Page 40 of Elas (Mate’s Mark #2)
Elas
Xeni is a threat.
He’s a liability, and dropping August off while that threat roams those same hallways is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.
My instincts kept me awake, urging me to leave August peacefully asleep in our bed and go hunt down the Cavese.
Shred his body into something unrecognizable and shove it in a hole somewhere, never to be found.
I imagined the conversation in my mind a hundred different ways. “What’s that, August? Xeni didn’t show up for work today? How strange! No, that definitely isn’t blood underneath my fingernails.”
My fantasies of slaughter morph into contemplation, though, as I think about the files.
We stayed awake until the darkest hours of the night, reading the ones that remained.
We learned a few things, but every piece of information only leads to more questions.
In the last file I read, the human mate died during one of their procedures.
The surviving mate, a Ramves, was in agony, and their mark turned into a scar on their skin, raised and bunched as though it was an injury long healed.
August read the description, but he insisted Xeni’s mark was black and diseased-looking.
Each story shares a common theme, though, and it’s become abundantly clear that the military is attempting to extract something from these mates.
Detailed documentation outlines every step of their techniques, and they range from something as simple as drawing blood with a syringe to hanging the mates upside down and draining them into a bucket.
In the more recent files, they pump them full of experimental medicines in an attempt to isolate the magic inside them.
Over and over, we see it referenced—Project V.
Frustratingly, though, there’s no explanation of what it actually is or what they’re trying to accomplish. Not that I expected there to be, but it would’ve been nice to be handed an instruction manual for all this.
Urul tosses me a wave as I approach our duty station. He jogs over, his piercing catching the sun. Fucker. “Someone was looking for you a few minutes ago. Said the new commander wants to see you.”
“Great,” I mutter, and he chuckles as he punches my arm with a playful jab.
“Don’t sound so excited.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I say with a scowl as I rub my arm. “I’ll be back.”
Dread and adrenaline war for dominance in my gut, but the logical side of me knows if Xeni had talked, they wouldn’t wait for a convenient time. They would’ve shown up at my barracks last night and taken us together.
Logic rarely wins when August is concerned, though, so it’s little comfort.
The receptionist waves me towards the door as I walk into the lobby, and I nod my thanks and knock. “Come in,” Khors responds, and I step inside his office. “Shut the door behind you, Elas.”
“Of course, sir.”
He leans forward with a sniff once I take my seat. “You don’t reek as much of him today, but I still smell the human on you.”
A cocky smile spreads over my lips as I recline in my chair. “I’ve been keeping him busy, sir. If I had known I’d be visiting this morning, I would’ve showered more thoroughly. Please, forgive me for the misstep.”
He’s pleased with the apology like I knew he would be, but seems impatient as he taps his pen on the desk.
“Let’s get straight to business, then. I’ve given our conversation more thought, and your idea has merit.
The human knows more than he should, even if he doesn’t realize it.
It would be best to eliminate the threat before it has time to grow. ”
“Eliminate how, sir?” I ask, barely able to keep the rage from my voice as a million thoughts scattershot through my brain. Plans and schemes, and how to sneak August off base before he can be found. Images of the trail of bodies I’d leave behind to get him to safety.
“Moving him to Ljómur seems like the most acceptable answer.” Homicidal thoughts screech to a halt as I refocus on the commander. “He could be useful, and if he’s working on the base, the risk of a breach in security disappears.”
“That sounds like a great idea, sir. When would you want to move him?”
“Tomorrow.” That waning panic makes a mad rush back into my system. All those schemes to run off with my mate play like a reel in the forefront of my mind.
“Tomorrow?” I repeat, and my voice has a slight growl I can’t control, but he doesn’t seem to notice.
He nods, still drumming his pen. “First thing. The trip can be made in a day, barring no complications. It’s a prime opportunity for you to search that camp for Ronan.”
Relief makes me dizzy, and I nod as I try to regulate my racing heart. “You want me to deliver him?”
A touch of confusion furrows his brows as he tilts his head at me. “Yes, Elas. You already know about the base, and an officer of your standing has already proven his loyalty.”
