The Last Tritan Ch. 21

Without conscious decision, my fingers flew to the control chain on my right bicep, hidden from sight beneath the black silk Asher had positioned there. My search for the two tiny buttons capable of connecting me to him was a lost cause, what with the frantic beat of my heart making my fingers sweat and shake, destroying any dexterity I may have otherwise possessed.

A throaty sigh echoed just beyond the thick oaken door and the Watchers burst into my mind, comforting with their almost-presence. "Asher?" she whispered, much too quiet to be heard if that were truly her intention. I gathered every ounce of dark will burning inside me, ready to defend myself should this viper make an attempt to enter this room. And then, just when I thought my heart couldn't possibly beat any faster without painting the walls with gore and innards, the door handle began to turn. Slow ... cautious ... not allowing the internal mechanisms to grind together. Silent.

But the door was locked, and I held the key. When Asher came home, I was going to throw myself at his feet in thanks for his forethought.

"Tricky, tricky," she muttered in a sing-song voice when the door wouldn't budge. And then she walked on, leaving me frozen to the floor, jaw clenched hard enough to make my teeth ache.

"Fuck," I hissed, sinking to my knees as I continued to follow her decent down the stairs, dabbing at the sweat soaking my hair line. It was time for Marco to do his part, to distract her until Asher could return with reinforcements.

I lurched to my feet, stumbling toward Asher's desk and flipped over a clean glass, pouring out a splash of his fine liquor. It burned going down and I coughed, pressing the back of my hand to my lips. But as heat spread through my chest, I had to admit the potent liquid did have an appeal, at least as an aid in steadying frayed nerves.

I listened until I heard Marco's deep voice rumble in greeting, though his words were distorted through the layers of brick and mortar. I chewed at my index nail. Would telling Asher about this development be the smart thing to do, or would I be interrupting his meeting with baseless fear? Marco was a trained soldier armed with an Elite weapon. Surely he, of anyone, would be fine with her until Asher returned?

Fingers steadied by alcohol, I slipped the key into the lock, turning it so slowly the click was inaudible, though my ear was a scant few inches away. Simply leaving the room felt stupid, like I was betraying both myself and Asher with mind boggling arrogance. But I crept forward, every sense pushed to the limit, locked on the dim flicker of energy from the Caledonians below me. I didn't stop until I could hear the low murmur of voices from the floor, only pressing my back to the banister when I was certain I was in no danger of discovery.

"And where is the master of the house today? Surely he can't be back to work already?"

"'Fraid so, Ma'am," Marco replied, his easygoing voice soothing and light.

She gasped, and I imagined her pressing an elegant hand to her lips in outrage. "But that's absurd! The poor boy's had to deal with so much. The d-death of my dear H-Harper—" she sniffed, though if the tight, sick anticipation pulsing off her was anything to go by, the sound effect likely had more to do with an autumn cold than the grief of a new widow. "I'm sure his promotion to Major has been stressful in itself. Oh," she added, as if it were an afterthought. "And let's not forget that wretched Priestess he got himself tied to. The poor man. Where might the horrid little beast be today? He doesn't let her out of the house, does he?"

My lips curled as heat stained my cheeks. No, actually, he didn't let me out of the house, thank you very much. But it had more to do with preventing a massacre than preserving his social standing in the eyes of deceitful whores like her. Besides, I preferred it this way. The less I had to interact with the plague of Caledonians roaming the streets of this stolen city, the better.

Marco laughed, snapping me out of my venomous thoughts. "His Priestess isn't that bad, really ... once you get past the snarling and the teeth, of course."

"So she's here?"

"No ma'am."

"Ah, that's too bad. I'll admit I didn't waste a great deal of my time with my husband's little trollop, but I've got experience with disobedient slaves. You know, there wasn't a slave in my household who had the gall to make eye contact with me, let alone talk back the way Asher's Priestess does. And there's good reason for that, I might add. I'd love to spend just a few minutes with her. I'll be sure to speak with Asher when he returns. We can think of it as my thanks for his generous hospitality. Where did you say he'd gone?"

"Major Rawlings had a meeting with the Lieutenant General himself this morning, ma'am. Something about a lead on a rebel camp spotted in the south, I believe."

