planned to go back. To do her duty. Maybe he should just leave her there.
But part of him knew he was being unfair. She’d changed beyond belief, even in a few days. She had grown. Started to question everything about her world. She would no longer walk in blindly and do her “duty.”
She’d given herself up to save him. And he hadn’t even had the guts to tell her he cared. And now, he had a really bad feeling that he wasn’t going to get the chance. And what would he say anyway?
He was suddenly filled with a sense of urgency. He had to go get her. He tried to get up, pushing through the pain and rising on his elbows. But the strength went out of him and he collapsed back on the bed. His brain was filling with mist, clouding, going dark.
When he opened his eyes again, he had no idea how much time had passed. Except he felt better, so probably a considerable amount.
He glanced at the empty glass on the table, then rolled his head to the side and found Dylan standing over him. A slow growl trickled from Milo’s mouth. “You fucking drugged me.”
“Admit it,” Dylan said. “If I hadn’t drugged you, you would have tried to go after her, and now you would be dead.”
He couldn’t deny it—that had been his plan. So he kept quiet.
“And then you know what,” Dylan said, “I would be dead. And not only that, but the rest of my pack as well. Because that’s what your Uncle Rico told me when we headed off on this little adventure together. Bring you back alive, or we all pay the price.”
Milo’s gaze flicked from Dylan to the man behind him. Rico shrugged. “What can I say? I promised your mother.” Rico pulled something from his boot and handed it to Milo. “Here. You look like shit. Maybe this will help.”
Milo took the wand and felt the strength and power flow through him. He closed his eyes and channeled that power through his blood, along his nerves, felt the bones knit together and the pain recede.
He opened his eyes, everything looked clearer.
Pushing himself up, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat for a moment taking stock. “I’m hungry.”
“I brought food from the shuttle,” Dylan said, handing him a bag.
He opened it, pulled out a bread roll, and bit into it. His brain was sharper now, and he searched his mind for the best way forward.
He was guessing that if Destiny was back in the cells beneath Camelot, then this time she would be well guarded. There were only three of them. Kinross had an army. But he figured the three of them were an even match for an army if they played it right. He just wasn’t sure the others would agree.
How far could he rely on Rico for help?
The vampire had come for him. He could have just left them to their fate. But while Rico was ruthless, he rewarded loyalty. And deep down he had always known that Rico cared. Yes, he had taken him on from a sense of responsibility. He had totally failed his wife, hadn’t even been there when the Inquisition had come for her. She had already been dead by the time he had returned. Reduced to nothing but ashes. So he’d taken Milo, his wife’s sister’s child, from a sense of guilt.
But he’d come to care. Even when he’d handed Milo over to his father, it had been because he could see no other way forward. Milo would have destroyed himself and probably everyone around him. Milo hadn’t seen it like that at the time, but now with a few centuries’ hindsight he could understand that it had been the only route to take. Without those years training with his father, he likely wouldn’t have survived.
Rico cared for him. Milo needed to play on that. Because the vampire felt nothing for Destiny.
Somehow Milo had to make him believe that saving Destiny was the only option. He could go down the “I care for her” route. Or he could go on the offensive. He’d try the latter first.
“This is all your fucking fault,” he said, glaring at Rico.
Rico raised a brow. “And how do you work that out?”
“You suggested we nuke the whole planet.”
“So.” He gave a casual shrug. “It’s a perfectly valid solution to the problem.”
“Only if you’re an asshole. Destiny grew up believing it was her destiny to