“I’ll talk with him about that,” Miller said. “It’ll do him good to resume those weekly game nights.”
Simon was a regular at the table top gaming sessions hosted by the Gardendale Dragon’s Lair, a Comics and Gaming shop. Or at least he was, up until the awakening of theWaryeors,when the stuff of fantasy became his new reality. Since then, Col knew that Simon had been attending more sporadically.
They made their thanks and goodbyes, with Col deep in thought as they left the small veterinary practice.
“Miller Armstrong,” Col finally spoke, after they were seated inside the top of the line gun metal Range Rover and on the road. Delain was playing on the tricked out sound system, but at a volume that allowed conversation.
The older man turned down the volume even more, turning to Col. “Something’s troubling you, son. Spit it out.”
Son.Col knew that term didn’t necessarily refer to a biological relationship, especially when Aylwyn was going through one of his phases of addressing everyone he came across assonand asking if they felt him. But for a moment, he allowed himself the fantasy of imagining Miller Armstrong as the father he wished he had instead.
Guilt caused a wave of heat that crept up his neck. His father was long gone, and it was not right to dishonor his memory like that. But in deed, if not in fact, Miller was now the parental figure Col looked up to.
Miller was patient, didn’t push, allowing Col the space to figure out what needed to be said and how best to say it. That was what made him a good leader, and someone who would provide wise counsel.
“You are a man of honor, and aWaryeorwho has seen battle.” Miller lifted his head in acknowledgement. Col cleared his throat. This was more difficult than he anticipated.
“You would strive to ever be a complement to your Pack, and not a weakness.”
Miller lifted his head again, a subtle gesture that conveyed so much. Although he was a human, not aShiftwere, the ways of theWaryeorwere in his very bones, and transcended the difficulties of spoken language.
“What are you really asking, son?”
Col turned to him, hazel eyes meeting the olderWaryeor’s watery blue depths. “I fear that I am afflicted with something that is lessening my value to the Pack. Indeed I may be a liability that will hinder the success of our mission, and endanger the lives of myBredhren.”
Miller was silent for a moment, as he turned his attention back to the road, his hands doing the 10 and 2.
“Have you shared this with your CO?” He meant theVixar, Tybalt.
Col drew in a breath. “I have made mention, yes.” He thought of that night at Ye Olde Taverne, when theVixarhad asked to speak with him then. He had expected —deserved — a private reprimand for having been so careless as to have been captured, but instead Col was merely asked for his assessment, as Tybalt’s Second, of how he felt theWar-Packwas progressing.
It was another way in which Tybalt was a good leader.
“And what did he say?”
“He did not think it merited concern at this time.”
“And you disagree.” Miller’s tone was neutral, without any judgment.
“Perhaps I did not make the gravity of the concern clear enough.”
“Hmm.” Miller’s eyes were on the road. Finally he spoke. “What is it that you always say whenever theVixargives an order?”
That was easy. It was drilled into everyWaryeorfrom the time they first picked up a weapon.
“As you say, so shall it be.”
“All right.” Miller lifted his head. “Sometimes it’s also what remains unsaid that denotes a CO’s wishes. Seems to me that if you don’t trust your senses, it’s all the more important that you trust your commanding officer. He’ll let you know if and when you’re fit for duty. Or when you’re not.”
The older man’s knuckles whitened on the wheel. Col gave him a sharp look. Miller never talked about why he was no longer on active duty, but Col suspected that if Miller had been given a choice, he would still be serving.
“Medical discharge.” Miller said, as if reading Col’s thoughts. “In case you’re wondering. Complications from being put back together so many times. And I’m one of the lucky ones. Forcibly retired. Didn’t want to be turned into a desk jockey, but it turns out Fate had other plans for me anyway.”
“Simon is very fortunate to have you in his life. As we all are.”
Miller lifted his head again. “Fortune is what you make of where the Fates have taken us. But sometimes the smarter choice is to embrace your destiny.”
Destiny? Col whipped his head up. For a second he thought Miller had saidDestine. And the image of a comely woman, fair of face with rich brown waves, came to mind. But no, Miller could not have said that.
Although Col would have agreed with Miller if he had.
