Devil and the Deep (The Ceruleans Book 4) - Julie Ann Walker Page 0,44

the soldiers’ barracks. They wouldn’t make very good hidin’ spots. We can probably skip them.”

She took a breath from her long, impressive list. Obviously, she hadn’t been kidding when she said she’d done her due diligence before coming here.

“Honestly,” she continued, “if it were me wantin’ to find a defensible position where I could corral two teenagers, I’d choose that far north casemate. From there you can see across the parade grounds to the bridge and anyone enterin’ the fort. It’s protected on three sides by thick walls, which means the only worry is the openin’.”

“Get a load of General fuckin’ Patton here.” There was a fair bit of respect in Mason’s tone. “Now are you glad we brought her along?”

Bran opened his mouth to say, Hell no! But before he could, Maddy whispered, “Let me check one more thing.” She darted her head around the corner again. But this time, she didn’t immediately pull back. Instead, she went stock-still.

Bran chanced taking his eyes off his sights and the arched holes of the dark casemates to dart her a quick glance. “What is it,” he demanded, maybe a little too loudly. All the hairs on his body were waving around like semaphore flags, warning him of impending danger. “What’d’ya see?”

Now Maddy jerked back, flattening herself against the bricks. “The men.” Bran’s ears caught the panic in her voice. And when she turned to him, her eyes were wide and unblinking. “They’re crossin’ the parade grounds and headed our way.” She lifted trembling fingers to her lips. “Alone! What did they do with the girls?”

* * *

8:13 p.m.…

“Get inside the magazine house.” Bran barked the order and it was a verbal slap. Then there was the heat in his eyes. It was enough to set Maddy’s soul ablaze.

Death and destruction. She’d been trying to find the right words to describe that particular look that sometimes came over his face, and it suddenly occurred to her. He was death and destruction personified.

Oh no. No, no, no…

“You can’t kill them,” she whispered desperately. The way he moved closer to the corner of the gunpowder magazine house told her he wasn’t paying her a lick of attention. “Bran,” she whispered, grabbing his forearm. “You can’t kill them.”

“No?” He lifted his weapon. It effectively jerked his arm from her grasp. “Watch me.”

“Not until we know what they did with the girls,” she pleaded. It was a tiny island, but there were lots of places to squirrel away two teenagers—or hide their bodies. No. No, don’t even think about that! They’re not dead. They can’t be dead! “Bran, listen to me. We need to—”

“I won’t ask you again, Maddy.” He briefly met her eyes, and she found herself backing away from him. She wasn’t sure why. Bran would never hurt her. But in that moment, instinct took over. Like a gazelle darting away from a recently fed lion, there was no real danger, but the urge to flee was there nonetheless.

He narrowed his eyes. In the dim light, she thought she saw a strange emotion flicker across his face. He almost looked…anguished. But then his expression changed, morphing back into that whole death-and-destruction. “Get in the magazine house. Now!” he hissed.

He didn’t wait for her to comply. He grabbed her arm and dragged her toward the open doorway, shoving her inside—not cruelly, but not very gently either. For the first time in her life, she understood how the term manhandling came about. He was a man. And he was definitely handling her.

“But if it’s me they want,” she insisted, “I could offer myself up, and then maybe they’ll tell us where—”

“Stay.” He pointed a long, blunt finger so close to her nose that she went cross-eyed trying to focus on it.

Now, normally Maddy would come back with some wiseass remark along the lines of Hey, bucko! In case the lack of pointed ears didn’t give me away, I’m not a German shepherd. But she was too scared to be her usual sarcastic self. Scared of what had happened to the girls. Scared of what was about to happen to Bran and Mason in the next couple of minutes.

When Bran turned and darted out of the magazine house, there was a part of her that longed to follow him. The part of her that hated, loathed, and utterly despised being reduced to the little woman who sat in the corner painting her toenails. But the other part of her, the far smaller yet far wiser part of