“Your confidence in me won’t be wasted, sir.”
He nods again, gesturing outside. “A vehicle is being prepared as we speak. Food and fuel are being loaded for the drive, and once you arrive at Ljómur, they’ll top you off to make the return trip.
Stop at the camp before or after you deliver the human, it makes no difference to me.
If you want to keep him around for a few more days to wet your dick, just don’t lose him.
” He eyeballs me, tapping that incessant pen on the desk.
“One prisoner shouldn’t be too much to handle on your own, I assume? ”
“Not at all, sir. August is na?ve and overly trusting. He won’t be a problem.”
“Alright, then. Pick up your vehicle from the transport yard and spend the day preparing to leave at first light. It’s unlikely, but if you find Ronan, that takes priority. Bring him to me immediately, the human be damned.”
“Is Chief Aeliphis aware?” I ask, and he nods.
“I’ve instructed her to keep it quiet until he’s gone. The staff are trustworthy, of course, but accidents happen, and if word got back to him, he might try to run.”
“Understood, sir.”
“You’re dismissed,” he says, the words sharp and clipped, but he stands as I do, throwing his shoulders back with a silent challenge in his posture. “Don’t make me regret this, Elas.”
“I won’t, sir. You have my full cooperation.
” He dips his head again, and my brain is firing at a million miles an hour as I step into the lobby.
The receptionist gives me a packet of information that includes the location of Ljómur and the camp.
She hands me a ticket to turn in at the transport yard for my vehicle, and I thank her before I leave.
Outside, I allow myself to breathe the sigh of relief that’s been trapped in my lungs ever since the commander said he wanted to eliminate August. My instincts beg me to run and collect him from the clinic now, but I have to be mindful of the eyes on me.
Chief Aeliphis is aware of his transfer and wouldn’t hesitate to complain to Khors.
So, instead of charging in and scooping him up, I head to get my vehicle.
The soldiers at the transport yard take my ticket and lead me to a black SUV. “The supplies Commander Khors requested are inside,” a guard says as she hands me the keys .
An idea springs to mind, and I put on my best serious face as I turn to her. “And the tracker?”
“Sir?” she squeaks, her eyes darting away as she squirms. I have no doubt she’s under strict orders to never discuss the trackers with anyone, rank be damned.
“This is a highly trained fugitive I’m tracking, soldier, and while I’m not scared of him, I’m not careless. If things don’t go as planned, I’d rather not be trapped somewhere with no way to be found. Has the tracker on the vehicle been checked to make sure it’s fully charged and operational?”
“Yes, sir. Of course, sir.”
“You’re positive ?” I demand, and she bites her lip and glances towards the SUV.
“Let me just…” She trails off and darts into the small office building before returning with a handheld machine. I pop a brow impatiently as she glances at me again, and she hurries over and opens the door to the gas tank.
Bingo.
She pulls a magnetic device from the door, no more than an inch in diameter, and pops it on top of the machine in her hand. After a few moments, there’s a quiet beep. “Charged and operational, sir.”
“Thank you for verifying,” I say as she replaces the tracker. “If I need anything further, I’ll be sure to let you know.” She bobs in another nervous nod before walking back to the office, and I lift the back hatch to check the supplies.
Three containers of fuel are bound to one side of the trunk, with a few folded blankets beside them.
A bag of shelf-stable foods sits in the backseat—mostly MREs with a few packs of jerky, nuts, and dried fruits, while a five-gallon container of potable water rests in the floorboard.
Any supplies we need to travel are here.
Once we collect our clothing and toiletries, we can hit the road.
A sharp realization hits me in that moment. My existence and everything important to me can be crammed into a bag in a few spare minutes.
My life has never been my own.
Almost a century of service, stripping away vital pieces of my identity to fit into this box they shoved me in all those years ago.
I never did push through those bars, did I?
All these years have passed, but I’m still stuck in the same place from a lifetime ago. Broken and terrified, sitting in the dark and waiting for someone to rescue me.
No more.
As I climb into the driver’s seat and crank the engine, a new sense of purpose maps a path in front of me. We’ll leave in the morning.
And we’ll never come back.