Page 46 of Killian
Killian
If Moira had been mad about getting arrested, then she was now past mad and simply incandescent with fury. He had been aware that she was upset earlier, but that was when he could see her, so he hadn’t noticed the rising level of mental tension. But now that they were apart and Killian could feel rage like a heat lamp coming from her direction. So that was a fun thing about having a mate that he hadn’t remembered. It wasn’t just that they were in love; they were connected on a telepathic level. He could tell exactly how angry she was with him from a distance. He just couldn’t tell quite why. She’d been angry about their fight, but somehow volunteering himself to be the distraction was the thing that had put her over the edge. Because he’d made the plan without consulting her? Because he endangering himself? Wasn’t she putting herself in harm’s way too?
Killian paused at the valley, too far away—he hoped—to be spotted by the humans. Cynog was muttering into his cupped hands at a leaf Ceallach had given him.
The problem was that while Killian did not like Moira being mad at him, he actually had no interest in retracting any of his statements. Kicking someone out of a pack was a cruelty that he wouldn’t wish on anyone. Killian couldn’t imagine how Albert had even contemplated taking that step, let alone actually having gone through with cutting off his own child. And then there was the fact that the pack had allowed Albert to do it. How was Killian supposed to help Moira lead that kind of pack? If she was the heir and he was her mate, then the pack would be theirs at some point. It couldn’t be just hers. It was an unbalanced packthat wouldn’t follow the direction of both alphas. So how was he supposed to lead when he fundamentally had a problem with them starting right now?
“All right,” said Cynog, opening his hands. The leaf hovered above his palm and Cynog cautiously held it with one hand and then with the other, drew a symbol on Killian’s shoulder. There was an odd sort of tingle and then the leaf drifted into a spot just in front of him. “Ah,” said Cynog, with a smile. “It worked. When the leaf falls, Moira and Ceallach will be safe and it will be a good time for us to leave.”
“Just me, Cynog,” said Killian. “You don’t have to come.”
“That is quite true, but I will be doing it anyway.”
“You’re not a warrior.”
“No, I am a dryad. I will know if the tree is in danger. And also, the elves do not think I am brave enough and I think they should suck it. Moira said that. Am I using it right? It seems like an aggressive, slightly lewd colloquialism and I like it.”
“Got it perfectly,” said Killian. “I do worry that we are teaching you all of our worst language.”
“The worst language is often the most fun,” said Cynog. “After this will you attempt to reconcile with Moira?”
Killian glared at the dryad. “I don’t know how,” he said after a moment. “I really don’t think I can support someone who kicks people out of a pack.”
“Maybe you should ask how she feels about it,” said Cynog.
“She clearly feels it was the right decision,” said Killian.
“Does she though?” asked Cynog.
Killian wrinkled his nose. His mate did have a tendency to yell first and think second and Cynog had aura reading capabilities, which made him a good person to listen to about feelings.
“I will attempt to talk to her afterwards,” he agreed and Cynog beamed. “But first, let’s go talk to some skinhead assholes.”
“Doesn’t everyone have skin on their heads?” asked Cynog asthey stepped out into the clearing.
“It’s a name for a group of humans who hate a lot of other groups of people. They shave their heads.”
Killian stepped out onto the path, holding his t-shirt flag high. He figured that the odds of him getting shot were about fifty-fifty. He just really hoped that Cynog wouldn’t get hurt because of him. Cynog was a shadow just behind him and the little leaf spun slightly off to his left, appearing as if it was just drifting there. In the dappled lighting and dancing dust motes it was hard to see it at all.
It took them a nerve-wrenching few minutes to get across the bridge and up to the warlock position. Killian expected the sound of gunshots at any moment. He could certainly see enough guns pointed at them. But they held their positions and Killian and Cynog kept walking.
Killian could smell the fresh scent of tree sap and realized that Cynog was sweating as the warlocks in front of them stood up and posed with their guns. As they got closer to the temple Killian saw one of the warlocks go sprinting inside. News of their arrival was being delivered.
Killian stopped just short of the first line of warlocks. He wanted whoever was inside to have to come out and having warlocks at his back wasn’t something he was interested in. The stairs of the temple were within easy view and Killian wondered if he’d be able to smell Moira when she entered the building.
“What do you want?” yelled one of the warlocks, making a show of pointing his gun at them.
“The leader,” said Killian. The man opened his mouth and Killian raised a hand. “Don’t bother pretending to be him.”
That got a sniggering sort of laugh. The warlocks didn’t even have kindness or loyalty for their own people. A few moments later, the skinhead Killian had seen at the village came out of the temple, followed by a handful of others. Like the previousnight, he wore tall work boots and suspenders over a button-down shirt. Without the glare of firelight, Killian could see that the man was in his late twenties and, despite or perhaps because he sported a nose that had been broken, he had the edgy but groomed look of a fighter dressing up for the press. To Killian, it spoke of a young man spoiling for a fight because he had something to prove. Whether it was to himself or someone else, Killian didn’t know. The others waited for him and then clustered in behind him like ducklings.
The skinhead looked over Killian and Cynog and eyed the white flag.
“You came to talk?” he demanded. The accent was American, but Killian couldn’t have said from where. Not the South, he thought, but after that, who knew?
“I came to talk to the leader,” said Killian patiently.
“I guess that’s me,” he said with a careless shrug. “These fucks do what I tell them anyway.”