"Indeed?" she gasped, but my neck dampened with nervous sweat that wasn't mine. "The south you say? I did hear rumors they'd gone to the coast, now that you mention it. But of course, no one really knows for sure."

I rolled my eyes but congratulated Marco's subtly—he knew as well as I did there were no rebels to the south. But Tyra was certainly eager to admit hearing a rumor confirming the sporadic lie, wasn't she?

Marco sighed. "No doubt this will be yet another dead end, too, the slippery cowards! I wish they'd come out of hiding and fight like men."

She giggled, high and manicured. "Oh, all in good time, darling. All in good time."

I shivered, sinking deeper into the shadows.

"Now, are you hungry, Marco dear? I'm sure I can whip something up. Won't take me but a moment."

"Eh, why not?" he replied, and it was all I could do to remain where I was, not to go charging into the kitchen and slap some sense into that bloody fool. Couldn't he hear what she was saying? I wouldn't eat food prepared by Tyra for all the power in the world. And then, for a brief instant, my heart actually stopped beating. What if her goal was to poison him so she was free to roam the house? Tyra's mind was riddled with holes, for fucksakes. There was no predicting her actions, no reasoning with that particular brand of crazy. For all either of us knew, murdering an unsuspecting soldier was perfectly reasonable from where she was sitting. Maybe she'd done it before—I had no doubt she had plans to do it in the future, even knew who her target was.

What she hadn't counted on, however, was the pure, blind fury stewing in the pit of my stomach. I was intimate with said rage on a level she would never be able to comprehend, could make it work for me in a way she wouldn't see coming until it was much too late. I bared my teeth, clenching my fists and gathering a dark shroud of power around my shoulders. She wouldn't lay a single, perfect finger on my Priestesses or my Elite, not while my veins sang with the strength to do something about it. Whatever pitiful store of strength her willowy body contained was mine. All I had to do was walk down there and claim it. It would be nothing to take it from her, this foul woman who interrupted my sleep with her pitiful plots and schemes.

She'd underestimated me, the slimy bitch, and she'd pay for it with her life. Her death would mean nothing to the world, except perhaps a black mark on the pages of history—a mark that could be filled with something better. Something brighter. Teeth bared, I stepped into the light, the superior power of an Elite Priestess whipping the small hairs on my arms to attention. The flicker of two heartbeats prickled my skin, beckoning to me, wafting up the stairs with a seductive flick, whetting my limitless appetite for power.

The Watchers burst into my mind, splashing me with their emotionless presence, bathing the frenzy of Empathy in a frigid, emotionless void. With a muted snarl, I whirled on the spot, heading back to the seclusion of our rooms, hardly remembering to walk on the balls of my feet to deaden the sound of my passage. Seconds later, my back was pressed against the locked door, and I sucked air in through my nose in quick, shallow breaths.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid," I hissed, sinking to my bottom, wrapping my arms around my knees to quell the bile searing the back of my throat. Asher couldn't have been gone for more than two hours. Was I really so incapable that I couldn't survive without him for so short a time? Where was my sense of honor, of willpower? "Well they aren't dead," I whispered to the Watchers, knowing I wouldn't have been able to stop after eliminating Tyra, knowing Marco would have been next. "So I guess this is a victory, right?"

And yet, I had a sense Asher may not see it that way at all.

After I was sure I had a handle on the hunger for energy—burying myself in the Watchers cool strength—I took a deep breath and flung my senses to the floor below. I did not release said breath until I was certain neither of our house guests were aware how close they had come to death.

"Asher," I whispered, walking to the far side of our bedroom. "I just wanted you to know that Tyra is awake and she's trying to feed Marco." I paused, feeling a little silly talking into my armpit, then continued. "I wouldn't put it past that fool to actually consume her cooking. Oh, and if you don't come back soon, I can't guarantee either of them will be breathing when you do. Hurry back!" I added with false cheer, releasing the buttons with a sharp flick of my wrist.

There was a twenty second pause, which I spent counting my steps as I paced back and forth at the foot of the bed, and then Asher's voice filled my mind. "Don't do anything stupid, Mila. I'll be there in fifteen minutes. Don't move."

I stilled, trying not to hear the dull murmurs of the duo in the kitchen, letting Asher's familiar, powerful essence fill my mind. Anything to distract from the stomach turning need crawling through my veins ...





