18
Adeep, rumbling groan echoed in my ears. Dragging me back from the edge of the void into a land of slicing agony. Where my every muscle ached with exertion and the petting, rough hands that sought to soothe left only misery in their wake.
“Mmph,” I grunted, incoherent and flailing. Knowing just who would take such liberties, I tried to push him away from me. “Don’t.”
A slap landed on my cheek. Gentle yet jarring, a command for me to, “Wake up.”
I groaned as warm breath caressed my cheeks. “Get off,” I mumbled, mouth full of starch. Powdery and dry beyond anything I’d ever known. My tongue tacked to the roof of my mouth with a thick, gluey paste.
“Mila.Wakeup,” he hissed. “What did you do? The fuck was that?” he asked, and everything shifted. Skin raking over a carpet, I was dragged into his lap. Head lolling on a flimsy, boneless neck before he thought to support me. Before he pushed the hair back from my damp forehead and went still. Cradling me in arms that trembled with the effort.
“Kept my promise,” I whispered without bothering to peel my lids apart. And then, after a moment’s thought, “Failedto keep my promise.”
I felt him frown, felt his displeasure crackle against skin made hypersensitive by the flood of too much energy, too fast. Energy that had been wasted. “What are you on about?What did you do?”
Laughter bubbled up, surprising us both, when I said, “Well… to start, I tried to kill you, Asher.”
For a moment, he was silent. Fingers running tiny, infuriating circles against my nape, he seemed to consider my words. And then, “You…”
“Tried to kill you, yes.” Squinting, I managed to crack my left eye so I might see what I could feel so clearly. The shock, the subtle glimmer of anger, but best of all, the begrudging admiration. The intrigue and the arousal. “Almost got the general, too,” I added, wrinkling my nose, “but Sasha stopped me. The sneaky traitor.”
Going stiff, the captain’s already waxy face blanched a sickly shade of green. “You made an attempt on the general’s life? GeneralTilcot?”
But to this, I had nothing to say. Merely waited for him to draw his own conclusions.
“Shit,” he hissed, and his grip tightened. “Shit!” Head tilted back to bump against his desk, he laughed, low and rich. An incredulous bark of mirth that brought a helpless smirk to my own lips. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” he asked, and I watched his throat work around an anxious swallow. “All my plans, undone in a single shitty afternoon. Six grueling months in the West, all for nothing.”
Stretching, I turned my nose into the crook of his elbow—where his sleeve was rolled up and his skin was bare—allowing myself to luxuriate in the flavor of panic. In the scent of the man I couldn’t escape. “No promotion for you, hmm?”
Twice more, he thumped his skull against the desk. “He’s going to kill you for this. You know that, right?” And then, dumping me onto the floor in a rubbery heap, he said, “Fucksakes, I’m going to be sick.”
Unable to move, I watched him crawl. Watched when he caught the rim of a garbage can with the tips of trembling fingers and pulled it as close as he could before retching. Sides heaving with a violent purge.
“Ughhh,” he groaned and spat into the bucket. “The fuck did you do to me?”
“You’re the healer,” I drawled, feeling nausea bubble at the back of my own throat. “You figure it out.”
He turned his head enough to scowl at me—and vomited again. “Why?” he asked, sweating and pale. Almost grey beneath the bronze-tinged skin. “Why would you attack Tilcot? Of all the fucking—”
“And why not?” I returned. “He’s a monster. You know it better than I do, captain.” I snorted. “Why would I pass up the opportunity to remove the head of the snake?”
“You stupid little girl!” he hissed, and hunched over his bucket. “Harper isn’t the head of anything. The empire has dozens more lined up to take his place.” He paused to spit into the pail. “Dozens more who will be promoted to fill that void. Theonlything his death means is a reshuffling of the ranks.” Sagging back, he resumed his position, propped up against the desk. A pukey bucket pinched between spread knees. “All you’ve done is thrown fuel on a fire and draw attention of much worse men than Harper Tilcot.”
Struggling, I managed to force myself upright. Claimed the spot next to him, and asked, “Is there a better way to kill elites?”
He rolled his eyes and swiped at his forehead with the back of his arm, blotting his brow. “Just can’t help yourself, can you? I should chain you up and lock you in the cellar.” Turning, he eyed the bottle of amber liquor perched on the edge of his desk. Grunted, and with a truly impressive effort, managed to throw his right arm up and knock the decanter to the floor.
It landed with a heavy thud, intact.
And with quaking fingers, he twisted the cap and sloshed alcohol all over himself. Soiling his now sweat-soaked shirt with the reek of spirits.
When he managed to get the rim to his lips, he took a swig, rinsed his mouth, then spat into the bucket with a grimace. A wrinkled nose. “But it’s too late now, isn’t it?” he murmured, again bringing the decanter to his lips. This time, drinking deep. His throat bobbing around each greedy swallow. “I don’t know if I can fix this.”
“I don’t need your help.”
Peering at me through a bleary, obsidian glare, he settled back and set his forearms to the bend in his knees. Bottle dangling from hooked fingers, a tiny, sinister smirk curled at the edge of his lips. “Ahh, yes. Such a fascinating delusion.”
It was my turn to scowl. “What?”
