Page 72 of Citadel

Cole reacts more quickly. He pulls his rifle off his pack and aims it, pushing me behind him at the same time.

What we see down the road is a solitary traveler. A man, as far as I can tell. Hauling a handcart behind him. Tall, lean figure. Longish hair that glints gold in the sunlight. Pistol in his free hand.

He’s aiming it at Cole, who’s aiming at him.

He’s not one of the guys who has Breanna. I can tell that immediately—even from a distance. He simply doesn’t have that rough, criminal look.

But that doesn’t mean he’s safe.

“I’m just passing,” he calls out as soon as he’s within speaking distance. “I have no quarrel with you.”

He’s got a slight English accent, which is deeply startling in this context, in this world. For years I’ve heard nothing but speech patterns one might expect in Virginia. Southern accents or Appalachian mountain accents or a kind of neutral American English the way Breanna and I talk.

Not someone who sounds like he belongs in a British mystery like my mom used to watch on TV.

England doesn’t even exist anymore. It was wiped off the map by the asteroid.

It’s weirdly incongruous. I stare at him and forget to be nervous.

Cole hasn’t said a word and hasn’t lowered his rifle. I finally find the sense to say, “We’re just passing through too.”

He’s almost reached us now. He and Cole are still aiming their weapons at each other.

This man is ridiculously good-looking. Not rough and compelling and sexy like Cole. He’s as classically handsome as an old-time movie star. His clothes are as worn and dirty as everyone else’s—jeans and dark Henley—but he somehow manages to make them look pulled together. He’s got unnervingly vivid green eyes. He needs to shave. His hair has obviously not been shampooed in a while.

He’s still one of the best-looking men I’ve ever seen in my life.

“Hello, love,” he says in a low, lilting tone, giving me a flash of a smile. “You mind asking your man to unclench a bit?”

A quick glance at Cole proves he’s stewing—eyes narrowed, jaw tight. I’d swear he’s on the verge of growling.

“Cole,” I murmur. “He’s just passing by.”

“Is he?”

“He’s not one of them. Surely you can see that.”

“We have no idea who he is.” Cole’s eyes never flicker, never leave the other man’s face.

“Well, that I can tell you.” The man lowers his pistol but doesn’t holster it. “My name is Aidan. I used to be a marketing executive and was living in Richmond at Impact. Now I’m trying to survive like everyone else.”

“I’m Delaney,” I tell him. “This is Cole.” I’m about to say more when Cole interrupts me.

“Why are you traveling?”

“That’s what I do. I’m a courier. A messenger. Occasionally a trader. At the moment, I’ve been commissioned to deliver these goods to a town about fifty miles away.” He’s speaking casually. Almost friendly. But there’s a sharp competence in his eyes—on his face—that would be a major mistake to underestimate.

If Cole makes a move, I’d still bet on Cole, but this man won’t go down without a fight.

“So if your man wouldn’t mind retracting his quills, I’ll be on my way.”

Cole makes a guttural sound.

“We don’t have time for this, Cole. We’ll never catch up to Breanna and those guys if we get bogged down here. Just let him go.”

The man shifts his gaze briefly to my face before focusing again on Cole. I understand why. He’s not nearly as relaxed as he’s acting. He’s almost as on guard as Cole. “You’re tracking someone? I passed a group a few miles back but didn’t like the looks of them, so I gave them a wide berth. Four ugly assholes and a ginger beauty. They your people?”

“The woman is my sister. The men are definitely not our people. We’re trying to catch up with them so we can get her back.”

---