Dragon's Honor Page 7

  Samara had to give it to him, the man acted his ass off. He staggered. He fell to his hands and knees and looked like he was going to vomit. He grabbed at Nura, who made a show of peering at his face and then yanking herself away and hurrying off, as if she’d seen something contagious and worrying. He clutched at his heart as he staggered up, letting his back twist and arch like he was in agony.

  And the camera began to turn.

  Nura kept hurrying, tossing looks over her shoulder, ostensibly at Stefan but checking for Samara’s signal.

  Samara kept watching, waiting. Her eyes were locked on the camera, assessing the angles….

  And then she heard the sound of a police truck and the familiar, terrifying order: “Checkpoints instituted. Open your bags and prepare for inspection.”

  Io District was truly one of the most miserable places India had ever seen. Everything was the same grey color, down to the dust that seemed to be everywhere. It collected in doorways, coated the slats of the shutters, and lay in a fine, greyish-brown pall over the street signs.

  It was also, quite clearly, the site of more than a few battles. There were bullet-holes in the plaster of the buildings, and India saw more than a few shattered windows and broken cobblestones.

  Wheeler saw her looking, and pointed up ahead. “You should see Street 7. Resistance blew a hole in it the last time the Dragons came. Didn’t take any of ‘em out, of course.” He gave a grin.

  India did not smile. It was an insult to the mercenaries that the Warlord brought in Dragons. They should be the ones tasked with taking out resistance leaders. It didn’t matter that the resistance leaders were canny, hiding amidst the citizens. It didn’t matter that—

  That the mercenaries hadn’t proved themselves. They had failed to take down the resistance. If India were to be fair—and she was always fair, she prided herself on that—she understood that the Warlord had had good reason to bring in the Dragons. In fact, he’d been generous to allow the mercenaries to keep working in the districts, given how consistently they had failed to suppress the resistance.

  That ended now. They were going to finish this. More to the point, she was going to finish this—she was determined that Io District would be the first to be entirely rid of resistance fighters.

  She was smiling grimly when she saw the disturbance up ahead. A man was staggering along, probably sick with drink—they ran illegal distilleries, she knew all about that—and grabbing for a passing woman to help him. India looked over at Wheeler, who was watching the scene with his lip curled. When he looked over at her, she nodded ahead at the two citizens.

  “It’s a public disturbance, Officer.”

  “I … it happens all the time, ma’am.”

  “A lot of things ‘happen all the time’ that will no longer be tolerated.” India almost spat the words. “This district will be running smoothly by the time I am done.”

  “But Captain Eddis is in charge of—”

  “Captain Eddis,” India said, her voice deathly soft, “has failed at his duty. Would you agree, Officer Wheeler?”

  He swallowed, but nodded. “I would.”

  “So what are you going to do about this?” India nodded her head at the two citizens.

  He cleared his throat, but switched on the sirens and put his loudspeaker up to his mouth. “Checkpoints instituted. Open your bags and prepare for inspection.”

  There was a pause while everyone on the street froze.

  And then the drunk man turned on the truck, gave a yell, and ran at them with his arms waving.

  India felt her eyes go wide. It was like something out of a film: the zombie chasing the heroes. The man’s eyes were wide and manic, and he was yelling the whole time he ran. She looked at Wheeler, who was also dumbstruck, and then over to the other people on the street.

  All of whom had vanished.

  Rage burst through her. A set-up. This had been a set-up. He was making a diversion. She yanked open her door and was out of the car before it had even come to a stop, rifle up.

  “Stop right there.” Her voice echoed off the walls.

  He didn’t even pause. He changed his path to run right for her, yelling. He was daring her to shoot him, she could see it in his eyes.

  Did he think she was an idiot? India stood her ground and, as he got close enough, whipped the butt of her gun around to knock him in the jaw and then turn it and slam it forward again into his chest. He went down in the dirt, dazed, and she knelt down to grab a handful of his hair.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Ste—” He was trying to catch his breath. “Stefan.”

