Immortally Yours, An Urban Fantasy Romance (Monster MASH, Book 1) (14 page)

I'd hoped for it to be me, prayed for it with everything I had. I'd read the whole prophecy and tried to make it come true. I'd been willing to risk exposure, and certain death, if doing so meant I really could put a stop to this war.
 

But despite what I'd hoped—and what I put on the line—my grand foray into peacekeeping hadn't worked. It only backfired, bringing disaster down on me and the people I loved.
 

It wasn't going to happen again.
 

The mess tent slung low on the far south side of camp. It was usually a rollicking place. At this hour, it sat empty and dark.
 

Lo and behold, it still smelled like garlic.
 

The door was locked, but the screened window next to it was broken. I should know. I'd sliced the edge last week in order to slip Rodger a caramel-dipped onion.
 

I'd gotten him, too. The corners of my mouth tugged up at the memory. It wasn't a big enough prank to use on Kosta, but I'd sure enjoyed it.
 

My fingers trailed down the edge of the screen. Someone else had widened my original cut. Dang, I'd better keep an eye on my own food.
 

I tore the screen open the rest of the way and ducked through. It was pitch black inside.
 

"Watch it. There's a table right here," I said as Galen followed me.
 

The kitchen was in the rear of the tent. The sand floor crunched under my feet as I slipped past the tables in the dark. The less we were noticed in here, the better.
 

I walked straight back until I bumped up against the serving area. Ah, good. I followed it with my hand until it skirted back toward meal prep.
 

When I reached the door to the kitchen, I stopped. "Galen?" I peered into the dark.
 

"Yes."
 

I jumped a foot as his voice sounded directly behind me. "Can you at least try to make a little noise?"
 

"I am what I am."
 

"No kidding." I pushed through the door and felt for one of the lanterns above the kitchen serving area. "Bingo." I lit it, revealing a hodgepodge of equipment that had been scrubbed to within an inch of its life.
 

Well-used pots and pans hung from racks above the long metal countertop. Behind it was the prep area, refrigerators and freezers. I spotted a coffeemaker by the sink. Wouldn't you know it? It was already filled and ready to go for the morning shift. I hit the start button and sighed.
 

"It's the simple things," Galen said.
 

"Yes," I agreed.
 

The glow of the single lantern cast shadows over his face. "You can trust me," he said.
 

I straightened my shoulders. "I know." It was the truth. If I didn't trust him, I would never have moved toward a giant poison scorpion stinger. I gave an involuntary shudder. I would have been crushed in the backseat of that jeep.
 

He kept his distance, as if he were assessing the situation. And me. "I'm glad we got that out of the way. Because I'm tired of you lying to me."
 

I crossed my arms over my chest. "I don't owe you anything."
 

He slammed his fist down on the countertop, sending dishes clattering. "This isn't about either one of us." With great effort, he collected himself. "Lives are at stake."
 

"You don't think I know that?" I shot back. "I'm the one who put you back together."
 

Two large strides and he closed the space between us. "You lied to me. You said you didn't see me on the table." He towered over me. "Admit it. You saw."
 

"Fine." There was no use denying it any longer. "I saw you. I held your soul in my hands."
 

His anger vanished. "I remember."
 

He stood, stunned.
 

Oh no. He really was remembering something.
 

"We touched," he said. "It was like grabbing on to a live wire. And then I could see inside you. I could feel it, in my hands, your strength and your dedication. The way you care for people you've never even met before. The way you ached for me. You didn't even know me." He stopped for a moment, as if he didn't quite know how to say it. "You're ashamed of that, but you don't need to be. You don't need to hide from me."
 

I suddenly felt exposed, raw.
 

"All I ask is that you respect my secret," I said, although frankly I didn't even know if he was listening at that point. "You know what they'd do to me if the truth ever came out. I'm just trying to protect myself."
 

His expression was soul searing, intense. "Petra," he said, pure wonder in his voice, "you're beautiful."
 

I cringed. It was as if he'd ripped down every wall I'd put up, leaving me bare and bloody. "No, I'm not. I'm strong and practical and cranky and damn good at what I do."
 

His face didn't waver. "You try to hide it, but I saw. Even before I remembered, I knew."
 

It was too hard to explain. Too painful. "I don't want to have this conversation."
 

"I know. I won't push you. There's no need. I already see what's there." He watched me with such intensity it hurt. "You don't know how good it feels to know there's someone like you in the world."
 

Yes. Failed, cranky, and hiding my power.
 

"So can we keep this between us?" I asked. Because I really didn't want to spend the rest of eternity pushing a rock up a hill, or whatever the gods would do to me.
 

"We can," he said, easing.
 

I tried not to fall sideways in relief.
 

"We'll do this together," he stated.
 

"What?" Oh no. "I'm not doing anything else. Listen, other than"—I gestured, I couldn't even say it—"that thing that happened with us, talking to the dead isn't what you think." It wasn't what anybody thought. That's why I kept it to myself. I rubbed at my temples as if by mere force of will I could make him understand. "I don't talk to executed mortals or immortals. I don't talk to the souls of hell, and I don't have anything to do with the prophecy."
 

"How do you know?" he pressed. "The oracle couldn't predict who would be chosen."
 

"Exactly," I said on an exhale. I turned my back on him and grabbed a coffee cup from a rack by the sink. I was in desperate need of some distance here. "Do you realize how nebulous the oracle can be?"
 

He stood stock-still, watching me. "The signs are never exact. That's why we have to be open to every possibility. Including this one."
 

