“Hold positions,” Ivar said through the ear comms. “There’s an alarm, and it’ll take me a few minutes to disengage.”
Logan hunkered lower, the scent of wild gardenias still filling his head. What the hell was he going to do with her? He couldn’t take a mate right now, but he couldn’t just turn her over to the enemy, either. Even if they were her people. Right?
Man, he wished he could talk to Zane. Keeping perfectly still, he let his mind wander to keep himself from feeling the burn in his legs from holding his position.
He was young and on the field training when Zane walked out holding their uncle’s severed head in his hand. Logan immediately moved to flank him while Sam did the same. His heart had almost burst in two, and his head rang, but he followed his instinct to protect family.
In that moment, Zane had become the ruler of the demon nation.
At war with the Realm. With the shifters. With other demons. With the witches, too.
Logan glanced at Sam, across Zane’s bruised body. Sam had nodded. All right. Whatever the future held, they’d stick together. No matter what.
Zane looked over at him. “It’s going to get worse. I need you on the front line tomorrow.”
Logan lifted his chin. “I’ll go where you need me.”
Zane’s jaw tightened. “I’m sorry, Lo. It’s gonna be bad. There’s no other way.”
That had been the understatement of the centuries. Sometimes, in the darkness of night when nobody was around, he wondered who he would’ve been if his father had lived. If he hadn’t become a soldier in his teens, and if he hadn’t become the killer still whispered about as a warning to others to avoid the demon nation.
Ivar’s voice jerked him back to the present. “Alarm disengaged. Breach in ten seconds.”
Logan counted to three and started moving.Fight, kill, move, survive. He jumped out of the darkness, his knife already cutting across the throat of the first soldier before he tackled the second to the ground. Three hard punches, and the guy fell unconscious while his buddy choked on his own blood.
Logan flipped him over and zip-tied him. Then he moved to the first guy, pressing a hand to the sliced throat. “Stop fighting it.” The male’s eyes widened, and his bloody hands clutched at Logan’s. Logan shoved harder, and the soldier fought him but couldn’t escape unconsciousness.
Logan whipped the guy’s shirt off and pressed it to the wound. The blood made it stick, and he zip-tied the soldier’s hands. “You’ll live,” he muttered, dragging both bodies to the other side of the bushes. He’d never gone for an easy kill, and he wouldn’t start now. These guys weren’t well-enough trained to be covering the door. Something was off, but he couldn’t figure out what.
Then he edged to the door and turned the knob. It swung in easily.
The Fae needed some serious training. He stepped inside, and a burst of sharp air hit him so hard and fast he flew backward to land on his ass, a prickly bush tearing into his forearm.
How could air be sharp? He shook his head and bounded to his feet, his ears ringing. Well. The Fae sure as shit didn’t need any help in the gadget or defense department. He tapped his ear bud. “Warning. They have some sort of air defense that’s shockingly good.”
Ivar groaned into the comms. “No shit. I was nearly blown off the fucking cliff.”
Adare came on. “It’s one fast burst. I grabbed on to the doorframe and ducked, and then I infiltrated. We’re on go, men.”
Logan shook his head to gain his bearings and approached the door from an angle. Taking a deep breath, he crossed inside, grasping the doorframe and plastering himself to it. The air hit him hard, but he persevered.
Then calmness.
He moved fast before more air could attack him. Going left, he shut the door and marched into a darkened and silent gathering room complete with the biggest stone fireplace he’d ever seen. “I’m in,” he whispered.
The place was too quiet. Why weren’t there guards inside the perimeter? Did they really think a couple of air blasts would keep an enemy out for long?
The lights snapped on, and a male walked in from what appeared to be a kitchen. Ivar followed him, holding a gun to the back of his neck. “So you’re Kyllwood.” Niall finished eating what appeared to be a sandwich, his gaze curious and his shoulders back. In person, the Fae leader was taller than he’d seemed on the computer screen. At least a couple of inches over six foot. He didn’t seem concerned about the gun.
Logan tensed. “Where’s my brother?”
“He’s been moved,” Niall said, rubbing the bruise on his jaw. “Stubborn, isn’t he?”
No blood. There was only the bruise and no blood on Niall. So either he’d washed it off, had somebody else torture Sam, or hadn’t bothered. “Where is he?”
Niall shrugged. “He’s elsewhere. Where’s my mate?”
Logan kept his expression nearly bored while the beast inside him yanked against its chains. Adare strode silently through another doorway. “Scouted the basement. One room, chair, restraints, and some blood.”
