if you get in trouble? Every battle plan goes off the rails once a battle is joined. Not even Arthur is immune to the fog of war.”
“Yes. And chances are this one will go sideways too.” Just for moment he saw a flash of fear in those pretty eyes. “But I’ll deal with it. My job is to lure that fucker into our trap. Your job is to be the trap.” And she explained what she had in mind.
Ulf nodded, studying her face as she spoke, reading it with his years of experience at leading fighters into combat. When she finished explaining, he paused, wrestling with his instincts. He ached to tell her he’d take care of the scout himself while she hung back with the pike. Trouble was, he was far more vulnerable to the scout’s magic than she was. And as she’d explained, she made better bait.
“Yeah, I can see how that would work.” But fuck, you’re taking a risk. Because no matter how much training Gaia had given her, the closest Cheryl herself had ever been to a real fight was beating the hell out of a drunk with a carpet sweeper. Practice bouts, even with simulated monsters, just weren’t the same.
He kept his mouth shut about all of that. Revealing your doubts was the worst thing you could do to any green warrior. Like it or not, Cheryl was going to have to fight the same creature that had killed Gaia. And Ulf had to stand back and let her do it while he waited to play his part.
“Ulf, believe in me. Please.” The scales rolled back from her head, leaving her face bare again. He felt his own do the same, probably responding to her will. This time those hazel eyes showed no sign of Gaian sparks as Cheryl rose on her toes and tugged him down for a kiss.
He kissed her back, hooking his free arm around her to drag her closer. The contact made his skin sting beneath his armor, reacting to the crackle of her alien magic. He ignored the pain, concentrating on pouring confidence into her mouth through that kiss. When he finally lifted his head, he told her quietly, “I do believe in you, Cheryl. You will beat the scout -- and I will not fail you. Not this time. I swear it on my honor.”
“And I believe in you.” He glimpsed a sheen of tears in her eyes before she drew her shoulders back. “I love you.” Despite the tears, her voice sounded steady, sure. Confident, or at least faking it well.
“And I love you. I have since the night we met, and I always will.”
She flashed him a wicked grin. “When this is over, I’m going to fuck your brains out. Arthur Pendragon can kiss the pink part of my ass.”
As he laughed, the scales rolled back over her face. He felt the same effect over his own.
Cheryl turned away and gestured. A fat red spark popped in the air and dilated into a glowing, wavering oval. She shot him a measuring look and trilled an alien phrase. Everything grew distant in that way he’d learned to associate with an invisibility spell. She gestured silently at the gate.
Ulf’s hand tightened on the shaft of the pike as he stepped through the portal, booted feet muffled by the spell. On the other side, he scanned his surroundings, looking for enemies as he stepped aside for Cheryl.
They were in an intensive care unit, judging from floor-to-ceiling glass fronts on all the rooms, designed to allow the staff to keep an eye on critically ill patients. Not a great place to brawl with an alien killer, he thought grimly.
A nursing station stood to the right, where people in scrubs or lab coats monitored equipment and worked on laptops. They didn’t look up -- he was, after all, invisible.
But when Cheryl made her appearance, a woman jumped to her feet. “What the hell?”
He supposed it wasn’t every day someone covered in iridescent feathers waltzed through a hole in the air.
“Take a nap.” Cheryl sketched a shape in the air, and Ulf’s armor burned, reacting to the spell she cast.
Obediently, those at the nursing station slumped across their desks, yielding to the overwhelming need to sleep. Glancing around through the ICU windows, he saw others reeling into chairs or beds, or simply stretching out on the floor. Except for one man standing by the bed of a little boy whose head was swathed