Hotbloods 5: Traitors

We ducked back into the rubble of the fallen houses. Fortunately, the Titan didn’t appear to have noticed that he’d stood on anything, let alone realized there were people running around close to his foot. He really was enormous, with bronze plates across his abdomen giving the impression of a glimmering metal six-pack. From this distance, I saw a few plates buried in the skin of his leg, too, revealing the true agony of the adornments. The scar tissue around each piece showed that it had been poured on molten and shaped afterward. I supposed it was meant to show strength, or something equally stupid and macho. I held my breath as he passed.

Only when the Titan had moved far away did we dare emerge from the rubble of the blockade that had fallen across the street. I could feel the remains of Commander Korbin all over my face, and I shuddered with disgust. I didn’t know the man that well, but I would never have wished a death like that on anyone. He’d just been trying to protect his queen.

I glanced down at the crushed corpse, knowing it would soon turn into ash and join the swarm of eerie gray flakes that filled the air. At least he wouldn’t stay like this for long, in a congealed mass of indiscernible bits.

“Sorry,” I whispered, kneeling to take his guns and ammo, which were somehow still largely intact. I patted down the rest of his clothes and found a notebook tucked away inside the lining of his jacket, protected from the splatter of blood. It seemed a strange place to hide something, outside of the usual pockets, but I didn’t know if it was a personal journal or something private—the kind of thing he didn’t want his fellow soldiers finding out about. Letters to his sweetheart, that sort of thing.

Curious, I flipped through the first few pages, conscious of the others creeping toward the end of the street, heading back for the ship. The contents looked like equations, alongside sketches of equipment and experiment setups. I didn’t need to be able to read Vysanthean to know a math puzzle when I saw one. Yorrek’s grumpy old face popped into my head again—was this his notebook, the one that Queen Brisha had been hiding away in her library? If it was, Brisha must have given it to Korbin for safekeeping while she was recovering from her head injury and the palace was in danger of destruction.

Feeling a flutter of excitement, I shoved it into the leg pocket of my infantry cargo pants, before checking that the gun was loaded. It was a big rifle, not a weapon I was used to wielding, but I figured it was the same as any gun—never put the butt near your face, point the barrel at the enemy, then shoot and hope for the best.

Navan was walking back toward me, having realized I’d lagged behind. “What you got there?” he asked, reaching out to wipe some of the schmutz from my face.

“I’ll show you later,” I said anxiously. “I’ll need you to translate!”

I knew Lauren would be eager to look at it too, but it would have to wait until we were back on board the ship. We were too vulnerable out here in the city, where the battle continued to rage. The aerial onslaught looked like it was actually making a dent in the Titan attack. Golden blood was cascading down their bodies, their flesh absolutely riddled with bullet holes. Now, I understood the need for metal plates—they covered the wounds gained in every battle, which meant those who were mostly metal were the truly seasoned warriors of the Titan army.

Even with the tides turning slightly, it would only be a matter of time before they fully targeted the palace. It would be their last showdown before they retreated, kicking Queen Brisha where it would really hurt. Already, they were venturing closer to it, though the big guns of the warships, which hovered above the spires, seemed to be putting them off for now.

“Hold on tight,” Navan urged, freeing his injured wing and slipping his arm around my waist. He scooped Ronad up, too, though it was obvious he was struggling without the full flexibility of his damaged wing. I thought about the serum I still had tucked safely away in the cup of my bra—the most secure hideaway in a woman’s arsenal—wondering if it would do anything to help him. It was supposed to heal and strengthen, but Kaido had warned that my brain chemistry responded in the opposite way to that of a Vysanthean. Perhaps, if I gave it to Navan, it would only weaken him further.

Meanwhile, Bashrik scooped up Angie and Lauren, keeping as low as possible as they headed back to the palace gardens, where the ship was waiting. We followed, but we’d only gotten a few yards when I realized Mort wasn’t with us. I glanced around, only to find him morphing from frostfang to coldblood on the ground below. A moment later, with his fake, shifter-made wings, he flapped frantically after us. I couldn’t help chuckling at the sight of him dipping and diving, his body dangling like a sack of wrenches underneath his ill-made wings. Still, it was doing the job, which was more than could be said for us wingless folk.

Nobody stopped us as we flew over the palace walls, the soldiers who had been manning the outer walls having retreated inside. Undoubtedly, they’d realized they could do no good on the outer gates, considering the Titans could simply step over the walls if they wanted to.

Navan grimaced as he set Ronad and me down on the ground beside the parked ship, breathing heavily. The strain of carrying us both was clearly taking its toll on him. I moved up to where he stood and lifted his chin.

“You okay?” I asked, worried.

He smiled, leaning down to kiss me. “I need to lift some weights with my sad little broken wing, that’s all,” he joked.

“I guess it didn’t help having to carry us both,” Ronad said, a look of frustration passing across his face. I knew it made him feel helpless, having to rely on others when he had once been capable of the same thing.

I’d just leaned up to kiss Navan again, eager to take my mind off the image of Commander Korbin’s death, when an ungainly thump distracted my attention. Mort had landed.

“I loathe flying,” Mort muttered, rolling his eyes as he elongated the O in true dramatic fashion.

“You’d like it better if you didn’t have such puny wings,” Navan shot back.

The shifter scoffed. “Says you, Wonky Wing! Mine may be small, but I’ve got two fully functioning ones.”

“Now there’s something a girl never wants to hear!” Angie cackled. For the first time ever, I saw a flicker of embarrassment cross Mort’s face. It was the perfect antidote to what had just happened, making me forget that I was still covered in the blood of a dead man. Right now, I just wanted to get away from here, and laugh until I didn’t feel sick anymore.

I grinned. “Mort, this is Angie. She might just be the only person in the universe who can give you a run for your money in the crassness stakes!”

Angie nodded, looping her arm through mine. “Undefeated champion, I’ll have you know!”

“Yeah, well, that’s because the ugly ones have to be funny,” Mort retorted, but Angie only laughed harder.

“You might as well have said I smell!” she howled. “What is this, kindergarten? You going to punch me in the arm and tell me you love me next?”

“I suppose you’ve come to join in this crude display of emasculation?” Mort muttered, glaring at Lauren, who’d just walked up to Angie and me.

She shook her head. “Nope, I’m just here to spectate. It’s my favorite sport.”

“Well, if you want me, I’ll be on the ship—avoiding all of you!” Mort turned on his heel and stomped up the gangway.

“Yeah, not without one of us, shifter!” Ronad said, following him.

“I knew there was a reason I adored you, Angie,” I said delightedly. “You’re smart, beautiful, and you scare away the creeps like nobody else!”

She grinned. “Always a pleasure.”

“We’ve missed you so much, Riley,” Lauren added softly. “It just isn’t the same when it’s not the three of us. Two is fine, but three is better.”

“That’s my motto in all things.” Angie burst into raucous laughter, and the two of us were swept up in the infectiousness of it.

“Are you ladies coming, or are we leaving you here to get squashed?” Navan asked, taking my hand and pulling me toward the ship.