“For pity’s sake,” Thom muttered. “Knock it off.”
Phelan jerked around to face him. “Did you really just—”
Thom held his ground. “Absolutely. Who else would? We’ve got bigger issues to deal with than your guilt complex right now. Whether any of this is your fault or not doesn’t matter. What matters is that we damned well live through it. Right? Right. Now let’s get on with this.” He glanced toward Matt. “Was someone getting weapons?”
Matt nodded. “Paul was handling the guns and Rory was gathering up blades and bows. I think Greg was helping.”
“And Tala’s getting Neve moved somewhere safe?” Phelan’s question was half plea, half demand. Thom looked at him sideways, brows knitting for a moment.
“She was going to try,” J.T. said before Matt could answer.
“Try,” Phelan echoed, his expression darkening. “Trying doesn’t imply success.”
Marin touched his shoulder. “Think about how stubborn you are and multiply it by three, Phelan.”
“You’re implying that she’s more stubborn than I am,” he said.
“You know that she is. Better not to deny it.” Marin’s hand slid into Thom’s and squeezed. “Keep your head in reality. That’s what’ll help us and you know it.”
Phelan made an upset sound in his throat and broke into a jog. Matt fell in behind him and Thom would have started to jog as well if Marin’s grip hadn’t restrained him.
Why am I thinking this means something’s wrong? He frowned, looking at her. “What is it?”
“I love you,” she said softly. “That’s all.”
His stomach dropped to his knees. “What do you know, Marin?” he asked in a whisper.
She shook her head slightly. “I don’t know anything,” she whispered back. “I don’t. I just…”
“You have a feeling.” I hate it when she gets a bad feeling. A shiver shot down his spine and he swallowed bile. I really hate it when she gets a bad feeling.
“Yeah.” Her fingers tightened. “But we’ll be okay. We always are.”
Except for when we’re not. He swallowed hard and nodded slowly. “Right,” he said quietly. “You’re right. We’ll be fine.”
Something screamed to his left and he hit the dirt, diving and rolling and swearing at whatever had just taken a swing at him with a mace that emitted a deafening whistle when someone swung it. All he could see was the creature’s bright golden eyes within the shadowed recesses of its hooded cloak as he tumbled away. He came to his feet, cursing under his breath as he realized he’d lost his blade.
That’s not good. Hellfire.
“Thom! Down!”
He whipped toward the sound of Marin’s voice, spotted her perched on a rooftop with an arrow notched and ready.
He hit the ground just as she let fly.
His attacker screamed as the arrow thudded home.
Then, Marin screamed as one of its allies threw her off the roof.
“Thom? Thom!”
He pitched forward, stomach heaving. Marin’s hands curled into the fabric of his jacket as he offered his breakfast up to the world, gagging and coughing, eyes tearing.
“What is it?” she breathed in his ear as he rested his elbows against his knees, wheezing and trying to gather enough moisture in his mouth to spit and rid his tongue of the taste of his own vomit. Her fingers tangled in his hair. He squeezed his eyes shut.
Another howl echoed off the trees and the ruins.
“No time,” he rasped. “I’ll tell you later.”
Her fingers tightened, but she nodded. “All right,” she whispered. “Let’s get to work.”
She helped him straighten and they dashed off in their friends’ wake.
