“No.” He held his hand up. “Let me finish this. When you all saved me and I saw you together, I thought….”
He swallowed. Gods. This was harder than he’d expected.
Tristan watched him in silence as he continued. “I thought, here’s the man that left me to die, and now he’s stolen my baby sister. The woman who would give him everything in return for nothing.”
“Fuck. Val—”
Val clasped Tristan around the back of his neck and gave him a shake. “But I was wrong, Tris. That’s what I wanted to say. I’ve seen you together. You love her just as much as she loves you. You make each other stronger. I’ve never seen her look so alive. So happy. And I wanted to thank you. For giving that to her. I don’t need to ask you to protect her because I already know you will, just as she would do anything to protect you.”
Tristan grunted, a harsh sound, almost of pain. Gods knew how much the man hated dealing with emotions. But Val was glad he’d said it. Just in case.
And just in time. Val looked up and saw Haniel entering the hall and making his way across to them.
He lowered his voice and spoke urgently. “Last thing. I promised that, if he wins, I would let Alanna go back to the palace with Ballanor”—he dropped to barely a whisper—“but I didn’t promise to leave her there.”
Tristan gave a firm nod, his lip twitching. “I noticed.” And then he grew serious again. “Whatever you need, we’re with you, brother. And if, for any reason, you can’t be there, we’ll get Alanna back. I promise.”
“Thank you, Tris. For everything,” Val said quietly as they stood together, side by side.
It was time.
Chapter Nineteen
Mathos tooka step further in front of Nim and Alanna, blocking them with his body as Dornar cast a long, speculative look at them. Ramiel had ordered the Blues back to their rooms, but they were taking their sweet time about it.
Val moved toward the door with Tristan, waiting for Dornar to leave before he followed Ramiel to the armory as requested. His forehead was deeply lined, jaw clenched, like a man standing on the edge of a precipice, knowing he would have to jump.
Mathos could only imagine what it felt like to have your sister and lover threatened by a man you detested. Even worse to have no chance to say goodbye to either of them before you walked out to battle, while that same man watched for any tiny misstep. But if he wasn’t careful, Val would get them all thrown out—or worse. Thank the gods he’d managed to keep his head down and listen to Ramiel.
That was Alanna’s doing, for sure. A week ago, Val would have ripped Dornar apart and damn the consequences.
Mathos could use a bit of soothing himself, he thought wryly. His scales were still flickering up his arms, almost up to his jaw. It had been too fucking close, and the beast in his belly knew it. It uncurled, stretching, as a deep rumble vibrated through his gut.
He had lived his life close to the primal side of his soul, far more closely entwined with his beast than many of the other soldiers he knew—even men he admired like Tristan—and it had saved him more than once.
Right now the beast was grumbling that he’d let Dornar go. Muttering that the new Lord High Chancellor was far more dangerous than he appeared.
Mathos had already decided to keep watch before Tristan put them onto a formal rotation, and they had been right to be wary.
He knew it before he stepped out of his room a few hours before dawn to do a long, quiet loop through the temple. And he absolutely knew it when he saw Dornar and his men leaving their hostel rooms in the silent darkness.
This Lord High Chancellor was far more impressive than the last one. He filled out his uniform in a way that suggested he kept himself fit and strong, and Mathos knew that he was infinitely more strategically aware than anyone else in Ballanor’s retinue. The sudden change in tactics to account for aerial combat was almost certainly his doing.
But there was something beneath Dornar’s polished uniform and practiced smile, something dark and malicious. Something predatory. And it was driving Mathos’s beast into a frenzy.
It wasn’t just Dornar’s obvious grudge over the Hawks having knocked him unconscious trying to get to the king’s rooms during their desperate rescue of Val and Nim. Nor even the fact that he had been punished for the death of Grendel. Thrown into a cell merely for surviving the attack. It was something far more basic, something in the man himself. Or his beast.
Dornar turned at the door, his gaze sweeping over the Hawks and lingering on the women, his smile pleasant, charming even. But his eyes were as cold as the Asherahn Sea. His scrutiny both speculative and calculating. A look flashed across his face, instantly hidden, something a lot like satisfaction. As if everything was going exactly as he’d planned.
Alanna and Val didn’t see it, too wrapped up in staring longingly at each other. Tristan didn’t see it, too busy making sure Val was following orders. But Mathos saw that smug little flicker, and he didn’t like it.
Dornar swept out of the room, taking the Blues with him, and Val, Tristan, and Ramiel followed directly behind them, closing the door as they left.
Mathos turned to Nim and Alanna as their men walked away, impressed by how self-assured they were despite the testosterone-fueled hostility and barely restrained violence of the morning. They had stood straight and calm through it all. Even though both of them had ample reason to be afraid of armed men. Especially armed men pouring into their bedroom before the sun was fully up, ready for battle and spoiling for a fight.
And they looked just as serene now, even though their men had left them. Alanna leaned down to Nim and said something that made the other woman laugh, and Mathos couldn’t help his spark of reluctant admiration.
Gods, he would never forget Nim clutching her dagger as she flew off to rescue Tristan, or Alanna stepping out of the woods, her army of Nephilim behind her.