  “Stefan.” India smiled and wrenched him up, her smile widening when he yelled in pain. Good. She wanted all his little friends to hear it. She pitched her voice to carry. “You and I are going to be spending a lot of time together, Stefan. You’re going to tell me everything about what just happened.”

  Samara watched in horror as Stefan swung around toward the source of the siren. He met her eyes for one moment, and then he charged. He was yelling, waving his arms, making the biggest scene she had ever seen.

  Nura disappeared between two buildings in a flick of grey coveralls, taking the device with her.

  Nura could not be found. And that meant creating even more distractions. As one of the guards came out of the truck and hit Stefan with the butt of her gun, Samara launched herself out of the doorway and ran, right down the middle of the street. She saw the other resistance fighters disappearing out of the corner of her eye. They all had their paths and their safe points, practices she had drilled them on relentlessly.

  There were words echoing behind her and she heard more sirens go, gates opening in the guard barracks.

  The guards had seen her—now she had to disappear. Samara skidded as she changed directions and sprinted into an alleyway. She hurdled over a set of old barrels, trying not to tip them over and spill the precious rainwater inside. Puddles left slime on her boots and rats scurried away from her as she ran, leapt, and scrambled up the wooden fence at the other end.

  The boards, rough and grey with age, creaked, and splinters broke off in her fingers. Samara gritted her teeth and forced herself not to yell. She tumbled over the top of the fence, lost her grip, and landed hard on the concrete below.

  Pain. So much pain. She stuffed her hand in her mouth to muffle her cries and hauled herself, whimpering, into the shadow of a pile of trash.

  A door opened without warning and hands yanked her inside. A woman with grey streaks in her hair looked out at the street and closed the door quietly. She half-dragged Samara across the floor and shoved her into a closet.

  Samara felt tears stinging in her eyes. This woman wasn’t in the resistance, as far as she knew, but she’d risked herself and her family to help a resistance fighter.

  She would repay the debt … if she ever could. Because as barked orders and screams sounded from outside, Samara knew that the first thing she had to do with this unexpected stroke of good luck was find out what had happened to Stefan. If he was dead….

  God, it was cruel to hope he was dead, but she did. She hoped.

  Because if he wasn’t dead, that meant they’d realized he was part of something bigger—and they had him down in one of the cells that people spoke of in whispers.

  And if they had him there, there was nothing more important than getting him back. Stefan knew almost everything about their plans, and no one alive could stand the things the guards did to get information out of people. He would crack … and the resistance would be finished.

  10

  “Aryn Beranek?”

  Aryn froze. She had thought she was alone. Dinner came and went, and she had not had the courage to ask Ellian when he would speak to the Warlord. She told herself that she should have courage, but part of her knew the answer—I must choose my time, my darling—and she knew that her face would betray her impatience, and that would displease Ellian.

  Before the meal was half over, she wante
d to scream at the monotony of it: to know what she would say, and what he would say—and around and around through the years until her beauty faded and he lost interest in her.

  And why, instead of fear, did she feel a stab of anticipation whenever she thought of that?

  She fled long before she should have. Let Ellian think she was sulking because of the bodyguard. Perhaps she was. She did not want someone entering rooms silently. Watching her. Reporting back to Ellian. He would hire a guard far more loyal to him than to her, she knew that.

  When had she become so cynical? When she looked out at the city, she could imagine, just for a few minutes, that she was the woman who had come here two years ago from Ymir: hopeful, and trying desperately to be in love. She could imagine that this was indeed a city of limitless possibility.

  The sound of her name jerked her back to reality. The voice was smooth as velvet and yet fiery, burning across her skin like whiskey, sliding down her spine so that she shivered. She savored it, feeling it like a caress and biting her lip. Who was this man? She turned her head slowly, not wanting to shatter the illusion, and tried not to let her mouth drop open.

