The General's Daughter (Snow and Ash #1) (17 page)

My eyes bug. “I thought you were a ho.”

His eyes shift away. “Let’s not, yeah, not in front of my girlfriend.”

But Gwen just laughs. “All the V-Sec guys are hos. But he’s all right.”

“Sgt. Garrett—”

“Call me Sean. Now that I’m not your bodyguard anymore, I mean.”

“Can I talk to you for a sec?” I look at Gwen like
I’m not trying to steal your boyfriend.

She flicks a glance from me to him and takes a step back. “I’m going to the lady’s room.”

I turn to my guards. “Go to the bathroom. Take your time.”

They have no choice but to obey.

I drop the smile as soon as they’re out of earshot. “Did you kill him?”

He purses his lips. “I don’t know who you mean.”

“Don’t give me that shit,” I snarl. “Is Talon alive, or did you kill him?”

Something flickers in his eyes. He looks around as though checking to see if anyone’s close. “When he left here, he was alive.”

“You let him go?”

He nods.

“Thank you.” My chest constricts, and my throat closes up. “Thank you.”

He narrows his eyes at me. He looks very military. “You can’t tell anyone.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

He relaxes.

“I’m sorry, by the way. For—when you had to be my bodyguard and all those stupid rules. I hated every living second of my life. I’m sorry you almost got killed because of me.”

He gives a short laugh. “The price you pay to live in Bluefield.”

“It is a good place.” I bite my lip. “I’m safe here, I guess.”

He eyes me sideways. “Do I hear a
but
?”

“I don’t know.” I shrug. I glance at the door like just beyond it there’s someplace better.

He clears his throat. “You know, I’m not telling you this, okay? We did not have this conversation. But there’s some people who’d like to find that place. Tintagel.”

“Erin and Andy.” Right.

He raises his brows as though he’s surprised I knew that. “Talon mentioned it too as he was leaving.”

My heart goes into fluttery overdrive, which is stupid because I don’t even know if the place exists. No one does. Here in Bluefield, I’m safe. Unless another army comes marching and overruns the place, I figure we have it made.

I just miss being touched. I miss the way Talon’s eyes go all dark when he’s feeling something really deep. I love that code of his that made him abandon his future so that I could have one. I love that he risked everything, even his life, so that I could keep mine. I love the way that he held my hand. Staying in Bluefield is the smart thing to do. Really. I mean, we have doctors, for goodness’ sake.

“I wonder if anyone will ever find it,” I muse.

He shrugs, and I question whether I’ve gone too far.

“One of the renegades Talon killed used to be a college professor. He had a theory that Tintagel is like this Middle Eastern city built thousands of years ago. That one was carved into rock, all underground. An entire city built inside a mountain. Maybe that’s why they call this one Tintagel.”

He shakes his head like he doesn’t get my reasoning.

“Tintagel. King Arthur’s castle. It means village on a mountain. Or in this case, under. I don’t know.”

“Hunh.” He takes a drink out of his cup. Beer, it smells like.

“What happened to me out there was intense. When Dad didn’t come, General Barry wanted them to deliver my head to Bluefield. Without me attached.”

“Fuck!”

“Talon. I guess he felt like he had to save me. I shouldn’t even be thinking about him. He’s probably so glad I’m off his hands he could sing opera.”

He snorts. “Not likely.”

I stiffen. I practically tingle. “Oh?”

“That guy would have done anything for you. The way he acted? That guy had it bad.”

I barely suppress my excitement. “You think?”

He cocks his head, says nothing.

I’m absolutely springy. This changes everything. I think.

“If you hear, confidentially”—I glare at him—“that anyone’s figured out what mountain, you let me know. If you can’t get word to me, tell Dr. Avanti.”

His eyes narrow at the mention of the doctor. “Why Dr. Avanti?”

No way am I going to rat her out. “I go there for my checkups. No guards in the room. You know.”

“I know.” His expression is carefully blank.

What does that mean?

Five days later I’m waiting for Dr. Avanti. A messenger came this morning asking if I could move my appointment up three days. Of course I said yes.

I’m trying not to read too much into this. I’m sitting on the edge of an examination table wearing a threadbare robe-like garment. Hospital attire sucks. But not half as much as worrying. This might just be about rechecking my wound.

Or it might not.

A nurse comes in and takes my vitals. “Dr. Avanti is running a few minutes late,” she tells me.

I remember the days of iPhones. I remember scorning months-old magazines. There’s nothing in here but a duct-tape-patched examination table and plenty of room to swing my feet.

I’m ready to get up and see if they forgot me when the doctor hurries into the room.

“How are you feeling?” she asks.

She barely gives me time to say “fine” before she’s lifting the back of my robe and probing the wound.

“Any fevers?”

“No.”

“Notice any redness or swelling around the wound?”

“No.”

“Have you experienced internal pain in that area?”

“No.”

She knocks on my back. It’s tender at the wound site, but it doesn’t hurt.

“No trouble going to the bathroom?”

“None.”

She drops the gown and takes down some notes.

“Ever heard of a place called Tintagel?” she asks. She doesn’t even look up.

I all but fall off the table. “Yes.”

“Someone thinks you might be interested in finding it.”

“Someone might be correct.”

She turns to me. “This place isn’t perfect, but it’s as safe as you’re going to find. Do you understand?”

“I do. Believe me, I do.”

“But you’re in love.”

“How do you— I don’t—”

“Let’s just say you were a little sticky when you got here.” She raises her eyebrows.

Oh. My. God. My face burns.

