“It is.” I pulled my hands free from his, but the warmth of his touch seemed to linger as I stepped back. “But there’s at least fifty vampires between this point and those labs.”
He grimaced. “That is not so good.”
“No.” I glanced at the sky. Given the position of the sun, it was already well after two in the afternoon. And it was going to take us several hours, at least, to get back to Central. “You’re not going to have the time to do anything this afternoon, anyway.”
“No. Nuri’s ordered us back to Chaos, anyway. She’s gathering reinforcements and equipment for a raid tomorrow morning.”
“As I’ve already said, I’m not taking part in that raid.”
“Because you’re not a soldier?” He snorted and shook his head. “I’ve seen you fight, so forgive me for not believing that. I doubt there’s many a trained soldier as good as you.”
That’s because I had been trained to fight—it just wasn’t my primary purpose. But I couldn’t exactly admit that. “Just because I’ve grown adept at fighting vampires doesn’t mean I’ve had any meaningful training.”
“Agreed, but it’s vampires and ghosts we face here, and you’re very good against one, and can sense—if not reason with—the other. Both of those skill sets are bonuses on this sort of mission.”
“I’m not coming back here with you, Jonas—end of story.”
“I could leave you here.”
“You could, but even then you can’t force me inside. Not if you want to avoid alerting the vampires.” I hesitated, then added, “Besides, I need to keep close to Sal, given there’s a damn good chance he’s involved in all this.”
Jonas didn’t immediately comment, and his expression, as usual, gave little away. I had an odd feeling he was once again conversing with Nuri—and that meant their connection was very strong indeed. Telepathy usually had distance limits, which was why, during the war, lures had been assigned “monitors” who relayed the information back to base. Eventually he said, “That is a logical step, I suppose.”
“You don’t know how glad I am that you and Nuri agree with me,” I said, rather sarcastically.
Amusement flirted with his lips, and it briefly lifted the unforgiving shadows that seemed so prevalent in his bright eyes. It made me wish, once again, that he’d smile for real, and more often.
But maybe it was a good thing he didn’t. I was attracted enough to the damn man now, despite the layers of distrust he aimed my way. I didn’t need the ice between us melting, not in any way, shape, or form.
“Given we plan a raid tomorrow, it ultimately makes sense we keep an eye on the players. Or at least the one we’re aware of at this point.” He spun his heels and headed for the end of the building.
“Which is why I asked the little ones to keep an eye on him today,” I said, following him. “They’ll report back to me at dusk.”
“Good idea,” he said, “but why not keep them on him twenty-four/seven?”
“Because while they may be ghosts, they aren’t adults. Bear was right on puberty at death, and Cat was only seven. Ghosts don’t grow and they don’t age, they just remain as they were when they died. I don’t know how shifters bring up children, but I don’t let my little ones roam around after dark, especially given the vampires’ recent attacks on our home.”
“Neither do we.” He paused at the edge of the building and glanced at me. “Do you need a hand down?”
I shook my head, turned around, and—ignoring the butte
rflies taking flight in my stomach—slowly lowered myself over the edge. Once I was at full arm stretch, I let go and dropped the rest of the way, landing lightly. Jonas just leapt down, his fingers barely brushing the soil as he quickly balanced and moved on.
“But,” he added, “your little ones are ghosts. There’s not much that can hurt them.”
“Maybe, but they are still little, even if Bear likes to think himself more of an adult than barely a teenager. And like all kids, they get scared.”
“It’s hard to imagine ghosts capable of emotions and fear,” he said, “especially when those ghosts were déchet.”
“Then maybe déchet aren’t what the rumors and fairy tales would have you believe.”
He snorted. “Oh, they are, and that’s coming from experience rather than reading material.”
“Meaning you were in the war? You may look a little battered around the edges, shifter, but I doubt you’re that old.”
“My father was in the war, as was my uncle, and both encountered déchet more than a few times. It scarred them more than just physically.”
There was a note in his voice—a hint of ice and utter hate—that sent chills across my skin. If he ever confirmed his suspicion that Penny was right, that I was déchet . . . I shivered and thrust the thought away. He wouldn’t find out.