  Her first thought was that he could not possibly be real—but if any man in the world could match that voice, this was him. Tall and elegant in his suit, he was well muscled, standing confidently. A faint lightening of the skin showed that he’d just shaved off a beard, and she found herself wondering what he would look like with it. His brows were heavy, his brown eyes almond-shaped. A dimple in his chin gave his face softness it desperately needed. There was something sad in his eyes and she felt her lips part, felt a smile begin. This man, she could trust. She knew it instinctively.

  And then she remembered where she was. She remembered who she was. This would be one of Ellian’s business associates, a man who would be only too pleased to take any sign of weakness, play her against Ellian—awaken the man’s vengeful instincts with no care for what would happen to Aryn when the dust settled. He was a liar, just like all the other smiling, well-dressed men she had met in this city. He was looking for an advantage over her husband, and he was hoping to prey on the lonely wife.

  Her smile was her armor. She raised her chin and let her mouth curve. Her eyes were cold—a warning. She would not be an ally of his, the smile said. She would be charming and gracious and beautiful, as any society wife should be, but she would not be his pawn.

  It would be easier to mean that, however, if she didn’t keep remembering the honeyed slide of that voice over her skin. Why was she wondering whether his hands might be able to stir the same deep heat within her? Aryn did not respond like this to male beauty. She certainly did not wonder what it might feel like to have lips trailing down over her throat—

  “Aryn?” Ellian’s voice. She hadn’t heard him come into the room. She had been so fixated on this strange new man that she had not even noticed the movement behind him. Now her husband was staring at her, his eyes taking in her flushed cheeks and the pulse beating wildly at her throat.

  “My love,” she said reflexively. She did not spare a single glance for the man as she went to her husband’s side. Her eyes were fixed on him, a different smile on her face now. Let this man see the difference—and mark it.

  She knew better than to play Ellian false.

  “I see you two have met.” Ellian’s voice was expressionless.

  “I’m afraid not,” She looked over at him, then at the newcomer. “Do you do business with my husband, Mister…”

  “Williams.” That velvety voice was suddenly flat. She could hear dislike, an icy warning. “And no.”

  Ellian looked between them.

  “My dear, this is Cade Williams. He’s the bodyguard I mentioned to you.”

  The bodyguard? The bodyguard. Aryn felt her eyes widen.

  “Oh?” she managed. It was the only thing she could think of to say. This was the man who was going to be at her side day in and day out—and the thought of his quiet presence nearby, when she swore she could feel the heat of him in the air, made her tremble.

  “Mr. Williams, you come highly recommended.” Ellian’s voice was smooth, his eyes ever so slightly narrowed as he looked at the bodyguard.

  The man’s eyes lingered too long on Aryn before he responded, his lip slightly curled. When he looked over at Ellian, however, his face was blank.

  “Talon Rift is an old friend.” Again that voice. Even when he tried to strip it of emotion, it made Aryn shiver. “I hope he has not oversold my abilities.”

  “In my experience, a man who wishes to oversell uses flashy words. Mr. Rift used none.” Ellian almost looked as if he was sizing the man up. “He used one word repeatedly, however. ‘Best.’ Apparently, Mr. Williams, your skills are unmatched. Tell me, where have you served?”

  “Various places. The Verait System.” The man might be staring at Ellian, but Aryn was suddenly sure that he was studying her instead, his eyes tracking her movements. She kept her smile fixed on her face and looked over into Ellian’s face in the way she’d practiced in the mirror. The adoring wife. Part of the story Ellian loved so much.

  “That would have been your training camp, yes?” Ellian did not like this man, that much was apparent—to Aryn, at least. “Don’t look so surprised, Mr. Williams. I am not unfamiliar with the Dragons. Indeed, I am pleased to have you here. One could hardly do better for a bodyguard than one of the Alliance’s most elite soldiers.”

