“Garrison coming up!” Maeve’s voice cut through the engine noise. “But this storm’s getting worse. I can’t land on the primary pad, the wind shear’s too strong.”
Zeke’s arms tightened around Michelle. Every second counted, and he felt her slipping further away with each labored heartbeat. The medical team was waiting, but if they couldn’t land?—
He stood, legs braced against the shuttle’s violent motion. The movement sent fresh blood seeping from his wounds, but he ignored it. “Open the rear hatch.”
“What?” Maeve’s head whipped around, her eyes wide. “Are you insane? Sit your ass down!”
But he was already moving, one arm securing Michelle while the other slammed the emergency release. The loading ramp groaned as it began to lower, and at once the storm tried to tear him from the shuttle. Wind battered him with the force of a sledgehammer, rain driving sideways in sheets that stung like needles.
“Get over the main courtyard!” He had to roar to be heard over the storm’s fury.
“You can’t make that drop!” Raaze appeared beside him, one hand gripping the cargo netting to keep from being sucked out. “That’s twice regulation height! Even for a combat drop, that’s?—”
“I can make it.” Zeke shifted Michelle in his arms, judging the distance. “Just get us over the courtyard!”
The shuttle lurched, fighting crosswinds as Maeve cursed. Through the opening, he saw the garrison walls spinning below, torch lights marking the courtyard’s boundaries.
Too high. Way too high. But he could make it. He knew he could make it.
“This is draanthing insane,” Raaze muttered. The shuttle steadied, becoming almost stable despite winds that should have sent them tumbling.
“Nice to see human females are good for something,” Raaze said.
Zeke snarled at him, but his focus had already narrowed to the drop. The courtyard rushed up—stone worn smooth by centuries of footfalls, puddles reflecting the shuttle’s lights. He stepped forward into nothing.
The fall stretched forever and lasted a heartbeat. Wind tore at him, trying to flip him backward, but he curled around Michelle’s unconscious form. His body became a shield, taking the brunt of the storm’s assault as they plummeted.
Impact.
Stone cracked beneath his feet, a spider web of fractures spreading outward from where he landed. Pain shot up through his legs, but it was distant and unimportant compared to the precious weight in his arms.
Above him, the shuttle peeled away with a scream of engines, Maeve taking it back toward the battle site through the storm. But Zeke’s attention had already locked onto the figures running toward him through the rain.
Ashley ran at the head of the medical team, her small form dwarfed by the Izaean warriors flanking her with a hovering stretcher. Her jaw was tight, her gaze locked on Michelle’s still form before she even reached them.
“How bad?” She didn’t waste time on greetings, already reaching for her friend.
“Bad.” The word scraped his throat. “She needs?—”
“We've got her.” Prince Isan emerged from the driving rain, his silver hair plastered to his skull. His healer’s bag was already open, hands moving fast. “Put her on the stretcher.”
Zeke’s arms locked, his entire body rebelling at the thought of releasing her. He couldn’t let go, not when letting go felt like abandoning her.
“Zeke.” Isan’s voice carried all the authority of his royal status. “Let me do my job. NOW.”
The command cut through his rage. Slowly, fighting every instinct, he lowered Michelle onto the stretcher. His hands shook as they released her, and he had to force himself not to snatch her back.
They ran through the rain, the medical team moving around the stretcher. He stayed at Michelle’s side, one hand on her arm. The garrison’s corridors blurred past—stone and metal and worried faces turning to watch their desperate procession.
They burst into Dr. Godwin’s lab, the sudden brightness and sterile surfaces almost blinding. The operating theater waited behind glass walls, equipment already prepped and humming with readiness.
“You can’t come in.” Isan stripped off his rain-soaked outer layer. “Wait here.”
“No.” The denial ripped from his chest. “I stay with her.”
“You’ll contaminate the surgical field.” Isan’s hands were already in the sterilization unit. “Your blood, your wounds... you’re more a danger to her than help right now.”
Logic battled instinct as they wheeled Michelle through the airlock into the operating theater. Zeke pressed against the glass, watching them transfer her to the surgical table. The black armor his legion had formed still covered her wounds, and Isan studied it before beginning his prep.
