If Logan could change the lives of his people for the better, there was no other choice for him to make. He’d keep his urges in check, stay as far away from Hope as his job would allow, and do what needed to be done.
“I’ll remember,” he told Tynan. “Joseph’s warriors will show up soon. We’ll find Hope’s mate and be one step closer to the life we want.”
Chapter 13
I ain hid his car behind the Gerai house so it wasn’t easily visible from the street. Not that it was much of a street or that anyone would pass by.
He let himself into the safe house and dumped all of his supplies on the living room floor.
The baby had been crying for the last half hour, and if that smell was any indication, he was tired of lying in his own shit.
Iain wasn’t a fan, either.
He stripped out of his coat and eased the child out from under his reeking T-shirt. The mess was impressive, covering both of them equally.
Iain toed out of his boots, unfastened his sword belt, and stripped naked. He made a quick call for backup, started up the shower, and carried the child inside. He’d never before held something quite as slippery as a naked, soapy baby, so he took great care not to drop him on his head.
By the time they were both clean, the boy was screaming his head off and Iain’s was beginning to pound.
He dried the baby off, diapered him, and wrapped him up in a clean, dry towel. Then he set him in the center of a bed while he dressed in fresh clothes. His boots and sword went back on.
The child was still crying.
Iain read the instructions on the can of powdered formula and followed them to the letter. It took a while for the infant to get the hang of drinking from a bottle, and he made a soggy mess, but after a few tries, they both figured out the best way to make it work.
The child fell asleep. Iain tried to remove the bottle only to have him start sucking again.
Fine. If that was the way he was going to be, then Iain might as well get comfortable.
He sat down in a recliner and eased it back. Some Gerai would be here soon to take the child off his hands. Then he’d take care of arrangements for the mother’s body and be back out there fighting right around sunrise.
Iain looked down at the tiny life in his arms. Every detail was perfect. Once upon a time he’d wanted children of his own. He remembered the fact, though he couldn’t quite remember why he’d felt that way. Babies were too much work. Their lives too easy to end.
Still, there was something soothing about the boy. Holding him settled some of the seething rage that was always bubbling below the surface. It was probably some kind of survival instinct Iain had never experienced before—something that prevented adults from simply killing a messy, loud, stinky inconvenience.
Whatever it was, it was nice. Peaceful.
Iain closed his eyes. He didn’t think about what he’d done or what he had to do. He didn’t worry about his brothers—those who looked to him for guidance when their lifemarks became barren. He simply existed.
If his eyes hadn’t been closed, his heartbeat slow, he might not have heard the faint howl coming from the north.
Synestryn.
He’d been so concerned about caring for the child he had forgotten to consider the mother’s blood. If she was blooded, every nasty within scent of her would be on its way here.
He couldn’t take the car and run. Her blood was all over it. Gerai hadn’t brought him a new ride yet.
There was no help for it. Iain was going to have to fight off an attack and hope the kid didn’t start crying and draw attention to himself.
When Logan came back inside, he was a different man. Colder. More distant. Hope tried to find out what had happened, but he avoided her and went to shower.
She sat on the couch, flipping through TV stations in an effort not to think about Logan’s naked body streaming with hot water. The door of the little house opened, interrupting her inappropriate thoughts.
Hope’s heart jumped and she sprang from the couch, holding the remote control out like a weapon.
The man who’d come in was big. Tall. Broad. He had dark blond hair and laser blue eyes. A fine network of scars crossed his face, puckering the skin. His aura throbbed with red-hot pain, consuming the other colors. She could see faint streaks of pale silvery honor and nobility peeking out through the red.
Seeing so much pain, having it blasted into her retinas made her reel back in horror. She held up her hands to ward it off, shaking and speechless.
Sadness bowed the man’s shoulders for a second. A flash of gray-blue disappointment spread out over his aura before it was eaten up by cool green resignation. “I won’t hurt you. My name is Nicholas. Logan sent for me.”
His voice was quiet and reassuring. The fact that he stayed on his side of the room was even more reassuring.
“I’m Hope Serrien. Logan’s in the shower.”
He glanced at the hearth, where the clothing had been burned and a fire still crackled away. “You were in a battle?”
She nodded.
He started forward, only to stop himself after a couple of steps. “Were you hurt?”
Hope shook her head. “Logan was. He’s better now.”
Nicholas’s jaw tightened with a pulse of anger. “Did he . . . hurt you?”
“No. Why would you ask that?”
“I thought he might have . . . Never mind. I’ll speak to him about it.” He motioned to the couch. “Please, sit down. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
Logan stepped out into the living room, his hair black with dampness. A pristine towel hung around his neck and he wore fresh jeans and a T-shirt that clung to his chest. “Nicholas. I’m glad you could come. Where are the others?”
“There’s only me. We’re stretched too thin.”
Logan nodded, his face grim. “I understand. Have you touched her yet?”