True to his word, Asher's fierce glow did nothing but hurry toward me over the next fifteen minutes. He was moving at a steady pace and took no detours, and when the front door finally banged open, it shook the whole house. Instead of focusing on his close proximity, I turned my attention inward. I could hear voices, and when the distinct tinkle of laughter drifted up the stairs I allowed the tension to drain from my body, waiting to him to come to me.

It didn't take long for him to thunder up the stairs, shouting, "I'm going back to bed," to those who remained in the kitchen. "Come get me if you need anything, Marco."

A smile flickered over my lips, listening to the subtle, unspoken context between those two.

"Mila," Asher whispered, rattling the doorknob. "Let me in."

Without looking, I reached up from my position on the floor, turning the key I'd left in the lock.

"Where are y—" he stopped short, finding me seated on the floor to his right, knees tucked under my chin.

"If Marco got himself poisoned, I'm not going to heal him."

Asher knelt before me, dark eyes searching mine, elbow braced on knee. "They haven't eaten yet. She's got a stew on the stove, but Marco's not stupid. He won't eat it, but I'll mention it to him all the same." His fingers twitched, but he didn't touch me. "What are you doing on the floor?"

I lifted one shoulder in a shrug, chewing the inside of my lip. "Waiting."

"This ..." his fingers flicked in my general direction. "It'll get easier, Mila."

My left hand curled into a tight ball as I chewed at the pinky nail of my free hand. "What took you so long?" I barked, not wanting to follow him down that particular path of conversation.

"The Lieutenant General wanted the Curator to know of Tyra's betrayal. I had to tell the story twice."

I rubbed at my Control Chain. "Do they know about us?"

"No. Not yet."

"What did you tell them?"

He sighed and took a seat next to me, back pressed to the door. "That I overheard Tyra talking to her rebel contact about a plot to destroy the Priestesses."

"Have they got any reason to question you?"

"No. I've never lied to them." Before now.

I nodded. "What are they going to do? About her?"

"For now," he said, rubbing his eyes with thumb and forefinger. "They agree with waiting for her to reveal herself as the traitor. Brigadier General Viridan is hand picking a group of soldiers to watch her from a distance. I brought a few of them with me just now so Marco isn't alone with her. But ..."

"But?"

"Fuck."

I swallowed. "What?"

"They want to lure Tyra into attacking as soon as possible."

"Oh." The crack in the floorboard at the edge of his toe caught my attention, and I focused on it. "They need bait."

At first, I thought the hollow thud of his head bumping the wood behind him would be his only response, but then he said, "I'll be close enough to intervene at all times, should ... things get out of control."

"Sure," I replied, sinking my nails into my palm. "No big deal, right?"

He snorted and I watched his lips twitch from the corner of my eye. "If you say so."

"And hey," I said, dropping my chin to my knees and wrapping my arms around my shins. "We've got an advantage they don't know about, right? If you feel me slipping, you know ..." I waived my hand, not needing to voice my fear of the darkness, "You can distract me. Like you did in the mountain. I'm sure I won't be able to kill her before someone stops me."

For a minute, he didn't answer, letting the strained conversation die. "Fuck, Mila, I tried—" he broke off, running his teeth through that patch below his lip. "There was nothing I could say that would be a good excuse to keep you away from her. Nothing that would make sense without having to tell them everything. The Lieutenant General himself said your temper would be a fantastic way to provoke Tyra into action."

I smiled at the floor. "Well he's not wrong. I'm sure I can get that bitch to tell me everything. It's my methods he won't like. But," I said, stopping him before he could comment. "What happens if we're too late? What if the plot is already in motion and Tyra's just here to watch the show?"

"We've got a safe house set up for the Priestesses. No one will be able to get near it."

My brows drew together in a frown. "What if their plan is a bomb, Asher? Isn't it a little short sighted to gather them all together in one convenient location?"

He chuckled. "It might be, if the safe house wasn't a bomb shelter buried under the city."

"Oh," I said, nodding. "That's good then. They'll be safe. Good."

"They?" he asked, watching me from the corner of his eye. "You're going with them, if it comes down to it Mila."

"Hmm, let's think about that for a moment," I drawled, pressing a finger over my lips. "Let's lock the unstable, energy hungry Priestess in a room with some of the most powerful women on the continent and see what happens. I'll bring snacks. It'll be fun."

