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“Still a couple of hours, at least.”
“Should we go?” Alina cut in, both of them looking at her, then at each other.
True. They should do their reconnaissance in the Yellow Room. He just wanted to know what the fuck to expect moving forward. If fifteen men were on their side, that meant twenty-five men had defected. Not counting the ones not working, though perhaps they were all loyal and Gregor had known not to strike while they were still here. There had been a handful of men in the parlor with Gregor who Dimitri hadn’t recognized. Gregor’s own men. So, they were definitely outnumbered.
How was he going to get his family out of there?
Misha held off for another few seconds before he moved down the hallway. Dmitri and Alina waited, then Dmitri followed. Finally, Alina joined them again. They repeated this down three more corridors, grateful for the silence that met them whenever they reached a corner. This part of the house didn’t seem to be too heavily guarded. This was very good news. His family was close by. Perhaps he could get them out one by one.
They reached the Yellow Room and relief flooded him at the sight of the familiar faces of the men gathered there. All of them got to their feet when he entered, each greeting him with welcoming smiles and clasps on his shoulders. These were his brothers in arms, his private army. Some of them he’d worked with since the first days of wearing the mantle. They gave him renewed strength to face whatever they were about to face.
He was holding Alina’s hand. They all noticed.
“This is Alina,” he said.
“Kumarinova. Yeah, we know,” Logan stated, a dark look crossing his face.
“Enough,” Dmitri warned. “She’s my mate.”
They all looked taken aback, Misha included, even with what he’d seen exchanged between them in the past fifteen minutes.
“You’ve only just met her,” Misha tried.
“Yes, thank you, I’m aware,” Dmitri shot back. “Listen up. This is my true mate. I expect you to treat her with as much respect as you’ve always treated me, if not more. Understand? She says jump—you’d better do it and keep doing it until she gives you permission to stop. Clear?”
All the men nodded, some looking a little gobsmacked, but most of them bowing their heads to her in quiet greeting, smiles spreading on their faces as he was certain they’d convinced themselves this day would never come. Such saps, the whole bunch of them. It made him smirk, holding his gun up demonstratively as he said, “Everyone ready?”
They all held their guns up and gave him the affirmative.
“Our objective is to get to the Peacock Room,” he said.
The men nodded.
“What’s in the Peacock Room?” Alina asked.
“My family,” he replied.
They all cocked their guns.
This was it. It would all be decided now. He relayed the details of the objective and the men listened attentively as he spoke.
They would move into one large group and take out anyone who tried to interfere. They would get Alina to the safety of the Peacock Room and then they’d spread out in order to secure a parameter through which his family and Alina could be brought out safely.
They clustered by the door, and he turned to Alina, who was holding his hand in a tight grip. He pulled her to him and kissed her softly on the lips. She looked up at him with a warmth in his gaze that told him how much she’d enjoyed her introduction. He smiled, kissed her again, then turned to face the door.
Whatever was on the other side, he’d kill it. By bullet or by fire. They all had guns manufactured specifically to injure any shifter, be they of catkin or draconian descent.
“Here we go,” he whispered, twisting the doorknob, leading the way outside.
The men quickly moved into a protective formation, surrounding him and Alina. They were efficient killers, each highly skilled with training honed over decades, most of them for more than that. He felt safe for the first time since he’d felt Gregor’s hand close over his throat. They could do this. They could take back control and expel Gregor and every last one of the traitors.
What should he do with them? How could he make a strong enough example out of them that this never happened again?
He supposed it was impossible to guard against it, but he knew he would need to ask the men remaining why they hadn’t turned on him as well. Was it merely loyalty, or was there more to it? He hated how shaken he was over the whole thing. His self-perception had been rocked to the core as he’d always seen himself as a fair and strong leader. Where had he gone wrong? When had it begun?
It wasn’t just the traitors who needed close examination—his part in prompting their treachery warranted just as much scrutiny. That was the way to guard against this ever happening again, not shooting every single one of his formerly loyal men in the neck for not coming to him first with whatever was bothering them. He must have made it impossible for them to bring it up, whatever it was.
Democracy, he supposed, could have saved him a whole lot of heartbreak.
