Page 19

LOKAN

T he afternoon sun beat down on Lokan's head as mercilessly as it scorched the dusty outskirts of Choibalsan, turning the air into shimmering waves of heat that made the distant mountains dance like mirages.

The small town represented a significant detour from their route toward the border with Russia, but Kian had insisted that they needed protection and shouldn't attempt the crossing alone.

So here he was, standing beside the van, one hand shading his eyes as he scanned the road.

"Are you sure this is the right place?" Carol asked.

"These are the coordinates Turner sent, and it matches his description—a desolate stretch of road two kilometers outside of Choibalsan. It's far enough from curious eyes but close enough to the airport to make sense as a rendezvous point."

"They're late," Carol said from her perch on the van's bumper.

"They didn't provide the exact time. Just to be there between two and three in the afternoon."

"They are costing us a day. We could've reached the border today."

He sighed. "That was Kian's entire point. He doesn't want us crossing the border without protection. Chances are that my father's minions are guarding each crossing."

A distant thrum caught his attention, but it wasn't the sound of a vehicle approaching, and Lokan's muscles tensed as he identified that it was made by helicopter rotors.

"Get in the van," he ordered, already moving toward the driver's door.

Carol stood up, but instead of following his instructions, she lifted her hand. "It's probably the Guardians."

"Carol—"

"How on earth would the Brotherhood know to look for us here?"

She had a point, but he still preferred for them not to be sitting ducks in case she was wrong.

"You're probably right but get in the van anyway." He strode toward her, ready to throw her over his shoulder and shove her inside the vehicle.

He was too late.

The aircraft appeared over a low rise, painted white with commercial insignia on the tail, and as it circled their position, looking for a place to land, Carol began bouncing on her toes.

"It's them! I can see Grant through the window. That enormous bald head of his is unmistakable."

Relief flooded through Lokan, but then what she'd said registered. "Why is he bald?"

Immortals didn't lose their hair like humans did.

"He shaves his head. Don't ask me why. Something about wanting to look like Kojak."

"Who's Kojak?"

Carol huffed. "Where have you been living? Under a rock? He was the most famous television detective of the seventies and was named one of the greatest TV characters of all time."

He grimaced. "Actually, I was living under the proverbial rock. I didn't get to watch much television on the island."

Her expression turned remorseful. "My poor baby. We are going to watch it together as soon as we are in the village."

The helicopter landed on a relatively flat patch of ground, less than a hundred meters away, kicking up a cloud of dust that had them both shielding their faces with their arms and turning away. When the rotors powered down, three figures stepped out, carrying enough weaponry to assault a fortress.

"Carol!" The bald Guardian opened his arms wide as she ran toward him.

Lokan watched with amusement as his mate was engulfed in the Guardian's embrace, her feet leaving the ground as he spun her around. The other two Guardians waited their turn, grinning broadly.

"Put me down, you giant oaf," Carol laughed, smacking Grant's shoulder. "You're going to break my ribs."

"As if." Grant set her down. "You're much tougher than you look." He kept his hands on her shoulders. "Fates, it's good to see you safe, even if your hair is a mousy shade of brown. Why did you color it?"

"Always with the compliments, Grant. Do you make all the girls swoon with those one-liners?" She let the other two embrace her as well.

Lokan observed the group from a few feet away, marveling at the camaraderie between his small mate and the three hulking Guardians. She'd trained with them only for a short period of time, but it seemed that she'd earned a place in their hearts.

"Hello, Lokan." Grant extended his hand. "I'm Grant. This is Camden and Dougal. We're your escort to the border."

"Thank you," Lokan said. "Though I wasn't expecting an aerial arrival. I was about to throw Carol in the van and speed away."

"Smart instincts," Camden said. "Turner's contact suggested this after our flight was delayed, and we gladly accepted his offer."

"Speaking of which." Dougal opened one of the large duffel bags they'd brought. "Compliments of Onegus." He pulled a compact submachine gun along with extra magazines out of the bag. "I hope you still remember how to use this."

"An MP5?" Carol's eyes lit up. "Oh, you beautiful man. Give it here."

"Thought you'd approve." Dougal handed the equipment to her. "Grant has your tactical vest and sidearm. Lokan, we brought you an AK-47. Figured you knew how to handle it."

Lokan accepted the familiar weight of the rifle. He'd carried one through half the world's conflict zones over the decades. "It's like riding a bicycle," he murmured.

"A deadly bicycle," Grant agreed. "Right, let's get this gear loaded and get moving." He looked at the van and winced. "Is that thing operable?"

"It runs better than it looks," Lokan said. "You can tell the pilot that he can leave."

Grant turned around and signaled to the pilot.

The guy gave him a two-fingered salute, and a couple of moments later, took off, kicking up another cloud of dust.

“I wish we could just take a ride in that helicopter,” Carol said. “Regrettably, even if we can thrall the pilot to take us over the border, the Russians will shoot it down.”

“Or force us to turn back,” Lokan added.

