Page 78 of Lone Spy

Ash turns, forcing my front against the tree he was hiding behind, his warmth pressing against my back. My arms are pinned between me and the trunk, my gun still gripped in both hands. “Stay.” His whisper is so low it seems to come from his chest as much as the lips at my ear. “Please.”

I nod, my cheek scratching against bark. Ash levers his weight off me and puts his back against the thick trunk next to me. His injured arm is curled up, left hand resting against his chest. Ash’s right hand is empty. Where is his gun?

He lifts his chin and Alesana’s bulk emerges from a nearby tree and then disappears again—elegant, deadly, and somehow almost invisible.

A twig cracks. Someone is coming. Ash raises his right hand, fingers loose, his jaw totally relaxed. I’m staring at him, fascinated because I’ve never seen him like this—then he moves.

Ash’s hand shoots out, ripping a gun from the hand of the man holding it. I take in a startled breath as he steps sideways and uses that same hand, now holding a pistol, to backhand our attacker. The man slams into the trunk of the tree, his shoulder taking the brunt of the impact. He bounces off it, and goes back at Ash who strikes him in the throat with a savage blow.

The man’s back hits the tree this time. His body slides down it while he makes horrific choking gasping sounds. Ash isn’t looking at him, though. He flips the gun around like a fucking gunslinger and with blood dripping off his left elbow fires once in the direction of our attackers, shifts his aim and fires again. Shots echo around us—the forest filled with the blasts of bullets.

Then silence falls. Except for the desperate attempts at breath coming from the man slouched at the base of the tree I’m still leaning into. Staying just like Ash asked me to.

Ash turns his body fully to face the fallen man. He aims the black pistol at him. Then his cobalt gaze finds mine. Ash raises a brow.Do you want to end him?

I take in a stuttering breath and shake my head.No, thanks.

Ash fires. The man slumps, silent.

ChapterThirty-Two

Ash leans backinto the worn leather couch with his eyes closed and body tense as I bend over him. The bullet took out a chunk of his shoulder, leaving a pulpy path behind. Cutting right through one of his tattooed vines. It is still gently weeping blood.

Alesana left me with Ash and a first-aid kit in a cabin the two of them knew about—they didn’t say how, but they also never looked lost as we navigated through the forest to it. Ash didn’t even check the GPS on the phone Alesana passed him as he stood over the dead man leaning against the tree. He just used it to photograph our victims and text their images to Elliot Kendricks.

“He’s the one who told me the queen died,” Ash said as if in explanation.

Ash is shirtless now, but has dry pants on—black, made of some modern material that is probably waterproof, wicks sweat, and can do your taxes if you ask nicely enough. My outfit is just as high tech. The black leggings and zip-up jumper are soft against my skin and helping to bring warmth back into my body.

It was all in the backpack Alesana dropped out of our SUV. Dry bags with clothing for each of us, and more weapons. Lots of weapons. We changed in the forest, Alesana and Ash turning their backs to offer privacy. I peeled off my clothing with numb hands.

Ash couldn’t take off his shirt and jacket because of the bullet wound; that had to wait until we reached the cabin. He sat on the couch and I cut them off with scissors, slicing through the sodden material and exposing Ash’s skin—cold and clammy.

I laid a dry shirt over him, trying to keep him warm, but it slipped off as I worked, the tension in his body from the pain making it slide away. I’m leaning over him now, my knees on the couch, our bodies close, the warmth between us helping.

I tweeze another piece of fabric from the mess on Ash’s shoulder. He’s an excellent patient, staying still even as I prod around in his broken flesh. “Almost done,” I reassure him.

Once I’ve cleaned away any obvious debris, I open a saline solution and pour it over the wound, using a clean towel to catch the mix of water and blood seeping out. Ash’s fist tightens in his lap. “I’m sorry,” I say.

“Don’t apologize. You’re doing what needs to be done.”

I start to bandage the injury, laying clean gauze over the lurid red. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Okay.”

“You were really prepared. The backpack with the weapons and dry bags. I mean, do you always have that?”

“We prepped it to take it on the hunt if you decided to go.”

“So you knew something like this was possible?”

“Only if the queen died. They couldn’t try this while she was alive. But a tragic hunting accident is an excellent cover. And the new king would be more than happy to ingratiate himself with the Grand administration.”

Omar said he could kill Ash the same way—a hunting accident. Fuck.

“Why did Temperance send me here?” I ask as I tape over the gauze to keep it in place. “Was it just about handing off that damn compass, or did he want me to understand how much danger I’m in?”

“He wants to embed you with Omar. You’d be safe and influential.”

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