Ilona Andrews - On the Edge

“I can take Casshorn in a one-on-one physical fight,” Declan said. “But he knows this. I need to separate him from the hounds. Since the device produces the hounds continuously, one at a time, the only way to get Casshorn alone is to rapidly destroy a large number of his beasts. Unfortunately, he seems to be directing their actions. He may not be fully human, but he would recognize a trap. I would know more if I could survey his position and see what sort of odds we were facing.”

Jeremiah rose. “I think we’ve heard enough. We need to confer. Let’s let the young ones get some air.”

AS the wooden door shut behind her and Declan, Rose blinked against the sunlight and sank on the porch. “Well, that went as well as it could.”

“You told them about William,” he said.

“Yes, I did. Words like ‘duty’ don’t mean much to them. They understand friendship and family. They wouldn’t touch you because you’re powerful and they’re afraid of retribution from the Weird. They can’t hurt the hounds, because they absorb magic. But they could hurt William. With things the way they are, if they saw a strange changeling, they might act first and ask questions later. They’re all cursers, Declan. You saw what Jeremiah did to that bird, and you know what my grandmother tried to do to you.”

She faced the weighty look in his eyes. “I know it’s a private thing between you and him. But it was best they knew. They might not hurt him now.”

“Why the sudden love for William?”

“Are you jealous?” She narrowed her eyes.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“I worry about William, because he’s important to you,” she said. “Because I feel that until the two of you settle things between yourselves, it will eat at you. And if William’s truly helping Casshorn . . . You’ll have to kill him, won’t you?”

“Yes,” Declan said.

He would have to kill his best friend. Rose looked away, at the trees, at the grass, at her hands. Her stomach churned. It had all gone so wrong somehow, and so fast, and fixing it seemed impossible. Two weeks ago, life was a normal drudgery, and seemingly overnight, her stable world became the place where demonic creatures hunted small boys so they could eat them and the man she loved had to pick between his survival and the life of his best friend.

She was caught in an ugly dream and couldn’t wake up, and the fear that clung to her every second was worst of all. She was scared for the boys and Grandma and terribly frightened for Declan, so badly it hurt inside, as if her bones ached. If she let herself dream just a little, she glimpsed a hint of fragile happiness that might even be hers, if not forever, then for a little while, and it was about to be ripped away from her. She was so sick of being scared. “You said you were a Marshal. Is this what you do?” she asked. “This is what your job is like?”

Declan nodded.

“And it’s always like this?”

“This is probably the worst,” he said. “But yes, there are always choices I don’t want to make. It’s my duty as Marshal. A lot is riding on my back right now. If I fail to kill Casshorn, people will die, the Duke of the Southern Provinces will be dishonored and possibly have to step down, your town will be wiped out, and I’ll lose you. And I don’t even know if I have you.”

Rose chewed on that. Did “I don’t even know if I have you” mean “I don’t even know if you like me” or did it mean “I don’t even know if I’ll win the challenges and get to own you”?

“You won’t lose me just because you’ve failed,” she said.

“If I fail, I’ll be dead,” Declan said.

Suddenly she was angry. All that worry and fear mixed in her, and him talking so calmly about dying squeezed it together into pure fury. She was furious at Casshorn for putting them all through it. “Oh no, you won’t.”

His eyebrows crept up.

“You’ll survive this,” she told him. “I’ll be right there to make sure you’ll make it out alive, even if I have to drag your bloody body out of the Wood on my back. I still have a challenge left, and I will stump you with it. You won’t rob me of my victory, Lord Camarine.”

A light sparked in his eyes. “I’ll have to postpone my dying then.”

“You do that,” she told him. “I don’t know what will become of this thing between you and me, but no brainsick blueblood crackpot is going to take away my chance to find out.”

“Have you made up your mind, then?” he asked.

“About what? About surrendering to your manly charms?”

“Yes.”

“Not yet,” she said. “I’m still thinking about it.”

“Is there anything I can do to persuade you?” He leaned forward, a dangerously focused expression on his face. His green eyes turned warm and wicked, and she froze, snared in his stare.

“I can’t think of anything,” she murmured.

He was close, entirely too close, only a couple of inches away. She saw his lips, curving in a sly smile, a network of thin scars by his left eye, his long eyelashes . . .

“Are you sure, Miss Drayton?” he asked, his voice low and husky.

“I’m sure,” she whispered, and then he closed the distance between them.

His hand cupped the back of her head, and he kissed her. She opened her mouth, tasted iced tea and Declan. He smelled of sweat, mixed with light sandalwood musk and sun-kissed skin. She would recognize his scent anywhere, just as she would recognize the strength in the arms around her. He held her as if daring the world to come over and make an issue of it. She let herself sink into that embrace, sliding her hands up the hard muscles of his chest to his neck and to his short hair. He pulled her closer, kissing harder, hungrier, and she licked the inside of his mouth and molded herself to him. Declan growled, a very male possessive sound that sent a thrill from her neck down her spine.

The floor behind them creaked. They broke apart a fraction of a second before the door swung open. Rose stared straight ahead, trying to catch her breath.

“Well, it took some doing, but they decided to help you,” Grandma’s voice said behind her. “We have a plan, or some semblance of one. Tom’s coming out to explain it to you. He’s all excited at playing soldier again. What exactly happened to the two of you? You look like you got into my pantry and ate all of my jam.”

“We’re fine,” Rose managed, stealing a glance at Declan. He looked halfway between shell-shocked and frustrated.

“All right then.” Éléonore’s tone plainly said she wasn’t sure what they were selling, but she sure as hell wasn’t buying it. She lingered for another long breath, shook her head, and went inside.

“We need a barn,” Declan said.

“What?”

“A barn,” he said, with the gravity of a commander planning an attack. “We need a barn or one of those storage areas for the Broken vehicles.”

“A garage?”

He gave her a short nod. “A private, relatively remote location, with thick walls to dampen the sound and preferably a sturdy door I could bolt from the inside, keeping your grandmother, your brothers, and all other painfully annoying spectators out . . .”

Rose began to laugh. A make-out bunker . . .

“I’m glad you find our dilemma hilarious,” he said dryly.

Tom Buckwell emerged onto the porch then and squeezed his giant body between the two of them. “Here’s the deal. Attacking Casshorn head-on is straight out, because he’s got too many hounds with him, right?”

“Right,” Rose said.

“To get to Casshorn, you need to nuke the hounds. To nuke the hounds, you have to separate them from Casshorn or attack him at his lair. This is what guys in the Broken call a catch-22. Here’s how I’m going to make your day . . . you do have ranks in the Weird, don’t you?”