She slumps back against the bars and groans, “Thank God. Please tell me you’ve gotten Oli out already?”
Why is everyone so single-mindedly focused on getting her out when she’s strong enough to hold her own here?
“The others went to get her. I thought you’d be more worried about getting out of this little cage you’ve found yourself in?”
She scoffs at me and reaches up to pull her honey-colored hair away from her shoulder, revealing where Azrael is hiding in his smallest form. “She gave me this, even though I’m sure he would’ve been helpful to her. He saved me from being gang-raped in the showers by Resistance scum, so excuse me for worrying about the kid.”
Jesus fucking Christ.
I step up to the cage and motion for Rahab to get the door open. He’s the most brutal of my creatures and with one yank, he breaks the lock and gets Kyrie free. The moment she steps out, Azrael jumps down from her shoulder and lands at my feet in his full-grown Doberman form. The others all snap at him, their own way of greeting him, but he sniffs at my feet like he’s scenting everything that’s happened since we were last together.
Which is nothing but a ton of frustration and Resistance intelligence records.
Kyrie does a little shiver, like she’s shaking off a bad case of the creeps, and drawls, “No offense, but I’m glad to not have it anymore. Gimme a gun and a switchblade over a nightmare any day of the week.”
I scoff at her and then I unstrap a Glock from my shoulder holster to hand over. She was a TacTeam operative for five years, only quitting to take over her mother’s cafe when it was clear that Gloria was out to undercut it and drive them out, so she’ll be more than up to scratch to cover my back as we get the others out.
I glance up at the other women, all still huddling and eyeing me like I’m a monster. Kyrie glances over her shoulder and scowls, snapping, “This is Nox Draven, here to rescue us, so you had all better treat him with respect, or I’ll assume you’re Resistance sympathizers and put you down.”
I shoot her a look, but she just shrugs. “Gryph taught me how to deal with that monster bullshit early on. Nip it in the bud and move the fuck on. We don’t have the time or energy to baby them through this.”
She stalks over to frisk the corpse of one of the guards for keys and then gets to freeing the now-sheepish and quiet women. There’s still a tent here of men to get out, and then the clusterfuck of getting everyone transported to deal with. I have no idea how long it’s actually been since Davies went to the Hail Mary, but we must be running low on time.
We need to get a move on.
Azrael looks up at me with soft eyes, ones he should not be so open about showing in mixed company, and whines like a pup. She’s ruining him. The more time he spends with her, the more he craves the gentle and loving tones she gives him. All of the belly scratches and soft pets… he’ll be useless in a fight soon.
He whines again and I roll my eyes. “Fine, you can go find her. Don’t eat anyone on the way.”
Chapter Eight
Oleander’s bond
It’s too easy to wipe out the camp.
Too easy and unsatisfying. I wish there were more challenges or people to torture but, aside from Franklin, there’s only the women who were talking shit about me and the few guards.
Triggering their nightmares gives me a little something, a small thrill, but not enough, and I find myself eager to just tear their souls out and be done with it. Unsatisfying.
The little girl who is usually in control, she’s there somewhere at the back of my consciousness, but the best way to do what needs to be done is to keep her out of it completely. She’s too sweet for this amount of destruction.
I relish it.
I feel when they come for me, the edges of where I’ve cast out my senses tingling as they appear in the camp, but I’m too focused on the three Resistance idiots in front of me to go after those Bonds of mine.
I already know they’ll come to me. Even when their petty, human differences were getting in the way, they were still coming after me and the girl I live within.
Zarah, Linda, and the mouthy guard, Cam, are all strung up on the tent poles by their wrists, their feet dangling a little off of the ground. I have to say, they sure do make these structures strong. It had been an absolute bitch to get the three of them up there but worth every moment of that pain.
Linda and Zarah are both dead already, their minds breaking far too quickly, which was honestly predictable for the type who would believe the Resistance propaganda. The moment they’d become blubbering shells, nothing left but a heart still pumping in their chests, I’d finished the job. There’s nothing satisfying about a body going through the motions in a slow decay.