shoot anyone,” he ordered.

“What about that girl?” one of them asked. “And that white-hair with her?”

Wes squinted. “I'll take care of them.”

They snuck on board from the aft to find the crew had abandoned ship, and the deck was covered in smoke and fire, littered with spent cartridges, shattered guns, and shrapnel, pilgrims scrambling into lifeboats. It was then that he realized he'd been so focused on Nat that he hadn't even seen her drakon. Where was the mighty beast hiding, and did it matter? He wasn't afraid of her drakon. He wasn't afraid of her.

Wes had just made it on deck when he saw Nat, covered in that orange fire, Brendon next to her. Brendon said her name, and the fire died.

Just like that.

She didn't see him. She was facing the
Goliath,
which was steaming their way. He'd seen her break iron chains, toss slavers into the sea, turn that missile into dust. If he didn't get to her quickly, she would tear both ships apart.

He wanted to call to her but he had soldiers by his side, and any one of them could kill her with a bullet. He had to do this himself.

So Wes put a gun to her head and told her to follow him.

• • •

Now Nat was walking right in front of him, so close that he could reach out and touch her, but instead he had to content himself with admiring her graceful silhouette, the way her belt hugged her small waist, how pretty her dark hair looked tucked behind her ears, exposing her long, white neck.

She had no business being on this ship.

Maybe even in this world.

“Lieutenant?” one of his soldiers asked.

Wes snapped to attention. He had almost forgotten that he had a crew to command. “You two, find the captain, see if he's still alive, and if he is, get him down here. Bark, Stuffin, and the rest of you, go belowdecks, secure the holds, find fire suppression equipment, put out the flames, and get this vessel in order.”

The crew scattered, and Wes made a few calculations and punched out instructions to Shakes on his handheld, using the secret code they'd shared during countless covert missions. Within moments, they were Jekyll and Hyde once more.

“Wes, where are you taking us?” Brendon asked meekly. “Is Roark with you? Shakes?”

He didn't answer. He had to pretend not to know them, not to care about them for now. He saw Nat look over her shoulder at him questioningly, but he had to keep his distance for her safety. He was in command, and she was the enemy. He tried to appear indifferent, stolid, but he caught her gaze and for a moment it was like nothing at all had happened to tear them apart. They were back on that island shore, and she was in his arms, and he'd just kissed her. It was all he could do not to kiss her right there.

Nat—

But the clanking of boots from the stairway above brought him back to the present. Wes looked up and found the captain of the
Colossus
staring down at him, several soldiers right behind him holding their guns. “About time you arrived, Wesson,” he snarled. Wes remembered him from training at the base; his name was McCleod and he had a nasty way about him, one of those sickos who took sadistic glee in the pain of others.

Wes saluted the captain, since he outranked him by a few stripes and they were still on the same team, or at least he had to pretend to be. “Taking these two to my ship; we've got room in our hold. I told your boys to worry about getting this fire under control.”

“No, this ship is done, we'll ride over with you,” McCleod said.

Wes had a feeling it wouldn't be easy to get his friends back on his ship. “There isn't any space on the inflatable, sir. I'll send another for you and your men.”

“Nonsense, leave the prisoners behind. We were taking them in peacefully when they began firing at us, and now look at this mess. Better yet, shoot them both and be done with it.” He turned to his men. “Shoot these two and round up the rest. Come on, Wesson.”

Wes moved to shield his friends when, out of nowhere, the captain began to choke and the guns flew out of the soldiers' hands, shattering against the bulkhead.

The same white-haired sylph that Wes had seen from a distance appeared from the shadows as one by one McCleod and his men fell to the floor, clutching their throats, clawing at their own skin.

“No!” Nat cried in horror. “Faix—no!”

But it was too late. The captain and his soldiers were dead, they were sprawled on the deck, their faces purple, suffocated and bleeding from the cuts on their throats made by digging their nails into their own skin.

Wes stepped over their bodies and pointed his gun at the white-haired stranger. “I don't know who or what you are, but don't you make a move until I say so.”

The sylph only smiled, staring fixedly at Wes. He raised his hand and Wes cocked his gun, the two of them at a standoff until Nat came between them. “Stop it!”

The sylph turned to her and lowered his hand.

“Thank you,” she said, and whispered something in his ear.

She turned to Wes. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah, your boyfriend didn't do any damage to me, sweetheart,” he said, annoyed at how intimate Nat seemed to be with this creature.

She reeled as if slapped. “He's not my—”

“HEY, ICEHOLES, SOMEONE CALL A CAB?” It was Shakes, from the deck of the
Goliath,
as the cruiser powered next to the burning
Colossus.
Farouk waved from the bridge, Roark next to him. Brendon yelped. “I knew it!”

“GET OVER HERE!” Wes yelled back. There were too many pilgrims on the
Colossus
to fit in the remaining lifeboats. He had a new idea and he needed his boys to help, and to secure any soldiers that remained on the ship.

“You—” he said, turning back to the white-haired sylph. “You didn't have to kill them. We would have been able to subdue them.”

“Perhaps. But I could not take the chance. Now there is enough time for the pilgrims to make their way to the gate of Afal. I saved their lives,” Faix said, his long hair rippling in the wind, his eyes cold and distant.

“You can't save lives by taking others,” Wes said, his knuckles turning white as he held his gun. It didn't matter which side they fought for; those soldiers didn't have to die that way. “Whoever you are, you're a sad excuse for a sylph,” he said, thinking of Liannan and how she would nurture even the smallest wounded animal back to life.

“That's no sylph,” said Brendon, piping up from behind them. “He's a drau.”

