Warrior, Renewed: Book Two of the Comhairle Chronicles

Chapter Twenty: The Price

They parked down the street from the industrial unit and made their way on foot from there; four silent shadows clad in black. They all wore hooded tops under their jackets, and Deòthas had already tugged her hood up to conceal her white-blonde hair and cast her face in shadow. The others followed her example as they crept closer to their destination, determined not to draw attention until the last possible moment. Their bhampair talent for stealth made them little more than shadows in the darkness of night; armed shadows moving in for the kill, provided the hijackers hadn’t fled already.

Gods, if they’ve killed and run...

Tancred glanced up at the stars overhead, casting a prayer towards the heavens, asking the gods to protect the children and to ensure this trap wouldn’t break all of their necks when it inevitably sprang. He, like Eallair, felt sure a trap had been set, but he had no choice but to respond. Not when the threat targeted children. His conscience would accept nothing less than action. He only regretted that he’d dragged the Comhairle’s two newest ghaisgich into the snare with him. They didn’t deserve it. Nor did Deòthas.

“You didn’t ‘drag’ us anywhere. We came of our own volition. We knew what we were getting into when we took the trials and this is why we’re here.”

Eallair's ability to read his mind might yet prove inconvenient.

“Or it could be invaluable, depending how you look at it,” his mate retorted. “If you used your words more, then I wouldn’t need to make decisions based on what’s going on in your head.”

“I’ve ‘used my words’ more with you than with anyone else in my life.”

“Yet you still decided to come here alone, and if I hadn’t overheard the plan in your head, you would’ve done so.”

Tanc couldn’t argue with that, yet he regretted the next words to spill from his mouth even as they escaped. “Bit like someone slipping out of bed and throwing himself into Tallamarbh without telling his mate.”

“That was fucking different and you know it,” Eallair growled, sounding unusually irritable.

From what Tor had told him, Eallair wasn’t usually bad tempered, but he’d had some moments in the last week. Not surprising with everything that had happened, but Tanc didn’t enjoy adding to the strain. He didn’t want to become something his mate might resent.

“I know. Can we talk about it when we get home? We all need our head in the game,” he pointed out, because going into a potential combat situation distracted never ended well.

Eallair gave a non-committal shrug. “Sure. Whatever.”

Tor’s brow pinched at the blasé retort, shaking his head at his brother. “Focus but don’t shut down, alright, bro?”

Eallair gave a sharp nod of his head. “Sure.”

Maybe worrying about his mam had soured his mood, or maybe it was his concern about Tanc himself, or anxiety about fighting without sight. All those worries rattled around in Eallair’s head, where Tanc could hear them, but he couldn’t make any of it right, so he focussed on edging towards the wire fence that marked the perimeter of the industrial unit’s grounds.

He stuck to the shadows, using bhampair stealth to avoid drawing unwanted attention to himself, trusting the others to do the same. Under the shelter of a tree, partly obscured by a large rose bush, he lifted his hand in a militaryesque hand signal to stop, knowing even Eallair would see the command. The others paused behind him as he studied the minibus in the centre of the carpark. He could see the shapes of children inside it, but none of them moved, either too scared to do so or no longer able to. He didn’t want to think about what that meant, yet he couldn’t avoid asking the question.