I snapped, "This is my life you're talking about."
 

"This is war," he countered.
 

Oh, great. "One sacrifice for the sake of many. How noble of you."
 

The kicker was, he thought it would make a difference.
 

He came from a place that believed in woo-woo predictions. They'd been doing it in central Greece for thousands of years. Of course I came from New Orleans, so I guess you could say the same thing about me.
 

Then again, I didn't always believe in the weather report, much less this.
 

He was asking me to expose myself—my secret—in the hopes that I might be the one. And if I wasn't? Well then, there was just one more dead doctor in this war.
 

No, thanks.
 

I yanked the coffeepot from the brew station. The steeping brew hissed and crackled on the hot plate as I filled my cup with as much of it as I could get. It was a pathetic little cup.
 

Galen had taken a spot by the counter. Maybe he thought he was giving me some space, but I knew better. The man was a rock.
 

"Remember the first step," he said. "The oracle predicts that a healer whose hands can touch the dead will receive a bronze dagger."
 

"I didn't receive a dagger," I reminded him. "It was thrust into your chest."
 

"You took it out."
 

"To save your miserable life!"
 

"And now the first part of the prophecy has come true," he said, as if I'd just confirmed everything he believed. Galen was taking two separate incidents and twisting them all out of order.
 

"Keep it down," I hissed. The place might've been deserted, but we were still breaking and entering. "You're asking me to risk eternal torture on a hunch, just because some knife keeps following me around."
 

His gaze traveled over me. "I saw your pain," he said, as if he was deconstructing me, "but I didn't know it ran this deep."
 

Glaring at him, I cradled my cup defensively. "I don't want to hear about my pain." Or any obligations he thought I had. "You can't force these things."
 

The corner of his lip curled. "Watch me."
 

"That wasn't a dare." And he wondered why I wasn't exactly racing to help him. I took a drink and felt the warm liquid ease down my throat. It should have been soothing. It wasn't.
 

He stood assessing me. Finally, he said, "I was stabbed at a hell vent just north of here."
 

I paused over the edge of my coffee cup. "What does that mean for us?"
 

"I don't know. It was in the heat of battle. I didn't even see who shoved it into my chest."
 

I sighed. "Do you want to see the knife?" I slipped a hand into my scrubs and felt its heavy weight. I removed it slowly and handed him the wrapped bundle.
 

He held it for a moment, as if he couldn't quite believe what he had.
 

"I sent it straight to weapons waste after surgery. It's standard procedure," I said quickly, trying to soothe his horror. "Anyhow, it didn't stay gone for long. Someone put it in my locker."
 

He opened it like it was a sacred relic.
 

"I'm not the one," I reminded him.
 

He retreated to the door and studied the knife under the light of the single lantern. Firelight played off the strong lines of his face, casting shadows. "You can't know that."
 

"Yes, I can."
 

The back of my eyes burned with the memory. He wasn't going to get it from me. He knew too much already. And I absolutely refused to let Galen twist it around like he had everything else.
 

I'd give anything for an end to this war, to have a normal life. But I'd been there, tried that, and it had been horrifying.
 

"I know I'm not special," I said, moving out of his sight line. His profile was hard and clean. "I'm just cursed."
 

He turned to me with warmth in his eyes. "That's where you're wrong."
 

I clutched my coffee cup, embarrassed in a way I couldn't even express.
 

"The oracles would see your power. They'd know when it's time," he said. "In fact, once they made their discovery, they'd go straight to the gods. Your attack tonight proves it."
 

Oh geez. It made sense.
 

"I stayed to protect you."
 

"How do we know that?" How could we prove any of this? The strain of the night seeped into my bones. "Maybe this is crystal clear to you, but I'm used to dealing with facts, things I can prove."
 

"I'll make you a deal."

"Why do I get a bad feeling about this?"

"If you ship me out tomorrow, then it is over."
 

My heart caught in my throat. It was exactly what I wanted, and it wasn't. I had to get a grip.
 

"You're healthy as an ox," I told him. The man was skewering assassins, for pity's sake. I didn't understand why he'd make this kind of a deal. "I'll examine you tomorrow," I said. "And I'll make it fair," I was quick to add. "But my guess is, you're going back to your unit."
 

"Then you'll be rid of me," he said, with too much confidence for my taste.
 

I dumped my coffee out. "You don't have to say it that way." Not after everything we'd been through.
 

Then unease settled into my gut. "Why aren't you worried?"
 

The side of his mouth quirked. "It's a test of faith."
 

"I'm not so good at those."
 

The warm light from the lantern played over his features. "I know."
 

Damned if he didn't look delicious.
 

And smug.
 

"I don't believe I'm fated to leave," he said. He wrapped the knife once more. "In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if we receive the second prophecy soon."
 

"Just what I need." Another prophecy.
 

He finished wrapping the dagger and handed it back to me. "You'll see."
 

I eased the knife into my coat pocket. "That's what I'm afraid of."

***

I walked Galen back to recovery in silence. We'd said everything there was to say. After that, it was a matter for the fates. Heaven help me. He gave me one last, long, lingering kiss. Then I watched him disappear around back, not even wanting to know how he snuck into bed. From Jeffe's shouts, I could tell he made quick work of it.
 

Back at my tent, sleep was impossible. Not with Rodger snoring and Marius glaring at me. So an hour later I found myself back in recovery.
 

The charge nurse glanced up at me as I slipped inside.
 

"I want to prepare some release paperwork," I said, trying to sound as casual as possible.