"One more thing." Grant reached into his pocket and pulled out two small cases. "Earpieces compliments of William."

"Thank you." Lokan reached for the cases and handed one to Carol. "Are these the ones that filter compulsion?"

"No, just regular Guardian communications," Grant said.

"Good enough." Carol put the case in her pocket.

They piled into the van, the Guardians somehow managing to fit themselves and their equipment into the back.

"Fates," Camden muttered. "This is cozy."

"It was all we could get on short notice," Carol said. "And I'll have you know that I spent an hour this morning cleaning it. You should have smelled it before."

"What was it hauling? Dead yaks?" Grant snorted at his own lame joke.

As Lokan pulled onto the rutted road, Carol twisted in her seat to face the Guardians. "So, what's the deal with the enhanced Doomers Kian warned us about? The two Lokan encountered on the train were nothing special. He thralled them to turn around with ease."

"You were lucky." Grant leaned forward, his jovial demeanor nowhere in sight. "The three we encountered during the raids were nothing like what we've been used to."

"I watched one take three shots to center mass and keep fighting," Camden added. "Their pain tolerance is through the roof."

"Supposedly, some of them can go weeks without sleep," Dougal continued. "Just imagine what that means. They can keep hunting without stopping for rest."

"That's impossible." Carol waved a dismissive hand. "Not even immortals can do that."

Grant shrugged. "That's what Toven got out of the Doomer he interrogated, and he used compulsion, so the bastard couldn't lie."

"Toven barely managed to break through." Camden met Lokan's eyes in the rearview mirror. "No offense, but you couldn't have done that."

"None taken," Lokan said. "I'm only a three-quarter god, and until I met Carol, I could only thrall and compel humans." He cast her a fond smile. "You make me a better male."

"Of course, Ricky."

"Ricky?" Grant asked.

Carol laughed. "Meet Lucy and Ricky. Those are our fake identities."

"I see," Grant said. "Well, we are here in case you encounter enhanced Doomers. Your mind tricks might not work on them."

"Speaking of Doomers," Lokan glanced at the three Guardians in the mirror. "Did you encounter any at the airport?"

Dougal nodded. "We spotted at least two outside the terminal, but they were focused on people going in, not those coming out. We managed to slip past them easily enough."

"Why didn't you just take them out?" Carol asked. "It would have been nice to just drive to the airport and fly out of here."

"Because there might have been more of them," Lokan said.

"Correct," Grant agreed. "Turner's contact was waiting for us with a taxi outside, and he took us to the helicopter rental place.

You'd be amazed at what tourists will pay for tours of the Gobi.

We learned that Westerners use them to conduct aerial photography expeditions, and wealthy hunters use them to look for argali sheep. It's a thriving business."

Lokan chuckled. "It's fascinating what people come up with to make money. Entrepreneurship drives innovation even here."

"How far to the safe house?" Camden asked.

Dougal checked his phone. "Three hours, give or take. It's a farm outside Sükhbaatar. The owners are visiting relatives in Ulaanbaatar tonight, so we will have the place to ourselves."

"Convenient," Lokan muttered. "Turner's global network of operatives is impressive. He has contacts everywhere."

Grant's stomach chose that moment to rumble loudly. "Please tell me there's someplace to stop for food. I haven't eaten since yesterday's airline meal, and that barely qualified as food."

"There are no dining options on this route." Carol reached for her bag. "But I bought supplies this morning. I've got dried meat, bread, some fruit that's probably bruised by now, and these fried pastry things that the vendor assured me were a local delicacy."

"You're a lifesaver." Grant took what she offered. "Literally. I was about to start eyeing Dougal like a piece of meat."

"I'm all gristle," Dougal protested. "Camden would be much more tender."

"I hate you both," Camden said, but he was grinning as he bit into one of the pastries. "These are actually good. What are they?"

"Khuushuur," Carol pronounced carefully. "Fried meat pockets."

When they were done eating, Grant looked at Lokan through the rearview mirror. "I wonder how long your father has suspected you of double-crossing him."

The blunt statement was like a kick to the gut, even though it shouldn't have been. His father didn't deserve his loyalty.

"I didn't double-cross him. I only supplied information that was important to protect the clan."

"It doesn't matter," Carol said. "We're out now. That's what counts."

She was right, of course. But some part of him was still wrestling with the betrayal—not his betrayal of Navuh, because he didn't feel like he'd actually betrayed his father, but his father's betrayal of him.

Some foolish part of him had hoped that Navuh loved him in his own twisted way and that he wouldn't hurt him.

Maybe he had?

After all, if he'd suspected Lokan of betrayal, he could have detained him a long time ago during his mandatory monthly visits to the island. And yet he hadn't.

What had changed, though?

Why had he decided to make his move now?

Was it because Lokan had attempted to run?

Probably. Maybe his father had waited for definitive proof before moving against him. Not only that, he'd sent the regular rank and file after him when he could have sent his new enhanced warriors.

Perhaps he actually wanted Lokan to get away?