Warrior, Opposed: Book One Of The Comhairle Chronicles

Chapter Seventeen - Time Is Running Out

Tor had armed up and taken an impatient sentry post, waiting by the door of the subterranean car park, long before Corvinus and Aodh's teams joined him. Tancred joined them too, unwilling to delegate a rescue mission when he felt responsible for Deòthas's fate. They made a proficient taskforce, but Tor remained tense, restless, pacing back and forth across the corridor as the others trooped down the stairs, each of them grim-faced.

It had been a bombshell to learn that someone once counted amongst them had become the very same enemy most capable of destroying the Council. Just as it had been a shock for them to learn Deòthas's truth; that a woman they'd always treated as an outsider had more bhampair in her than anyone had guessed.

"We need to move fast."

A cold, chiding edge hardened Tor's voice. Didn't his fellow ghaisgich understand the urgency? They needed to leave, to find Deòthas before the Manipulator destroyed her. Before Cailean destroyed her.

Tancred frowned in response, his charcoal gaze assessing. The chief had every right to answer with reproach, but instead he offered up understanding. "We will find her. I promise you. We will get her back."

It wasn't a promise the chief could guarantee, through no fault of his own. Only the gods knew what they were about to walk into, but Tor had to believe him. The alternative would be more than he could bear. If Deòthas died...

That thought failed as another wave of agony tore through his gut; pain that came not from any injury he'd sustained, but from the torture Cailean subjected his mate to. He roared, a tortured sound as he slammed the flat of his hand into the wall, either to vent his frustration or to distract himself from the agony radiating through his midriff, even he wasn't sure which. His other arm folded protectively over his stomach, an automatic reaction to the pain.

Resting his forehead against the wall, Tor forced his lungs to expand. Even that felt torturous. Grief, fear, and a pain that came from knowing his mate suffered, all banded together to steal his breath, and a ball of dread lodged in his throat, choking him.

"I'd ask you to stay here, but I know you won't consider that an option."

Tancred sounded concerned, as anxious about Tor's safety as he was about Deòthas's. Perhaps the chief thought he posed a liability while sharing Deòthas's torture. That didn't matter, though, and they both knew it. He would never concede to remaining behind.

Tanc didn't make the suggestion again as he opened the door to the carpark and added, "Let's get this done, people."

Tor followed the chief, with Corvinus and his team following, and Aodh's team bringing up the rear. Corvinus's brows had drawn into a deep frown, a strange mix of determination, self-reproach, and trepidation playing over his features. The captain had a lot to lose too, and Tor imagined he'd resent himself for the rest of his life if he lost the opportunity to make things right with his only child. The Comhairle as a whole had a lot to make up for, at least as far as Deòthas was concerned. But before they worried about that, they needed to bring her home.

As the assembled ghaisgich climbed into their Range Rovers, Tancred indicated for Tor to ride with him. He followed the chief in silence, depositing his maul and sword on the back seat, then sliding into the vehicle to ride shotgun. Neither man spoke as they led the convoy of four by fours out of the compound and headed for Belsay, because nothing remained to be said. They would attack. They would destroy any marionettes, and hopefully Cailean too, and they would retrieve Deòthas. Their plan was simple; so much so it could barely be considered a plan at all, but plotting anything more elaborate would've wasted precious time.

Mo ghaol, we're leaving the castle now. Hold on, alright? Hold on for me, Deòthas.

His mind reached out for his mate's and he knew she would hear him. She would always hear him, but he still sighed with relief when she answered. She still lived, and that was the only thought keeping him sane.