Jake couldn’t watch.
He turned his attention to Ramirez, watched her fumble her belt open with unsteady fingers. When he offered both arms to help her out of her seat, he was surprised that she leaned into him, hands going to his shoulders.
“Come on,” he said, maneuvering her toward the open door and then lifting her down to the tarmac. He realized, when he had her on her feet, that he was surprised by the trimness of her waist between his hands, the lightness of her frame. It was so easy to think of her as a soldier, but he tended to forget she was a woman.
She bobbled when she tried to put her weight on her bum leg, and clutched at his sleeves. “Fuck,” she hissed.
“It’s alright. Here.” He turned sideways and slid an arm around her waist, offering support. “Nice and slow.”
One of the medical techs turned back. “Does she need a–”
“I’ll manage,” Ramirez said through clenched teeth.
The man snapped back around like he’d been slapped.
“Guess you’re not dying if you can still send guys running for cover,” Jake tried to joke.
Ramirez leaned on him and didn’t respond.
The roof had been retrofitted for elevator access. The team had already put the gurney inside, and thankfully there wasn’t room for anyone else. “We’ll get the next one,” Jake said, and the doors slid shut.
Ramirez’s hand tightened on the back of his jacket as she rebalanced.
Jones drew up on his other side; a splash of blood that wasn’t his own marred the side of his neck. He wore the hollow-eyed, defeated look of a man who’d seen more than he’d ever hoped to – or even thought was possible.
Was it worth it? One girl at the expense of three men? Men who, while no friends of Jake’s, had already survived a war and been rehabbed with miracle medicine.
He didn’t know…but after watching her throw fire…he thought maybe she was. Painful as it was to admit to himself.
Wind gusted along the roof, funneled by some of the steeper eaves, tugging at their clothes. Jake tipped his head back and saw that clouds had built up along the horizon, doubling down on one another like kneaded dough, thick thunderheads veined with flickers of lightning. It would storm soon.
He opened his mouth to say as much, something stupid and obvious just to break the silence, but the elevator doors dinged open and they stepped inside.
Ramirez braced her free hand against the stainless-steel wall as the car shuddered and started its descent. Stared at her waxy reflection, and Jake willed the car to move faster.
But then they reached the basement, and the doors opened, and he wished they were still on the roof.
Jake had wanted to be a soldier since he was a four-year-old playing with little green army men. Had watched every documentary he could – at least up until his mother had shooed him from the TV, insisting he would have nightmares. He’d read Sun Tzu, and Nietzsche; Rommel and Patton. Read about Caesar, and Napoleon; and Ivan the Terrible…and the man who’d inspired him: Vlad Tepes.
Jake had been introduced to him right before they left for the mission. He still wasn’t over it.
Vlad stood with his hands clasped loosely behind his back, a human – or not human – wall blocking their path. His eyes fixed to Ramirez in a way that had her hand tightening on Jake’s jacket again. “She’s injured.”
“No shit,” Jones said with a snort. “That’s why we’re taking her to medical. If you’ll get out of the way.”
Vlad lingered a moment, making a point. Then stepped back just enough to let them pass and fell in behind them.
Goosebumps broke out down the back of Jake’s neck, and he fought the urge to shiver.
It was a long walk to the exam rooms, and thankfully a nurse hustled forward to meet them with a wheelchair. “Here, honey,” she said, motherly. “Hop in and we’ll get you to a trauma suite.”
Ramirez, white-lipped and sweating profusely now, finally gave up the stoic act and let Jake ease her down into the chair. She made a small, pained sound when her leg was jostled, and Jake felt something like a stirring of emotion.
A black-clad guard appeared. “Major Treadwell, Dr. Talbot would like to see you for your debriefing now.”
“I have an injured teammate.”
“It has to be now, he said.”
“I’ll accompany her,” Vlad said, and Jake thought his own bug-eyed look was only rivaled by Ramirez’s.
Jake glanced over at the…the prince. “You don’t need to do that.” I don’t want you to, you fucking creep.
Vlad gave him a level, impossible to read stare. “Still,” he said. “You can go.” And he turned to follow the wheelchair as the nurse pushed it toward the mouth of the exam room hallway.
Jake heaved a sigh and turned to Jones – who was already walking away, toward the locker rooms. “Alright,” he told the guard. “Let’s get this over with.”
He expected to find Dr. Talbot in his office, half-hidden behind his massive desk. Instead, the guard led him through the maze of taped-down power cables and work stations to a lab setup where a teenage boy in white pajamas sat on a steel table. His too-long white-blond hair fell in his eyes, and he held a bundle of cotton batting inside the crook of his elbow, stemming the bleeding from a needle prick. The pale, long-haired man Jake had glimpsed before, a straight-nosed, skinny sort in a red leather jacket who would have looked more at home backstage somewhere, stood behind the table, arms folded, watching Dr. Talbot with half-veiled contempt.
This place was crawling with weirdos.
Jake came to a halt and cleared his throat. “You want to see me, doctor?”
Dr. Talbot glanced up – he was sliding vials of blood into a centrifuge – and smiled when he saw Jake. “Welcome back, Major Treadwell.”
“Can we make this quick? I need to check on Ramirez.”
Dr. Talbot waved dismissively. “I’m sure Adela will be fine. I think I saw Vlad with her.”
That’s the problem, Jake thought, grinding his teeth.
“Just give me a moment here,” the doctor continued. “I told Agent West we would meet him in my office.”
Jake glanced over at the boy and found that he was being watched, ice-blue eyes peering out at him through a screen of pale hair. Nothing about the look was human.
The other one, Mr. Leather Jacket, studied him too, nostrils flared. He was the one who spoke: “You smell like fire.”
Jake thought of Ruby Russell wreathed in flame, wind bending the tree trunks. He didn’t answer.
The blond one growled, and it was nothing like the sort of growl a man might make in his throat.
Jake said, “What?” to keep from starting in shock.
Leather Jacket turned a hostile gaze toward Dr. Talbot’s back. “There’s a mage here.”
“Yes,” Talbot said, mildly, clicking down the lid of the centrifuge. “There is.”
Then both the weirdos growled.
“That’ll be all for today, Sasha,” Dr. Talbot said, a clear dismissal. He turned toward Major Treadwell. “Shall we?”
*
Adela Ramirez didn’t let fear rule her.
Or, at least, she never had before. Before the explosion that–
She cut the thoughts off cleanly before the memories could sprout like poisonous mushrooms, shading out reason. She didn’t let fear rule her: end of sentence.
But something a lot like fear pulsed through her now, in time with her sluggish heartbeat, as a nurse cut away the leg of her tac pants while Vlad watched from his position leaning against the wall.
On the surface, he wasn’t frightening. She’d spent her whole Army career around tall men with big biceps. He was physically imposing, sure, but that was nothing new. The long hair was strange, but not scary. It was something in his bearing that raised all the fine hairs on the back of her neck. An aura of authority that no unranked foreigner should have been able to project. He looked through people.