It hadn’t taken long to convince Kianna that it was time to move.
Rather, the moment he stepped back in the flat, she was already geared up and ready. She hadn’t asked any questions. She hadn’t needed to. The answer was clear on his face: Aidan was ready to kill, and thankfully, spilling Howl blood was their preferred shared activity. It sure as hell beat talking.
Ten minutes and one quick cup of tea later, they were on the road.
And this time, Trevor be damned, Aidan was using magic to keep the constant chill and rain of this damnable country at bay. Maybe that was part of the reason he wanted to kill Calum so badly—he needed to justify years of misery and dampness. Then he could hop over to somewhere warmer.
“You ran into him, didn’t you?” Kianna asked.
Aidan grunted.
Glasgow was an hour behind them, the only thing surrounding them now a few low houses and the remains of the M8 motorway. Fields and glens stretched out through the heavy gloom, the rain less a downpour and more a constant, irrepressible mist that threatened to settle under his skin and take up residence. Fire burned softly in his chest, a bubble of heat thrown up around them, making rain sizzle and steam against his invisible shield, keeping them dry and warm. Tiny baubles of white danced above their heads as well, guiding their way.
It was more than enough to give them away to the army they trailed. If they were looking. If Trevor was looking. But Aidan knew Trevor would never give the command to kill him, even for this insubordination. Trevor would always avoid a fight, just as Aidan would always seek one out.
Another reason they drove each other insane just as they drove each other to lust.
The last thing he needed was to think of Trevor in any sort of positive light. Thankfully, with Fire filling him, that was easy enough to manage.
“Let me guess, he knows we’re following now because your poker face sucks.”
“I may have given him that notion, aye.” In his mind’s eye, he remembered the buildings he’d set on fire, imagined the shocked look in Trevor’s eyes. It might have been childish, but damn if that hadn’t been a good exit. He glanced at her. “You don’t have to follow, you know. As you said, you aren’t the one who’s exiled. You could head back. Take up your old post...”
“And what, die a miserable old cow?” She scoffed. “Please. You may be an arse, but at least you keep things exciting.”
“Even though my powers may be uncontrollable in my sleep and I might burn you alive?” He meant it as a joke, but it was an honest question.
“If your stupid pyrotechnics were enough to scare me off, I would have left you ages ago. Besides—” she gestured to the bubble of steam around them “—you’re like a walking space heater. Really, that’s pretty useful, especially since I left my hot water bottle at home.”
“You’re insane.”
“Nah. I think that being your mate makes me a saint.”
“You have to die to become a saint.”
“And I’m following you, so that may happen sooner rather than later. Sainthood achieved. I wonder what they’d make me patron of? Badass bitches?”
He looked at her. Really looked. She was a bloody queen. Shoulders back, head high. Two duffel bags of weapons and food bouncing against her back and a sword and ax strapped to her waist. He knew a bandolier of daggers was across her chest beneath her coat, knew more were sewn into the coat’s lining, just as he knew another bandolier crossed it, this one with bullets. Her pistol was sewn into its own pocket in the breast of her coat, just by her heart. Ever at the ready—which he’d always found odd, since no one in this country used guns, especially not anymore.
And those were just the weapons he knew about.
She was a walking arsenal. A one-woman army. If she left him, she would be just fine on her own—a thought that he didn’t really apply to anyone else.
Which meant that her answer, glib though it was, hid a deeper truth. She wasn’t leaving him because she wanted to be around him. Even though he might be unstable. Even though heading toward Calum was madness. She would rather go out with a bang at his side than die in the ranks of her peers.
Even with Fire burning away his lesser emotions, that was enough to fill him with a small sort of tenderness. And pride.
She looked at him from the corner of her eye.
“Watch where you’re going,” she said.
Right as he fell into a puddle of muck.
Aidan cursed, hopping about with his boot filled with sludge. Kianna crowed with laughter at his side, and while he undid his boot to drain what looked like a whole loch, he began to feel like maybe, even in exile, things weren’t that different from before.
He still had his friend.
He still had his power.
And he still had a shot at immortality.