Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 107209 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 536(@200wpm)___ 429(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107209 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 536(@200wpm)___ 429(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
Hope, unbothered, peeled open a candy bar and took a bite. “Yep. That’s how they are. Makes you feel all the responsibility, doesn’t it?”
“Yes.” Lyrica’s voice rose. “Exactly. I didn’t think I’d feel like this. I mean, I’m glad he can protect me—I’ve never felt safer—but now I feel like it’s my job to make sure he doesn’t have to.”
“Exactly,” Hope said with a knowing nod. “It’s a partnership. You make his life easier; he does the same for you.”
Lyrica sat back, her tea forgotten. “I don’t want to get anyone killed.”
Hope tilted her head, her smile sly. “You love him.”
“Shut up,” Lyrica muttered, her cheeks heating. “When are you coming home?”
The screen fell silent as both women paused. Lyrica hadn’t missed the way Hope’s brows arched at her choice of words. Coming home. To the Kurjan nation. The realization tightened something in her chest.
Hope, gracious as always, didn’t call her on it. “Tomorrow morning in time for the Convexus. Can’t wait to see you.”
But half the Kurjan nation had fallen ill. So far. How could they hide that from the Cyst soldiers? Lyrica’s head began to ache.
Hope leaned closer to the camera. “Forget about the violence for a minute.”
“Gladly,” Lyrica replied, her shoulders sagging.
“How’s the sex?” Hope asked, her grin impish.
* * * *
Vero was on the third hour of torturing the prisoner for information. The bastard wasn’t giving anything up easily. He knew he was going to die today, but Vero intended to make him beg for it first. Blood dripped from the edge of his blade, pooling on the cold floor, and Vero decided to take a break. Sometimes mental torture worked better than physical.
Vero exited the room and glanced down at his blood-soaked clothes. He paused on the steps, still feeling the dull ache in his cheekbone. He’d heal, but the residual pain annoyed him. Jogging outside, he stopped abruptly, noticing the eerie stillness that had settled over the camp.
He stomped inside the main lodge, only to pause when a few females shrieked. He glanced down at his gore-covered shirt and jeans and tried for casual. “I skinned a deer.”
Lyrica’s sharp gaze locked on him. “Are you all right?”
“Yes.” He scanned the room, his eyes landing on the assembled human females, who stared at him as though he’d just stepped out of a horror movie. “Does everyone here feel okay?”
“Not really,” a blonde offered, her voice shaky. He vaguely remembered her name—Sandy? Mandy? “You look like death,” she added.
He felt like death.
Lyrica gulped. “We’re all feeling fine, but the doctor wants to see you.”
“I’ll be right back.” He strode toward the stairs and took them three at a time
Upstairs, he scrubbed the blood from his skin in a hot shower, his movements brisk and efficient. Once clean, he threw on fresh clothes and headed back down, his gaze immediately catching Lukas leaning heavily against the far wall next to a sitting down and pale Silas.
“Lukas,” Vero called sharply.
The younger male blinked slowly. “I promised I wouldn’t leave. I haven’t left.” His knees buckled.
“Lukas,” Lyrica yelled as the kid’s eyes rolled back in his head.
Vero surged forward, catching Lukas before he hit the ground. Throwing the unconscious soldier over his shoulder, he looked down at Silas. “How bad are you?”
“Not great.” Silas pushed to his feet, swaying, his face grave. “Most of the soldiers are down, but I’m armed and can shoot. I’ll protect the females. Just get me backup when you can.”
“I’ll be back,” Vero said. His gaze lingered on Lyrica until she nodded, and then he strode outside into the frigid air. Soldiers lined the area, most of them slumped on the ground or huddled over the snow, their faces pale and sickly. A few were violently retching onto the ice, the sound grating on Vero’s already frayed nerves.
He shoved open the door to the medical facility, his jaw tight as he placed Lukas on one of the beds. “Do we know anything?”
The doctor crouched to check the pulse of an unconscious soldier. His lab coat flapped as he stood, his lined face creased with worry. “No.” Fizzlewick threw up his hands, exasperation sharp in his voice. “Everyone’s sick. The barracks are a disaster zone—vomit, diarrhea, you name it. People are stuck in their cabins.”
“You’re taking note of what everyone has eaten?”
“Yes, and so far, no common denominator. We have so many schedules, and some are too sick to speak.” Fizzlewick’s movements were quick as he checked Lukas’s pulse and examined his pupils. “I talked to the chef. He’s sicker than anyone.”
“So it’s the food?” Vero pressed.
Fizzlewick looked around at the line of groaning soldiers. “How? You’re fine. I’m fine. The females are fine. That’s the key. Why are the females just fine? They’ve eaten the same food. At least a couple of them should be ill.”