Chapter 22

T
HERE WAS A STUNNED SILENCE ON
the deck as everyone stared at Faix. Drau were a legendary and vicious race. They cared for nothing and no one, and their power knew no bounds nor restraint. The white-haired man stared back at everyone with his beautiful but fearsome silver eyes, and his words projected into everyone's consciousness.

The smallman is correct. I am drau. I was here when the world was young, when drakons and their rydders filled the sky. I will remain here until the end, until the very stars expire and this world is just a memory.

I am drau.

I am Faix Lazaved, Messenger to the Queen of Vallonis. We are the first and the last, and you are right to fear me, for all the stories about my people are true.

I can kill with my mind.

My heart is made of ice.

“Faix! Stop it!” Nat yelled. “Stop scaring everybody! These are my friends.”

She turned to their ashen faces. Wes was staring at her like she was a stranger, and it hurt to see that betrayed, shocked look on his face.

“You're with him?” Wes asked.

“Yes, but—”

He nodded, cutting her off, unwilling to hear more.

She didn't want to explain everything in front of everyone, and especially not in front of Faix. Couldn't Wes see what a joy it was for her to see him, to hear his voice, to know he was alive and safe?

Wes raised his gun and pointed it at Faix again. “You'll leave the rest of these soldiers alone or answer to me,” he said, as the remaining crew of the
Colossus
came out of the shadows, their hands raised in surrender.

“Your weapon will not hurt me,” Faix said.

“Can't hurt to try,” Wes said with his signature cocky smile.

“Wes, please. Don't. He was helping me. We were looking for Liannan. She was calling for help. I thought she was here. I
heard
her.”

“She's not here, Nat,” said Brendon. “We haven't seen Liannan in weeks, nearly a month.”

“But that can't be,” she said. “The call came from here.” Still, as confused as she was about Liannan, Nat saw that Wes and Faix were still eyeing each other warily, and she knew she had to act quickly to defuse the situation. Faix had shocked her with his speed, his ruthlessness. He'd snuffed out lives as easily as blowing out candles, but Faix was her guide, her teacher—and her friend.

Drau or not, she thought of him as a friend.

She had let him into her mind, let him into her consciousness, forming a bond that was not unlike the one she shared with her drakon.

“You should have told me,” she said to Faix. “You should have told me what you really are.” The drau were creatures of myth, the most powerful and terrifying race on earth, or so the legends went, but he was also her friend and he had lied to her about what he was.

“I did not mean to deceive you. I have always been myself. Drau is your word for us, you divide us into sylph and drau, but we are one and the same. Drau is merely an older word for our kind,” he said. “Your people fear us for good reason. But you must know I would never harm you or your friends.”

“Right,” Wes said sarcastically.

“You fear me, Ryan Wesson. You see me as a romantic rival, I take it? An interesting proposition, I will agree. She is a wondrous girl.”

Nat colored, but she knew Faix well enough to know he was no more attracted to her than he was to her drakon. While there was friendship between them, there was no chance of romance from either side. No. Faix just wanted to taunt Wes, to piss on his territory, so to speak.
Boys.
Drau or mortal, they were all the same. The two of them locked eyes to see who would blink first.

Wes slowly dropped his gun. “Fine.”

“A wise choice,” Faix said, returning his stare. Then he blanched and put a hand to his temple.

“What's with him?” Wes asked.

“I don't know—Faix? What's wrong?”

“It's nothing,” Faix said, recovering his composure. His features were at once more serene, impassive. She knew he was lying, just like he had about the charm around his neck. She'd never seen Faix react in such a manner. Even when they were alone in the small boat, gunfire in the air, their ship sinking, Faix hadn't seemed the least bit worried.

She caught Wes staring at her, but when she met his eyes, he looked away again. She wished they were alone, wished she could talk to him without Faix peering into her head. But since that wasn't possible right now, she turned to Faix instead. “I trusted you.”

“And you can continue to do so,” he said, smoke hanging in the air, waves crashing against the cruiser. There was soot in his hair and on his face, and for the first time Faix no longer resembled the bright and perfect sylph, the wise and ageless mentor she had known. “You and I are the last of the rydders. Many in Vallonis believe the rydders are born to fight, that we are creatures of violence, warriors who are best kept outside Apis. But I disagree. We can be more than warriors, more than a vehicle for flame and destruction. You can control the fire and dread that lives within you. You have seen it.” His eyes blazed when he spoke of the flame. He was a warrior, a man who would kill if needed. Her teacher and mentor was gone.

“You killed them without warning,” she said. “Is that something rydders do?”

“When it is necessary.”

“And was it?” Wes said.

Roark had climbed on board from the rope ladder on the far side of the deck, and Brendon had run to him. The smallmen were embracing, their eyes teary, grins wide. Dirt clung to their faces and clothes, their hair was plastered with sweat, but their happiness was apparent to all.

Nat wished her relationship with Wes was as easy. How did it get so complicated so quickly? He was standing only a few feet away from her, but she couldn't talk to him, couldn't even move closer to him, and he was unwilling to look at her. This was not what she dreamed of when she'd pictured seeing Wes again—the two of them surrounded by smoke and flame, with the bodies of the dead on the floor, the remaining soldiers cowering, the pilgrims' moans, a white-haired drau between them.

I love him.

I love him, and this is all I can have of him.

Of course it was. This was her life. This was always her life. She didn't know why she ever expected it to be any different. No matter how many promises they made to each other, she belonged to the Blue and he to the gray lands. They could never be together, and the faster they accepted that, the easier it would be.

From below came the echo of gunshots, breaking the awkward silence, and Nat, for one, was almost glad for the interruption.

Wes winced. “The last of the
Colossus
crew, probably,” he said. “I'll handle this my way. We take everyone alive. You, stay here,” he ordered Faix. He whistled to his crew. “Use iron on him if he moves.”

“What about me?” asked Nat quietly. “Am I your hostage, too?”