Page 113 of Dark Rover's Gift

She looked at Din, seeing past the drunken bravado to the frustration beneath. He wanted to help, to protect, to be useful. It was who he was at his core—someone who took care of others. But Max was right, and Din's good intentions didn't qualify him for modern warfare.

"Din," she said softly, reaching out to touch his hand. "There are other ways for you to help. You're not a fighter anymore, nor do you want to be." She smiled. "Remember? You never liked being on the force."

"You just don't think I'm capable," he said, making a pouty face that made her want to laugh.

She stifled the urge. "I think you're very capable, but I also think you're drunk and talking nonsense. Tell me about these battles you fought. Tell me about the glory of taking heads."

She hoped it would be enough to get him off the subject, but he was apparently too drunk to think straight.

"It wasn't glorious." His jaw tightened. "It was necessary."

"You see? You didn't enjoy being a soldier, and suddenly you remember those horrible days as if they were the highlight of your existence."

"After the battle, the Highlands were in chaos. Whole families were slaughtered, women and children put to the sword. We couldn't save them all, but we tried."

Max had gone quiet.

He'd been there, fought alongside Din.

"There was this village," Din continued, his words slightly slurred, but his eyes distant. "They came back for the women and children. We were there that time." He took a long swallow of whiskey. "Seven of us against thirty of them. But we were immortals, and they were human. The odds were stacked in our favor."

"What happened?" Fenella asked even though she really didn't want to hear any more gory details.

"We killed them all." The words were flat, matter-of-fact. "Had to. If even one escaped to report unnaturally strong men defending the village, it would have brought a witch hunt down on us. We made sure none escaped. I personally took eight heads that day."

The bar was silent except for the hum of the refrigerators.

"There was this girl who couldn't have been more than fifteen," Din continued. "She watched from her doorway as I cut down a soldier who couldn't have been more than three years older than her. I will never forget the look in her eyes, gratitude and horror. That's what glory looks like. That's what being a warrior means. Doing terrible things because the alternative is worse."

"Exactly," Max said, lifting his glass. "And that's why you can't come tomorrow, because you remember their faces. Because it costs you something every time. The Doomers? It costs them nothing. They've been trained since birth to feel nothing but hate and loathing. They kill with glee and laugh as they torture."

Din looked like he wanted to argue, but Fenella saw the moment he accepted the truth of Max's words.

His shoulders slumped. "I hate feeling useless."

"You're not useless," Fenella said. "You're just not a soldier, and neither am I. That doesn't make us less valuable."

"She's right." Max took a long swig from his drink. "We all have our roles to play, and those roles are only somewhat flexible. Guardians, even those who retired, train for a full month every year to stay updated and in shape, but you quit the force so longago that you don't have the benefit of even that. My role is to put on that exoskeleton tomorrow night and make sure those bombs never go off. Yours is to be here when we get back, preferably with a bottle of very expensive whiskey."

"When you get back," Fenella repeated. "You say that like it's guaranteed."

Max's smile was sharp. "It is. We've been doing this for a long time, Fenella. We know what we're doing, and the exoskeletons are extra insurance. They make us practically invincible and unstoppable."

"Why not use them all the time then?" she asked.

"They are cumbersome, and sometimes speed and agility are more important than power and dependability. They're also not exactly subtle—hard to do undercover work when you're wearing one of those. We look like alien invaders in them."

Fenella poured another round despite her earlier threat to cut them off. They all needed it tonight.

"Tell me it's going to work," she said. "Tell me those kids at the concert are going to be safe."

"They're going to be safe," Max said with absolute conviction. "Yamanu is going to put entire neighborhoods to sleep so we can work without interference from the neighbors, and the humans in those cells are going to be deep asleep as well. We'll go in, neutralize the Doomers, and secure the explosives. By Monday morning, it'll be like the cells never existed."

"What happens to the Doomers?" Din asked.

Max's expression darkened. "They go to the dungeon for questioning, and after that, it's up to Kian what he wants to do with them. The humans are disposable."

The casual discussion of violence should have bothered Fenella more than it did. But all she could think about was those kids at the concert, excited to see their favorite singer, having no idea how close they would come to death.

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