“I don’t know what that is.” His voice is flat, toneless.
“Where is the weapon your king sent you to detonate?”
“I don’t know. It’s covert. Only the troop that carries it knows.”
“Is it on this tank?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?” My heart pounds so hard in my chest, I feel like it will explode.
“I’m certain. We’re a diversion.”
I curse under my breath. Even though I knew it was unlikely I’d find the star bomb so quickly, I can’t fight the crushing disappointment. Keeping my eyes on his, I say, “Stop fighting. It’s over. Abandon your tank and raise no more arms against the fae.”
He gives a subtle nod, and I release him. I then return to the man I stabbed, finding him still alive, hunched over on the floor beneath the scope. With a groan, he pulls the blade from his gut. When I reach him, my fist moves into his hair, pulling his head back until his eyes lock on mine. Trapping him beneath my compulsion, I repeat the same orders I gave his companion. Then, retrieving my bloody blade, I return it to its sheath and scramble up the shaft.
Once on the ground outside the tank, I fight to catch my breath, seeking signs of Lorelei and Aspen amidst the chaos. The roar of another tank sends the ground rumbling as it skirts around this one. I clench my teeth and run after it.Please let it be there.My nerves are already frazzled after infiltrating just one tank. There are six in total. Six that could be carrying the bomb.
Roots reach for the tracks, lacing between them. A man emerges from the top hatch, shooting at the ground. I dance back to avoid the spray of gunfire. Lorelei pursues the tank with more roots. A second man joins the first at the top of the tank, blasting the roots with his keen aim. Each time one root gains hold, it’s blasted in half. And it doesn’t take the men long to realize an even faster way to deal with their woes—one of the men lifts the barrel of his gun and points it at Lorelei.
With a shout, I dive for her, pulling her back. Her body lurches, and she lets out a cry. Her roots uncoil, freeing the tank and it takes off down the street. Lorelei moans, grasping her bicep. I pull her toward me, ushering her into the shadow of the disabled tank, and inspect the wound.
“Were you shot?” I ask, voice trembling.
She throws her head back with a hiss, but says, “It doesn’t feel like iron.” Finally, she pulls her hand away, revealing a gash but nothing embedded in her flesh.
Relief washes over me. The bullet must have ricocheted off her breastplate.
“I’ll heal,” she says. “The iron in the air is making it worse, though. I’m not as strong as Aspen in that sense.”
I look around, past fighting pairs, blasts of sand and gunfire. “Where is he?”
“He went to disable the tanks still on the beach,” she says. “But you need to get after the one that got away.”
“Can you stand?”
She pushes to her feet, and I can see the skin around the wound has already begun knitting back together. We’re about to take off when another tank barrels toward us. Lorelei reaches for it, and again roots shoot from the earth to wrap around the tracks. She turns to lock eyes with me. “Go!”
With a nod, I turn in the direction the runaway tank was heading and find it’s nearly reached the end of the street. To catch up, I’ll need speed. With a shudder, I shift into my fox form, taking off on all fours. In a matter of seconds, I close the distance between myself and the tank, but without Aspen or Lorelei, how do I stop it?
The ground rumbles beneath my paws, then the cobblestones ahead seem to come to life, rising from the ground in front of the tank. Aelfon rounds the corner, flanked by dozens of earthen fae, some with horns and hooves, others with limbs like gnarled trees. The tank fires its gun, blasting a hole in the barricade, but in its place sprouts another stone. Another. As I race toward the tank, the hatch opens and out pour three men, storming from the tank to engage the surrounding fae on the ground. If each tank holds only three men like the first, that means the tank is empty.
This is my chance.
Skirting behind the fighting men, I leap onto the tank and scurry up the rungs, through the open hatch, and down the shaft. Inside, the belly of the tank is empty. I pad around it, seeking any sign of the Parvanovae. Tuning into my senses, I sniff for anything familiar, listen for the strange hum that always accompanies the presence of the bomb, feeling for its vibrations. But there’s nothing. Unless it’s well hidden, it isn’t here.
Damn. Two down, four to go.
I race back to the shaft, paws on the lower rungs, when a shadow darkens the opening above me. The soldier freezes when he sees me, and I give him a warning growl. Then, tossing something down the shaft, he slams the hatch shut.
Shifting back into my human form, I climb the rest of the way up the shaft and grasp the handle. But as my hands close around it, I remember the object the soldier had thrown.
The skin prickles at the back of my neck as my eyes lock on the cylindrical object beneath my feet.
A grenade.
45
