She studied the new recruits, then said, “Row by row, deliver your weapons to Tam, all shivs, blades, clubs, everything. You won’t be armed for the first turn. Until then, expect to take on the shit jobs and earn my favor.”
They did as she demanded with a flattering alacrity. Tam stared at the growing pile before him. She kept her feet until they finished, then she turned to Martine, standing behind and to her left. “Can you supervise them in getting this place set to rights? It looks as if a truck drove through here.”
“You know I can,” she answered, looking pleased with the responsibility. “Leave a few men with me in case anyone gets truculent.”
“Certainly.” She signaled ten Queenslanders to stay for backup.
She summoned her remaining strength to stride from the hall, past the sentries. It was a measure of her exhaustion that she left all the details to subordinates, but all the fighting, Einar’s death, and the final duel with Grigor had taken its toll. All her instincts told Dred she was a few paces from collapse, and she couldn’t let anyone see it.
How far am I from Queensland?
Counting steps, she had to take frequent breaks. The wounds on her back, on her thigh, on her shoulder, burned like fire. Just when she thought she couldn’t go farther, Jael caught up to her. He had the good judgment not to speak; he merely put an arm around her and helped her the rest of the way. They cheered Dred and Jael at the checkpoints, but she didn’t stop to chat or give information. Tam would be along presently to do that, anyway.
My quarters. Finally.
Dred reeled against the wall as the door swished open for her. With Jael’s help, she stumbled inside. Her fingers were clumsy as she peeled the chains off her arms; she lacked the endurance to manage her boots. She fell into the nearest chair more than made the decision to sit down, then she leaned her head back.
“You should let me clean your wounds,” he said.
“I can’t move,” she admitted. “If you’ve been waiting for a chance to strike, this is it.”
“The men won’t follow me.” Jael came toward her and knelt, not in obeisance, but to roll the thin leather of her boot downward.
The slice was long but not deep, lateral across her thigh. It burned, but it wasn’t bleeding; during the long battle, the cut had clotted and sealed. She stared down at pale skin and the red scab, unable to believe her eyes. It hadn’t been long enough for the slash to be pink and puffy, or for red rays to be crawling up her leg. If she died of a putrid wound after surviving so much, that was incontrovertible proof that the universe had a sense of humor.
“Is that normal?”
Dred rubbed her eyes, confused. The wound shouldn’t look like this.
“For me, the healing is.” He touched the streaks. “This definitely isn’t.”
“I thought the effects from your blood were temporary,” she said, puzzled.
“So did I. But I gave you an awful lot of it. We’ll be parsecs away from Perdition by the time I regenerate it all.”
She laughed. “Still singing that tune? You should’ve given it up as hopeless by now.”
“I don’t accept that. We’ve been a little busy of late, but I’ll get around to it. I’m not dying in here, and neither are you.”
“You seem so sure. Sometimes certainty can sound an awful lot like madness.”
“Then run amok with me.”
“Why not? I’ve tried everything else.” She offered a crooked smile, mouth pulled sideways by the pain lancing through her as he took hold of her leg.
“This will hurt,” he warned.
“Don’t go soft on me. You’ve been so admirably implacable up ’til now.”
“As you wish, love.” He handed her a strip of leather. “You know what to do.”
Dred closed her eyes, biting down on the skin as he sliced her thigh. Pressure and pain followed, then the most white-hot agony imaginable as he cleaned it. More pressure as he worked the poison out of the wound. Teeth clenched, she panted around the leather, sweat beading on her brow, and by the time he finished, she was fighting the urge to vomit.
“It doesn’t need stitches if you keep it covered. Let me see your ribs.”
She didn’t have the strength to help or to fight him as he raised her shirt. “How bad?”
“A couple of them might be fractured. Let me . . .” He leaned in, touching her gently, but she wasn’t sure what the point was, until he said, “Yes, broken.”
“You could hear the difference?” Dred opened her eyes, gazing down at him.
“I’m a handy freak to have around.”
“Stop it. Anyone who thinks less of you because of how you came to be, well”—she donned her most ferocious expression—“I guess I have to kill them.”
“For me?” He seemed . . . astonished.
Which was strange. He’d seen how she treated her most trusted men. Jael had earned his place among them. He’d proven himself and he’d faced near impossible odds at her side.
“For you,” she agreed. “You’re my champion, but if you need me to fight for you, I will. I am the Dread Queen, after all. You say kill, I kill.”
A shudder worked through him, then he swallowed hard. For a few seconds, he lost his mocking edge, the keep-away charm—and sheer intensity shone from his blue eyes. His gaze held hers as he twined his hands in her braids. When he kissed her, there were no questions asked, only the same mad certainty he brought to their proposed escape. He didn’t draw her close, yet the kiss was so sweet and fierce that she didn’t care if he did, no matter how it hurt.
Pleasure and pain, sides of the same coin. Jael ran graceful palms upward to cup her hips. She wished he’d touch her more. “So I say I’ll kill for you . . . and that’s what you can’t resist?”
“I’m a violent man,” he said lightly. “Look, love, you’ve got me aching for you.”
Dred took that as an invitation to verify, so she closed her eyes. The field of snow had thawed, giving way to sparks of red and gold, shimmers of purple around the edges. He wasn’t lying; right now, he only wanted sex. There was no sorrow, no cold. Just desire.
“You want it bad,” she said.
“You’ve no idea. But I’m not sharing. I want my own night.”
She arched a brow. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
“Let me guess. Ike told you that I never sleep without Tam and . . . Einar.” But the big man was gone, so he wouldn’t be a factor, going forward. Her chest tightened, grief and pleasure twisted up into a Gordian knot.