Page 60 of Killian
“I did actually. That’s why they’re here. I have the book,” said Killian, lifting the gold-covered book in one hand.
“Thanks. I’ll take that.”
“Show us the explosives,” said Killian.
“Explosives… Explosives… Rod, where did we leave the explosives?”
“Explosives? Yeah, pretty sure we left those strapped to the tree.” Rod was a ferret-faced pasty individual in a full Canadian tuxedo. Who thought a full out of jean jacket and overalls was a good look?
“So, here is what we’re going to do,” said Lonnie. “You’re goingto give me the book. And when we reach the door, I will signal my friends inside the temple and they will come out. Once we’re out of this place you can go remove the explosives.”
Killian wanted to roll his eyes but didn’t. It was predictable. It was annoying. And it was still fucking dangerous. He hadn’t really expected anything else, had he? Why was he even concerned with the council casting their death spell? Warlocks deserved to die.
Killian found himself looking from side to side searching the crowd of elves for a face that ought to be there—Pellos. He was facing warlocks and it felt like Pellos should be there with him.
Killian dropped the last warlock and looked around. His pack-mate was also surveying the scene. Pellos had a pistol in one hand and a sword in the other. He was drenched in blood that wasn’t his. The rising sun was cutting across the horizon in a fiery golden line, casting harsh shadows across the scene.
“You’re all right?” demanded Killian. Alekos would kill him if he allowed Pellos to get hurt. Alekos was already displeased that they had taken off after the yarn without waiting for the others. But Pellos had merely rolled his eyes.
“I’m fine,” said Pellos looking around. “You?”
Killian checked his arms, where the cuts were healing, albeit slower than expected. The warlock knives had been poisoned as usual.
“What about the girl?” asked Pellos. “I’m scared to look.”
Killian looked toward the dais where the bound figure of the little girl could be seen through a haze of incense.
“She’s breathing,” said Killian cautiously. “I don’t know if they had time to do anything.”
It had been a long walk through the night following the red ball of yarn and dawn had brought them to a nearly forgotten temple site where the warlocks had made themselves at home. Alekos had told them to find the warlocks and then call in the pack, but then the warlocks had brought out a girl and tied her to the alter. And when the warlocks had literally started sharpening their knives, he and Pellos had decided they couldn’t wait.
Pellos and Killian approached the alter slowly. Pellos kicked away theincense holders and they peered down at the girl. She was breathing heavily and when she saw them closed her eyes and turned her face away with whimper. Pellos slammed his sword into the thick ropes that kept her tied to the altar and then dropped the sword in favor of his pocket knife. He sawed through the ropes around her wrists and cooed something in Greek as he tried to get her to move her arms. She opened one eye. Her next words were in Arabic and Pellos answered. She sat up and launched herself into Pellos’s arms. Pellos cradled her and looked over her shoulder at Killian. The sheer rage that was roiled across Pellos’s face surprised Killian. Perhaps it was the gentleness with which he was holding the little girl that made it so shocking.
“These fuckers came into my country. They thought they could desecrate the places of my ancestors with their made-up rituals. They thought they could just take children off the streets. I’m going to send their pieces back to where they came from. I want them to know that coming to Greece is a death sentence.”
Killian didn’t know what Alekos would think of that.
“I’ll help,” said Killian.
“Alekos may not be happy about this,” said Pellos. Killian shrugged.
“He won’t be here for at least another four hours,” said Killian. “And forgiveness is easier to obtain than permission.”
The grin that spread across Pellos’s face was fiendish.“O aderfós mou.”
Killian’s Greek was getting better and he realized that he’d just been called brother. When he’d set out from South Africa his lonely ambition had been to find other wolves. Just a friend. That was all he wanted. Someone who didn’t hate him. Having a brother was beyond his wildest dreams.
Killian blinked, the Greek sunrise fading, leaving him in the misty air of the library.
“Hand me the book,” said Lonnie, obviously repeating himself. Lonnie held out his free hand; the other remained in his pocket. Killian glanced at Ceallach, who nodded. They would stick with the plan. With any luck, Moira would signal soon that they had dealt with the threat inside the temple. Reluctantly, Killian handed over the book.
“And now we’ll just take a stroll,” said Lonnie.
It was a strange crabwalk as both groups moved sideways toward the door.
“Just out of curiosity,” said Killian, choosing to turn and walk like a normal person. The move annoyed Lonnie, who then had to copy him. “Do you really think you’re getting out of this alive?”
“I think I get out alive or all of you die with me,” said Lonnie.
