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“Thank you,” I choked out, relief like a potent drug passing between Assyria and me. “I will ensure we replenish your stores as soon as possible. Whatever you need, I will procure for you.”
He nodded, then rose like a creaking ship. The fatigue rimming his eyes was undeniable. “He will have a constant watch until he wakes.”
When he attempted to maneuver his chair back into place, Assyria shot to her feet. “Let me,” she said, taking it from him. He didn’t fight her, merely trudged back to the table and spoke with the others still working on their Hadvezér.
Then, she turned to me, slowly, like the motion harmed her. Swollen, puffy eyes snagged mine, and her shoulders hunched like her tears had dragged her to the depths of despair. We’d both suffered a physical and emotional toll—and there was no end in sight.
I rose. “Come,” I said, holding a hand out to her. She accepted readily and nestled into my side. My gaze lingered on my unconscious friend. A thick row of stitches covered his torso, throwing off the smooth lines of his ink. He’d be a
Taking one last look at him, I steered Assyria out of the tent. We stepped into the broken night, smoke from the fire my mate had started trickling into our camp.
I slammed to a halt. In the shifting air, among sand and ash, stood our strike force—and a handful of the prisoners we’d saved.
And they all stared directly at my mate.