Devil and the Deep (The Ceruleans Book 4) - Julie Ann Walker Page 0,43

Bran weren’t alone and that they still had a very important job to do.

The girls…

Holy shit! How could she have forgotten for even a moment? But she knew. It was six-plus feet of tough-as-nails hotness that started with a B and ended with a ran. Whenever she was in his arms, she forgot she even had a name.

Chapter 11

8:10 p.m.…

Regrets were like chickens. They always came home to roost. And right now, Bran’s chicken coop was full.

Hiding behind the old gunpowder magazine house inside the parade grounds in the center of the fort, he regretted not making it clear to Maddy weeks ago that he wasn’t the kind of guy she should set her cap on. He regretted letting her think there was more to their relationship than there was or ever could be. And he regretted that he was continuing to foster that belief, that hope, every damn time she got near him. Because despite his best intentions, he just couldn’t keep his stupid hands to himself.

One look from her pretty eyes, one touch of her soft hands, one taste of her sweet lips, and he was a goner. Just done. Finito. He forgot all the reasons why he shouldn’t be with her, all the reasons why he couldn’t be with her, because the monster inside him took over. And it had only three goals: claim, conquer, consummate.

“We better find those girls fast,” Mason murmured, interrupting Bran’s pity party. Which was just as well. It wasn’t like Bran was having a good time there anyway. “Or Bran and I are going to run out of clothes.”

Bran was aiming his weapon at the interior of the curtain wall behind them. The fort was basically a hexagonal-shaped, two-tiered wall that surrounded a patch of land called the parade grounds. The latter had been the site of the soldiers’ and officers’ quarters and a few other small buildings. From the outside, the fort looked like a two-story brick wall dotted by small embrasures. But from the inside, you could see the curtain wall was actually made up of a double tier of arched rooms called casemates.

So many places to hide behind and fire from, Bran thought, giving the line of casemates a slow, deliberate scan through his scope. A battlefield survey, it was called. A move used when everything was important, every nuance and shadow of grave concern because everything could be either threat or salvation.

The operator in him didn’t like his position, exposed on one side to all those yawning casemates. Especially since his backup was busy whipping his gray T-shirt over his head and handing it to Maddy, momentarily unable to help him keep watch.

“Sorry,” Maddy whispered. “I think I lost Bran’s tank top somewhere in the cistern.” She hooked the neck hole of Mason’s wet T-shirt over her head, effectively covering her hair.

“So what are we looking at when we step out from behind this gunpowder magazine?” Mason whispered, quickly rearming himself.

“Let me just take a quick gander and get my bearin’s,” she said, darting a fast look around the edge of the building before ducking back and flattening herself against the cool brick wall. The light of the moon and stars, when paired with the soft glow of the spotlights outside, was enough to make everything visible if not perfectly clear.

And bringing her along. That was another of his regrets. Because she shouldn’t be turkey-peeking around corners in an attempt to guess where armed men might be hiding. She shouldn’t be smack-dab in the middle of a situation that could very easily go pear-shaped. She shouldn’t be seconds away from potentially finding herself staring down the wrong end of a gun.

Even though she’s probably used to it by now.

And that was another thing. Was it just him? Or did trouble seem to follow her around like a yappy little lapdog?

“So,” she whispered, unaware of his thoughts, “to our left is the cistern. We know the girls aren’t there, so no use checkin’. Directly in front of us will be the little house they used as the officers’ quarters. That’s a possibility. But there are a lot of windows and doors, which I would think means it’d be hard to defend. It wouldn’t be my first choice of hideouts. Across the parade grounds is another gunpowder magazine house. We’ll probably need to scout that. It’ll be tricky, though. It has that weird openin’ I was tellin’ y’all about. To the left of the magazine house are the ruins of