Relic - Jaid Black Page 0,10
were screaming—the very thing she had hoped to avoid. Her nostrils flaring, she rounded the corner to fire, only to see the three soldiers run inside the room they’d been guarding.
“Fuck,” she muttered as she and James ran toward the door. “Don’t let them lock it!”
The commander didn’t like taking the lives of potentially innocent people—hated it in fact. Still, she had a call to make, and it wasn’t as if these men were without guilt. After all, they’d stripped the doctor of his cloak. Judging by how the peasants were treated, medieval knights were about as chivalrous as venereal diseases.
Her mind was made up. At the end of the day, she needed to find that doctor. She sensed he might be the only person who could make sense of any of this for her. And if he knew even the smallest bit of intel about the Xenocann’s likely whereabouts? Octavia realized she’d be saving far more lives than she was currently sacrificing.
It was a morbid, disturbing math equation, but the only one she had to work with.
Lieutenant Bellamy heaved open the heavy door as Commander Benatti mentally divested herself of the last remnants of her humanity. The screaming and shouting continued as she walked through the door, James on her heels, the heavy contraption closing behind them.
Gone was the woman. In her place was the warrior.
Holding up her rifle, she took out all three soldiers with as many bullets. The shots rang louder than she would have wanted, but she supposed she couldn’t have everything go her way. Gazing down the twisting, cement staircase, she breathed a sigh of relief when she saw the doctor barred in a cell at its base. She hadn’t been too late; he was still alive.
Careful with her footing in the dank, windowless, barely lit dungeon, she made her way down the uneven steps and to the cell. She removed the hood of her cloak, causing her hair to cascade down her back. Slowly looking up, her emerald gaze locked with a dark brown one.
She shivered despite her obvious advantage. The mother fucker was gigantic. Stone-faced, damn near naked wearing only dark boots and a black and blue plaid that fell above his knees… and very, very huge. She’d never seen a man that tall who was so heavily muscled. She doubted a single inch of fat could be located on his bronzed body.
Octavia wasn’t here for him though. She tore her gaze from his and peered at the man she sought. “Are you the doctor?”
Chapter Three
‘Twas a wench. A wee little thing that wore a cloak much like the one Doctor had been garbed in afore ‘twas taken from his person. Never in all his years had Angus witnessed the killing of a mon by a woman, much less three armed soldiers. When she gazed up into his eyes, his breathing all but stopped. Never had he seen a wench so beautiful as this deadly one.
Her eyes, a vivid green, stood out against sun-kissed skin. Her nose was small and perfectly formed, her cheekbones high, her lips rosy and lush. She had the look of an avenging angel, not the craggy appearance of a hell-damned witch. But that stick she’d used to kill the soldiers with…
She looked away from him and over to Doctor. For some reason Angus couldn’t name, jealousy lanced through him. He didn’t want her looking at any mon but him. ‘Twas daft, aye, but there it ‘twas.
The wench spoke in a tongue he did not ken. The only word he’d understood was “Doctor.” The healer ambled over to the bars of the cell, causing the laird to hold up his arm and stop him. “Who is she?” he asked the mon whose life he’d saved without looking away from the woman. “What do they want?”
“I-I don’t know,” Doctor stammered. “I’ve never seen them before. Please let me find out.”
Angus briefly hesitated afore inclining his head. Mayhap they were not the they he’d spoken of after all. Still, he didn’t like being in the dark with their foreign words.
“You are the doctor those human collaborators forced through the portal,” Octavia said to the balding man. “Are you a collaborator too?”
“What? No!” he said with genuine indignity. She noted that his accent was distinctly Scottish. “I was a prisoner at the Glasgow camp.”
She had surmised as much by the prison outfit he wore identical to hers and James’. Tight black breeches and a tight sleeveless black t-shirt—likely made that way to