Page 65 of Bound

But he’d been determined to hold steady, being aloof but friendly to Jayd, even after Requiemme had hooked them up on the intake table preparations. And yes, even when Jayd beamed about it like a celebratory ballerina.

He’d embraced the metaphor, in turn giving back something between a brooding Baryshnikov and a polite Polunin. And it had worked—at first. All the way to the second that the perceptive Pixie collected on his number and then called him on it.

Hard.

Brutally hard.

As in the cutting diamonds in her eyes, turning every color of inquisition and hurt. As in the dismissive obelisk of her posture, her shoulder blades sharp bites through her shirt. But especially in how she went so quiet. Not silent. She still spoke when addressed and kindly commented to everyone who needed her, except that it hardly seemed like her doing the talking. But now, she was different about it. Subdued. Distant.

Defeated?

He almost shook his head in violent rejection of that idea. Coupling that descriptor to his audacious sprite was like calling Mt. Rainier a foothill.

She was the same person who’d nearly flipped him the bird when he’d given her the broke-dick mope in the infirmary. She’d also been the only lover to pull him out of a guns-blazing panic attack. In a cemetery. So no way was she capitalizing on the new emo hair color just because of him.

His theory was validated as the standing speakers in the room’s corners suddenly crackled. His adrenaline torpedoing the stabbing pain near his wound sites, Brick surged to his feet.

“That’s field radio noise,” he stated.

There were fewer sounds on the planet he was more certain of. Definitely none that stirred such an urgent but bittersweet reaction. Unbelievably, even after Asha and Bamiyan, there were parts of him that still longed for the rush of the mission. The anticipation of hunting down backstabbing cocksuckers who’d just presented themselves to the world as “misunderstood victims.” Yeah, that part never got old.

For now, he had to settle for listening to the scrapes and scuffs and grunts that gave away their direct connection to a soldier racing along the front somewhere. As of right now, they still had no idea where, but it was a definite sign that something was up.

There hadn’t been a peep from any of the comm patches so far, which wasn’t a huge surprise. As of the last tactical update, Samsyn had activated at least fifteen recon units across the island. Brick assumed they’d all been ordered to zip it on the comms until a positive sighting of Carris and his boys was made.

Was that the hot scoop now?

Brick remained in place, deciding initial caution was the better call. Sometimes radios simply got punched by accident.

During the wait, he got in a quick glance at Jayd. Fuck. Anxiety bristled in her eyes; tension lined her posture.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Screw it. He may have pledged not to be her Kryptonite, but he couldn’t bypass on at least being the Power Stone for her Titan gauntlet.

It was as easy as crossing the room to the temporary tech station that had been set up on a small presentation area in the room. During normal circumstances, he imagined the palais staff using this as a focal area for operational meetings and parties. There was a smaller public address system off to the side, not being used for this occasion. The larger speakers provided clearer, louder sound—through which more chaotic sounds now vibrated.

“What’s the twenty on this?” he asked the palais security rep who was handling this makeshift bridge. The woman, who clearly knew what she was doing, had a shoulder name patch that read Iscah.

“On these,” the tech clarified, looking up through a long front lock of hair that looked freshly dyed in a red-black mixture.

Sheez. The palais salon must’ve had an overstock on the coif colors this week.

“There’s a new hit from the unit lead at the air strip.” Iscah pointed to a flashing yellow dot on a glowing green map imprinted onto a sheet of hard acrylic that measured about ten-by-ten feet. “But also over there, from your friend Demos and his team, out at the Drehd Forest.”

“The Drehd Forest?” As Brick repeated it, Iscah efficiently rolled a tracking ball until the acrylic glowed with more imagery. This time, there was a topographical detail of the terrain across the island. He hummed, communicating his approval.

Damn. Samsyn Cimarron had invested in some shit-hot toys for his intel team.

Between one blink and the other, a couple of red dots flared to life in conjunction to the goldenrod ones. He assumed Iscah had inserted those to alert the rest of the frontline units that they’d gained some company on the south end of the island. Regrettably, there wasn’t time to waste on commending her for the fast thinking. At the risk of being trite if just to himself, they had bigger fish to fry.

“Well, shit,” he muttered to the tech instead. “That’s quite a forest.”

Judging from the density of the topographical feed, perhaps even a Forest, capital F.

“That is a large affirmative.”

He whipped into a double-take. The corroboration wasn’t from Iscah. The king of Arcadia himself was the one stepping up next to him.