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We could go back to the desert.
Or we could go farther into the city.
I’m assuming leaving Sterling isn’t an option. We were led here for a reason. If we retreat to the sandy abyss, we’ll be prolonging the game.
Furthermore, we’d have a better chance at besting the monsters where there are places to hide. Luckily, I’m very familiar with some of the buildings in the city, and I know the perfect place for us to hunker down and prepare a battle plan.
“Sunny, you need to step away from me for a second,” I say just above a whisper so I don’t startle her or the lycans, but when she doesn’t let go, I’m wondering if she heard me.
Her shaking has become violent, and her breath is coming out with fast, warm puffs on my skin as if she can’t get enough air. I can feel how stiff she’s become, and I realize she’s frozen up.
Shit. This happened to her in Armand’s throne room. At the time, I wasn’t sure what was going on. I thought perhaps she was unwell and suffering from some physical health condition, but now I recognize it for what it is.
Panic.
I’m not an expert when it comes to the wellness of the mind, but I’ve seen many seasoned warriors shut down. Logically, they know they shouldn’t, but it’s as if their body decides it for them.
If Ro were a colleague of mine, I’d do something jarring to snap her out of it. Yell. Shake. Slap.
In my experience, that works.
But it would be impossible to treat her that way. I’m simply not capable of it.
Though, the alternative is watching her get ripped limb from limb, and that’s unfathomable, too.
“I have to let my wings out,” I explain with an edge of urgency. “You’re in the way. I’ll end up knocking you over if I release them, and if you fall, the lycans won’t hesitate to pounce.”
“I can’t let you go. I can’t, I can’t. I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Ro blubbers. “I’m sorry I’m like this.”
The lycans finally leave the alley, moving into the gray light.
This is the first time I’ve ever actually seen them. I’ve slaughtered a few in the Shadowlands, but in the pitch-black cavern, I couldn’t tell how disgusting they are.
They’re mangy, missing large patches of brown hair. Some of them look sick. Green mucus drips from their noses down into their mouths, and brown crust lines their eyelids.
With top-heavy bodies, their shoulders are broad and their backends are skinny. Their arms are long, and their legs are short, so when they’re on all fours, it almost looks like they’re walking upright. A furry tail drags behind them.
Wild eyes glare at us. Long snouts with snarling lips showcase their sharp teeth, and I’m sure their large jaws could snap a bone.
At least fifteen of them are out on the pavement now.
Seeing an opportunity to surround us, they spread out, forming a line along the walkway before strategically placing themselves in a circle in the road.
Thankfully, they’re keeping a good twenty feet of distance as they assess us.
They’re calculating the threat, weighing the risk of getting closer. Quiet grunts resound from them, and I realize they’re communicating.
Placing my left palm over Ro’s locked fingers on my stomach, I caress her knuckles. She’s reacted positively to my touch before, and I use that to help her.
“Focus on me. On this.” As if we’re not in imminent danger, I keep my instructions soft and unhurried. “Breathe and just feel me.”
In response, her fingers flex against my scars, and some tension leaves her rigid arms as if the texture is actually comforting to her. And maybe it is.
After all, a worn, scratched-up shield is still a shield.
“Here’s what I’m going to do,” I continue. “I’ll disconnect your fingers, and you can hold onto my hand instead of your own. Then I just need you to step to the side. Can you do that?”
Thank the stars, she nods, her cheek rubbing up and down on my skin.
