Night In A Waste Land (Hell Theory #2) - Lauren Gilley Page 0,33
I like you.”
“You don’t.” Faint protest, because she could tell that he did, and had known it for a while now.
He said, “I’m sorry about the way things played out today. It made sense to create a net around those two, and slowly close it. I didn’t think that you and Gallo would be the first ones in contact, not with our angles of approach.” He wiped a hand down his face, gaze shifting inward in a moment of reflective regret. “I’m sorry.”
Simple words, and ones she’d felt owed – up ‘til now. Seeing the way his face changed, that flash of doubt and hopelessness, made for a hollow victory. “I engaged with them before ending up downstream with Gallo. I knew what they looked like, and what they were armed with. I should have radioed.”
“Yes, you should.” His face blanked with surprise. “Engaged with them how?”
She gave him a brief run-down of the chain of events.
“That idiot,” he said of Gallo, without malice. “He didn’t sense her behind him?”
“It was raining hard. I didn’t sense them until they were right on top of me.”
He nodded. Studied her for a few beats. Said, “Will you call me an asshole if I say that this is a dangerous job, and sometimes shit happens?”
“It is a dangerous job, and shit does happen.”
“He’ll be a better soldier after this, if he stays. Hardship makes you smarter, and more careful.”
“It does.”
He cocked his head, expression softening. “But that doesn’t mean you should deny yourself basic comfort.”
Back to her again, always back to her; back to wanting to fidget and divert his attention.
“You don’t like it when I’m kind to you,” he observed, and it was her turn to be surprised. “Why?”
Her belly shriveled up around the food she’d eaten. She felt caught-out, arrested in the act of doing something wrong.
She could only be honest. “Because the only person who was ever kind to me went to hell.” She stood, before she could see whatever his face did in response, and left the locker room, flip-flops slapping over the tiles.
“Rose,” he said, once, quietly, behind her, but didn’t offer any greater protest.
SEVEN
The Present
The airfield was outside the city, in the middle of a barren field, surrounded by razor wire fence, and an assortment of ditches, manned bridges, and booby traps. They’d learned that silver and blessed objects could hold off the hell beasts, at least. The angel conduits were harder to keep out, but some of the ditches were lined with Wraith claymores and obsidian spike strips.
The rain was only a mist, and as the plane descended, the scattered, yellow and blue lights of the city lay like sick fireflies in the distance, beneath the press of stacked, black clouds. Rose was tired, hungry, sore from the five-hour flight, and felt a sick lurch when she saw those lights, and thought about going back into the city.
It would be different this time, though; she was going back with Beck in tow.
Or, rather, Beck was towing her.
He’d stood most of the flight. The moment the plane taxied to a halt on the runway, he offered his hand to her, lifted her elegantly and effortlessly to her feet, and they were the first ones down the ramp. She heard Gavin muttering about the fact, but he didn’t dare protest too loudly.
With a soft sound like leather gloves sliding against one another, Beck lifted a wing and cupped it over her head in an umbrella of sorts. She bit her lip against a giddy smile, and when she glanced at him, she got one of his old, small, close-lipped grins, the kind that lit up his eyes – even brighter, now.
She heard a gasp, ahead of them. She squeezed Beck’s hand and turned her attention to the young officer who’d come out to greet them.
He was, in truth, Rose’s age, if not a few years older, but he looked boy-green and unsteady, mouth hanging open, as they approached. He didn’t have wings pinned to his fatigue jacket – not a Knight, then. If he’d seen action, it hadn’t been anything like that of the Gold Company, and he’d certainly never seen a horned, winged man walking toward him.
“Sir Greer,” Rose introduced herself, when they reached him. “From Gold Company. They’re expecting us?”
The boy blinked, shook his head, and refocused. “Yes, ma’am. Sergeant du Lac’s company?”