Logan presses a lever on the top of the small box in his hands, and it emits a strange buzzing noise. The third button on the device is still tied down.
My breath is a sob of panic and despair as the beast shudders, lashing the fallen trees with its tail and sending sprays of kindling into the air.
“Go back.” Logan presses the lever again and raises his voice. “Go back!”
The Cursed One shakes itself, and its scales scrape together like metal rubbing against stone.
“Please,” I whisper. Ian crushes me against him until I can hardly breathe, but when I look at him, he’s staring at Logan with something like pain on his face.
Logan hits the button one more time, and the beast jerks backward. Coiling in on itself, it roars once more, strafing the ground in front of it with fire. The fallen trees burst into flame, hissing and popping, but the creature slithers over them, crushing them into splinters and extinguishing the fire. The earth trembles as the Cursed One dives back into the hole it created. Logan slowly lowers the device as the beast slips beneath the surface, its howl of rage fading as it tunnels down.
As the monster’s cry disappears, people creep from the surrounding forest to stare.
Jeremiah shuffles away from the tree he hid behind, his purple bow askew and his hat crushed in his hands as his eyes lock on the device Logan holds. An expression somewhere between dread and fascination washes over his face. Frankie struggles to his feet and clenches his big fists while he looks at the slim piece of gray metal as well.
Even Adam, standing next to me with his lips pressed into a tight line, stares at the device with hunger in his eyes.
“So he does have it. And now he’s proven himself to the doubters,” Ian says against my hair. He still holds me too tightly for comfort, and now that Logan is safe, I have time to deal with Ian.
“Let go of me,” I say. My voice shakes.
His grip eases. I step away from him as Adam leaves the shelter of the trees, calling for people to help him go find Thom and the wagon. Before I can rush to Logan’s side, though, Ian grabs my arm.
I glare at him. “I’m getting really tired of you—”
“But why didn’t he use it?” He sounds hurt and a little lost. His eyes are dark with the kind of pain that is rooted deep within me.
I stop trying to pull away. “What do you mean?”
“When the Commander used Carrington to attack us. When he was right there, easily in our reach, why didn’t Logan call the Cursed One and end it?”
I meet his gaze for a long moment while I search for the right words. “Because Carrington soldiers were there, and Logan doesn’t think they deserve to die because of the Commander. And because the last time we called the beast”—I swallow past the memories that choke me—“we couldn’t control it. I’m sure he didn’t want to risk our people again.”
“But you would’ve,” Ian says quietly, and my eyes snap to his. “You understand that Carrington chose its master, and that the soldiers are collateral damage. And if you had the opportunity to destroy the Commander, you wouldn’t stop to worry about whether you could control the beast. You’d risk anything to punish him. Even your own life.”
My skin tightens, my heart pounds, and the lie that I know should leave my lips—the one that will protect my secrets and keep up the pretense that I wouldn’t sacrifice everything I have for a chance to hurt the Commander—refuses to come.
“I’m right, aren’t I?” he asks, and this time I hear the desperate purpose that consumes him.
That consumes me.
Slowly, I nod.
“You’d go to any length to make the man responsible for your pain hurt, wouldn’t you?”
“As long as it doesn’t endanger the few people I love, yes.”
“Even if it cost your own life.”
“Yes.”
We lock eyes for a long moment, and something unspoken shivers in the air between us. He smiles, the sharp angles of his face transforming.
“So we understand each other,” he says.
“Apparently.”
“Who knew I’d have common ground with the mouthy redhead?” He winks.
I roll my eyes. “Who knew I’d have common ground with the camp flirt?”
He laughs. “You might try a little flirting. It would soften your image.”
“My image doesn’t need softening.”
“It does if you don’t want your enemies to see you coming.”
Now I’m the one who laughs. “It’s a little late for that.”
“But it’s not too late to finish this. Anyone who abuses his power and betrays his people must be brought to justice. No matter what.” He watches me carefully. “We could help each other.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him I don’t need help taking down the Commander, but I swallow the words, because he’s right. Two people working together toward a common goal are more effective than one.
Not that Logan isn’t already committed to bringing the Commander to justice, but he has lines he won’t cross. The only lines I won’t cross are the ones that would hurt Logan, Quinn, Willow, or Sylph.
And Logan has just proven that using the device is no longer a threat to us.
“What do you say, Rachel? If we have the opportunity, should we destroy the man who ruined our lives? Even if it means taking the device from Logan and using it ourselves?” He extends his hand as people brush past us to hurry onto the ruined field, clutching each other and talking in breathless, hurried gasps.
It’s just a backup plan. It doesn’t mean I don’t trust Logan. It doesn’t mean I’m not going to fight by his side to deliver justice. It’s just a piece of insurance in case something goes wrong.
In case Logan doesn’t capitalize on the opportunity when it’s in front of us.
I take his hand and shake it briefly. “If the Commander is in range, and Logan’s plan doesn’t work, you and I will kill the Commander.”
“Whatever it takes.”
I nod. “Whatever it takes.”
He squeezes my hand briefly and then lets it go. I weave my way past clumps of people, climb over ruined trees, and fight to reach Logan’s side, all while trying to shake the feeling that I’ve just done something that would disappoint the boy I love.
Chapter Eighteen
LOGAN
I don’t call for us to make camp for the night until it’s nearly twilight. I wanted to put significant distance between us and the place of the Cursed One’s attack in case the beast returns to finish what it started. And I was looking for a location that could shelter us from the relentless wind. Wind that drove rain into our faces for most of the afternoon, and then whipped us dry as the sun steadily disappeared into the western horizon.
I find what I’m looking for at the base of a rock outcropping that blocks most of the wind and also seals off the western edge of camp from possible intruders. Not that we’ve seen anyone in the Wasteland since leaving Baalboden four days ago, but that doesn’t mean our luck will continue to hold.
Still, most of the survivors seem to feel like we’ve escaped the worst of our journey unscathed. We outwitted the Commander and left him far behind. We sent the Cursed One back to its lair without losing a single life. A sense of giddy triumph envelops the group. Children laugh and chase each other through the shelters while Jan, their assigned keeper, watches them with a light of hope in her eyes. A woman with wavy white hair and skin as wrinkled as a prune plays a violin she carried out of her home during the Cursed One’s rampage. The tune is lively and the notes swirl through the air, causing toes to tap until a few of the men gather up the courage to ask some of the women to dance.