“You’re not pregnant, by the way. Just in case you were wondering.”

I close my eyes and practically fold in half. Thank God.

“You really should be a little more careful. It’s not the same world it was when I was your age.”

I wince. “I know. I thought I was going to die and it wouldn’t matter.”

She reaches into her pocket and withdraws a folded piece of paper. She hesitates, then hands it over to me. “This is for you. From a friend. I know nothing about it.”

“And I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I reach over to my pile of clothes and tuck it into the pocket of my jeans.

“Well,” she says, turning to go, “I guess we’re done here.”

She saved my life, snuck me top-secret information, and helped Garrett get word to me. I really should return the favor. “One more thing.”

She looks back, eyebrows raised.

“You’ve really saved my butt, so I’m going to give you a little advice.”

She smiles like there’s nothing a girl my age can tell her that she doesn’t already know.

“Dad’s looking for a wife. Someone smart, important to the future of the community, well respected, and of childbearing years.”

Her lips part, and her eyes round in shock.

“He’s considering you. Some other women too. My advice—he’s a coldhearted bastard.”

I tell her the story about Misty and Joanna. I tell her about Mom, about my friend Vaughn. By the time I’m done, she’s pale.

“He had me under his thumb from that moment on. I had no control over anything—not even what I wore to bed. I couldn’t go anywhere he didn’t approve first, and his people reported back to him every movement I made. If I did something inappropriate like help a girl out and give her some warm clothes, I got the belt.”

Her expression is grim. She fiddles with her clipboard, then lets it fall to her side.

“Do whatever you want,” I tell her. “I just thought you should have all the facts first.”

She takes a deep breath through her nose and nods. “Thank you, Ilsa.”

“No.” I shake my head. “Thank you.”

I’m not pregnant.
ThankGodthankGodthankGodthankGod!
No way in hell am I prepared to have a baby. I’m not even sure what end is worse—the one that pukes or the one that poops. But now I have a choice.

I throw on my clothes as fast as I can and then yank out Garrett’s note.

Party of Seven at King Arthur’s table, back of Tom’s. Room for an 8th. Two a.m. Tonight.
 

I can count on cannibals and gangs, a wasteland void of crops and game, temperatures that fall below zero every night, and blizzards that descend without warning. There is only a slim possibility of finding Talon. But I’m going to try.

A thickset guy with a crew cut takes one look at me and scowls. “No fucking way!”

An older guy—twenty-five, maybe?—rolls his eyes and turns on Garrett. “Come on, man. They’ll send an entire column of soldiers after us.”

I clutch a sack of potatoes to my chest, feeling both foolish for showing up and ashamed that I didn’t think how the others would feel. In fact, I think I might cry.

“Shut your pie hole,” Gwen says to no one in particular. “You have no idea what the general’s done to her.”

“I don’t give a shit,” says the older guy. “Our chances of getting anywhere with her along are pretty much zero.”

Garrett gets in his face. “I provided the machines. This is my plan. She doesn’t go, you don’t go.”

The guy clasps his head and mutters something I don’t catch.

“It’ll be fine,” says—holy shit—one of my new bodyguards.
 

I gape at him, and he winks back at me.
 
“I’ve got security clearance.
 
How do you think we got in and stole the fuel?”
 

I laugh. “Thank you so much. I brought potatoes.”

It’s a thirty-pound sack, and I’m not supposed to be carrying anything heavy, so I hand them to Garrett.

“You don’t pack light, do you,” he says.

“I read in a book that you can bake them and then stuff them in your pockets. They’ll keep your hands warm, and then when they cool, you can eat them.”

“No way,” says a redheaded girl.

“We don’t have time for this,” says Garrett. “Everyone, stow your stuff and mount up. Ilsa, you’re riding with Lawrence.”

He points to the older guy who a moment ago was bitching up a storm.

Bugger.

Well, I’m not about to turn coward now. I march over and hand him the crossbow I stole from Dad’s office. “Got someplace to put this?”

He accepts the weapon and darts me a surprised look.

“Not many bullets left these days. You can always make arrows.”

He blinks and nods his head.

While he’s stowing the last of our stuff, I adjust my backpack. The heaviest thing in it is a plastic tarp and the fleece I took from my bed. I really only packed what was absolutely necessary.

And believe me, there are extra socks and underwear in there. Toothpaste too.

Lawrence mounts the machine and gives me a hangdog look.

“I took a shower. I promise.” I climb on behind him, and although I really don’t want to, I clasp him about the waist.

I’m a fool to think I’ll ever find Talon out here.

Maps don’t account for roads hidden by snow or towns we have to skirt because folks don’t like strangers. Anytime we see smoke, we steer clear. Garret thinks once we get closer to the Smoky Mountains, there will be signs that civilization is near. He could be right. There is plenty of evidence to prove Bluefield exists, and people find it every day.

Not everyone is admitted, but they find it.

Sometimes I feel like everything I experienced during those infamous two weeks never really happened. The kidnapping, the escape, Talon—it was all so intense, and it feels like it was so long ago. That night I cuddle in the soft blanket and burrito myself with the tarp. I’m warm, and moisture doesn’t get to me, but the loneliness does, and that’s when I reach down into my panties.

I come, but it’s not the same. I squeeze my eyes shut, and silent tears escape. I can’t help it. I miss him.

The next day, snow begins to fall and travel is especially grueling. We’ve used up more than half of the fuel, and Lawrence is getting louder. Grumpier. He grumbles almost nonstop.

“Will you shut it?” He’s bitched at me once too often.