"What happened this morning, Mila?"

Using the sharp point of my canines, I chewed at the skin inside my lip, making it bleed. "Oh you know, the usual. Tyra tried to get in here and I kinda lost my shit."

"She tried—"

"Yeah, and it was creepy, too," I said, turning a little to watch his face. "She was muttering under her breath when she realized the door was locked."

"What did she say?" he asked, eyes wide.

I cleared my throat and said, "Tricky, tricky," in a high pitched imitation of Tyra's voice, lips twitching with amusement.

The color drained from Asher's bronzed cheeks. "Fuuck," he breathed, shooting a sick thrill straight to my loins. The last time he'd said that ... all breathy and ... I shivered. "That is creepy."

"Yeah," I shrugged, shifting away to hide the blush heating my cheeks. "When she went downstairs I was ..."

"Curious?"

"No ... not really. I just wanted to hear her talk. To make sure she's as crazy as I think she is. That my time with the rebels wasn't just a dream or whatever."

"I see. And?"

"Oh, she's redefining the word," I replied, twisting a lock of hair between thumb and forefinger. "And I'm pretty much certain she's here to kill me, judging by the way she was pumping Marco for information. But that's when I started getting mad, thinking about her trying to murder my—the Priestesses, and you know," my eyes flicked back to his face, "trying to get revenge, or whatever. I started thinking about how easy it would be to just end it ... her, I guess. Which led to thinking about the—the rush of—of power, and ..." The heat of his hand settled between my shoulder blades, but I didn't pull away. "I was this close to walking down there," I said, holding up pinched fingers to demonstrate just how close I'd been to the edge. "But then the Watchers—"

"The Watchers?"

"Uh ..." My cheeks were burning, heart pounding with the slip but I pressed on as if I hadn't mentioned my phantom hitchhikers. "I can't go to the safe house with the others, Asher. Tyra and Marco are nothing compared to the Priestesses. I haven't been near one of the others since I've been back, but ... I don't know if ... I think ... I'll kill them all." I laughed, chewing at my thumbnail. "Maybe I'm the rebel's secret weapon. All they have to do is wait for me to go flying off the handle. It doesn't take much, does it? I can't even leave this fucking room without you—"

"We'll deal with that if it happens, Mila," he said, calm and quiet beside me, tracing a pattern along my hairline. "Who are the Watchers, Mila?"

"I can't—you can't lock me in a room with them and just hope for the best, Asher. You can't."

"Fine," he sighed, getting to his feet. "Don't tell me. Because keeping secrets from me has a history of working out for you, doesn't it?" He peeled his black army issue jacket off and tossed it over the back of a chair, running a hand through his dark hair before turning back to me.

"Asher," I whispered, looking at the floor.

But he spoke before I could think of some way to explain my wild 'Watcher Theories.' "I may have a solution for all of—" he flicked his fingers in my direction, "—this. It's not permanent, but it might just help you get a handle on everything."

I watched him for a moment, taking in the tightening of muscles across broad shoulders, lowered head, and averted eyes. "What is it?"

"It's worth a shot," he hedged, pouring a healthy amount of liquor into the glass I'd used.

"If you say so," I said with a shrug, also getting to my feet.

"Great." He drained the glass in one hard swallow. "Let's go."

The color rushed out of my face, leaving me dizzy in its absence. "You—what? We can't leave. Weren't you listening to anything I just said? I'm—"

"You'll be fine. It's not far."

I took a deep breath, trying to push away the desire to confront Tyra and pull her life from her body, then nodded. If Asher thought he had something that might help me control the darkness, it was worth a shot regardless of the risks. And now that he was back, I could use him as a shield, let him curb my volatile nature. "I need shoes."





It was apparent Asher had been considering this plan of for quite some time. We exited the house through the back door after Asher spoke with Marco in hushed, urgent tones. The word poison drifted toward me, easing the majority of the tension in my neck as I waited. Orders presumably given, Asher and I took the back alleys until we reached our destination. Not a single person, free Caledonian or otherwise, saw us—for which I was profoundly grateful, considering my recent brush with the darkness within. As a countermeasure, however, Asher kept his fingers wrapped around the back of my neck, guiding me in more than one way with the skin to skin contact.

"Where are we?" I whispered, taking in the sparse decorations and lemony tang of concentrated cleaning products.