She wondered what his face did then, if he smiled or if he thought she was crazy, or if his dick stiffened again at the fantasy.
“I can’t fucking wait to see you tomorrow,” he said, his voice softer, almost desperate. “All the things I want to do to you, to that sick mind of yours…Fuck. I guess nightmares really do come true.”
The lights flickered and came back on, making Ana jump, but she sat up, her mussed hair falling over her wildly. “Six tomorrow?”
“Yeah,” he said. “I have to somehow go to work now.”
Ana laughed. “Maybe I’ll send you something to get you through the night.”
“Please,” he muttered. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Goodnight, Sam,” she managed.
“Sweet nightmares, baby.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
THE MORNING NEWS report from Firemoor made every excited bone in Sam’s body turn to dust at the sight of it. Without a true ruler, the uprisings were growing greater in the streets of their capital, regular citizens taking up arms against grand militias—who were taking orders from the general who remained at his post.
General Prei.
There was something about him that made every hair on Sam’s arms rise when he saw him in front of the camera.
Sam watched the videos on a site Millie liked to frequent, one that was run by a couple of witches she was in contact with. Sam had glared disapprovingly when she’d first told him who was behind the site, but he trusted Millie, so he would trust anything she brought him—within reason.
Cryptic reports had come in from his own demons he had spying in Firemoor. Messages telling him the chaos in that territory was perfect for a strike on the Firemoor army. And as Sam sat in his chair, fingers steepled beneath his chin, he considered it.
“What are you thinking?” Millie asked as she picked the crust off her turkey and cheese sandwich and sat it on Sam’s plate.
“Have you heard anything from our people in the Spine?” he asked.
Millie shook her head. “Just the same from Damien. Says he suspects something might happen, but he’s not sure when. Spies in Firemoor are saying things are in shambles, so not to worry yet.”
“So, you think Damien is being paranoid?” he asked.
“It’s possible,” she agreed. “I don’t want to count him out, but at the same time… if those we have in Firemoor are saying things are too unorganized for an attack, maybe he is.”
“Or they know who our spies are and are diverting them,” Sam suggested, swaying his chair back and forth.
“Do you really think that is the case?”
“I think it’s possible,” he answered. “What about Windmoor?” Sam asked about the southernmost territory. “When did you last hear from them?”
“Haven’t spoken to them in a month,” she said. “No news is good news, right?”
Sam wasn’t entirely sure he liked that saying, but he didn’t press it. “And Ironmyer?”
“Last one stated they were still recovering from Deianira’s missile strikes,” she answered. “He said the people were biding their time and trying to stock up before doing anything. Sounds like maybe they’re modeling it after what the Spine is doing.”
Sam’s eyes narrowed. “Maybe they should seize the army while their guard is down.”
“And end up starving in the ditches like we were,” Millie muttered. “No, they’re doing the right thing. They’re not strong enough to do this yet. They have a plan, at least. That’s more than what we went in with.”
Sam considered her, knowing the conversation was bringing up Millie’s own failures from the last war. “You were outnumbered,” he told her. “You didn’t have the power you have now. None of you did. Not to mention, the only thing we fought with then were swords.”
Millie huffed, a smile on her lips. “I like my sword,” she said. “Though a bullet through the forehead does work much more efficiently.”
“It does,” he agreed. “But it’s not our time yet.”