  A Dragon. Aryn’s blood froze. She wanted to jerk her arm out of Ellian’s and run, but those damned instincts kept her rooted in place, smiling even as her world turned on its head. She could not have a Dragon around her. No. Not after Ymir. Everyone knew the Warlord had Dragons working for him, and this man would see her past at once. He would tell his friends, and they would go to the Warlord and her parents would be on the street or worse—

  She forced herself to breathe. She ran through everything she might say to Ellian and knew that none of it would persuade him. He knew the facts as well as she did, surely. If he had decided he liked this man, then it would not matter at all that the Dragons had been corrupted and lent their service not to the Alliance, but to the man who openly defied its justice. Ellian, not Aryn, would choose her bodyguard. She could hear his words now: Aryn, one could hardly do better…

  Still, she noted with a surge of hope that this man did not look pleased by Ellian’s assessment.

  “And did Talon tell you that I haven’t served with the Corps in two years?” The man’s brows raised fractionally.

  “Really? He did not, as it happens, mention that.” Ellian pondered him, gaze traveling over the soldier’s face, and seemed to come to some decision. “Mr. Williams, please come with me. There are things we should … discuss.” His gaze fell on Aryn.

  She shivered, leaning up to kiss his cheek, and uncurled her arm from his. She tried to keep her face flat. He was displeased, and that was good. If Ellian also did not like this man….

  “Mr. Williams.” She gave a nod, her eyes fixed on the floor. She could not afford to have desire show in her face when she looked at him.

  Ellian led the way and the bodyguard followed—only to linger in the doorway. His presence called to her until she could not help but look up at him. His eyes were traveling over her as if she were some puzzle he might figure out. When she opened her mouth to speak, she did not know what she would say. What was there to say when she could not look at him without imagining—

  She closed her mouth and turned away.

  No. Ellian disliked this man, and so he would soon be gone. And that, as far as Aryn was concerned, was a very good thing.

  She made her way confidently across the foyer and into the car waiting outside. Tonight was a charity dinner, an event that made her want to grit her teeth and scream with boredom.

  But tonight, she finally had something to think about while she sat and smiled graciously at the speaker. Tonight, she could think about Ymir. About how to help them and get them what they needed. Samara
said not to trust Ellian—well, Aryn would find another way.

  She had to. She was done turning her back on her past.

  She smiled as she sat back in her seat. It was good that Ellian didn’t like the bodyguard. It would be much easier to do all of this without someone lurking around her all the time.

  Even if the thought of that did make her heart beat a little too fast. Aryn cleared her throat, stared out the window of the car, and thought resolutely of nothing until she didn’t see those piercing eyes in her head anymore.

  11

  He hated her. He could hardly see straight, he hated her so much. As Cade turned away to follow Ellian Pallas, all he could feel for the man was pity—and all he could feel for Aryn Beranek was contempt. Those fake adoring smiles were pathetic, and the way she had looked at Cade… Servants, clearly, got none of this woman’s false warmth, and it occurred to him that they might even be luckier in that sense than her poor sod of a husband.

  So why couldn’t he stop wondering what it would feel like to pin her up against the wall and kiss her, feel her melt under his mouth, feel her hands against his chest and hear a little moan as he pressed against her? The thought made him grit his teeth with frustration. He could imagine all too well how it would feel to—

  He should leave. Three cold showers might be enough. Standing in the snow would be even better, but Talon had promised to imprison him in a hotel, so the showers would have to do. He groaned softly and promised himself he would leave the conversation quickly. His regrets should be enough; this man already seemed to dislike him.

  Those thoughts vanished when the door to the study clicked closed behind them and Ellian rounded on Cade.

  “Let us be honest with one another, Mr. Williams.”

  Alarm bells went off in Cade’s head. Ellian’s eyes were narrowed, and his face was expressionless in a way Cade recognized all too well. This was the look of a man who knew the underworld. Ellian Pallas was an arms trafficker, he remembered too late, and Cade had been so consumed with thoughts of the delicate trophy wife that he hadn’t paid nearly enough attention to the real threat.