The Lycan King's Defiant Surrogate
Defiant Surrogate 93

Chapter 93

The road that leads out of the caverns is a winding spiral. Tires screech as we go around and around, up and up, Tristan never once taking his foot off of the pedal.

In the backseat, as I cling to Caleb's unconscious body, the force of the turning pushes us back into the seat. The blanket that's covering us comes loose, and over it I can suddenly see out and up through the shattered back window to the lights flashing as we rush by them. Remembering there are more guards at the top, I grab the blanket and yank it back over Caleb and me.

Tristan doesn't slow the entire way, not even near the top, when sunlight finally beams in.

"Hey! Stop!"

The car accelerates, flying forward. More gunfire. The back windows shatter. The back of the car swerves but Tristan somehow keeps it from spinning out.

Suddenly, wood breaks and shatters. Splinters fly in through the car.

More men and women should after us.

Then, eventually, I hear only the rumble of the car engine, the clank of something broken dangling off the side door of the car, and the wind.

Are we free? Have we escaped somehow? I dare not hope to dream, so I keep hiding, coiling protectively over Caleb's bruised and broken body.

I don't know how long I stay in this state, adrenaline surging, trapped in fear and uncertainty, but it feels like a long time. A few hours at least. Finally, the car rolls to a stop, and Tristan cuts off the engine.

"We're here," he says.

Where's here?

Pushing back the blanket, I smell the scent of fresh grasses and hear the rustle of trees.

Tristan disappears from the driver's seat. Beyond him, I can see that every window in the car, including the windshield has been shot out.

Slowly, I sit up. We've journeyed up a long dirt road, stopping beside an old farmhouse with sun-bleached blue siding. Out front looks to be a patch of dirt with some vegetables growing, but also some weeds. Everywhere else is covered with tall grasses. I'd been trapped in the capital for so long that I'd almost forgotten places like this existed.

Tristan comes around to the outside of the back door. He tries to pull it open. It won't budge. With a growl, he pulls it harder. This time, then entire door falls off. He shoves it aside with a huff, then reaches in to help me out. "Where are we?" I ask him.

"Off-grid," he says curtly, in the kind of way that makes me feel like that's the best answer I can hope for.

Maybe it is. As long as we're safe, I don't particularly care where we are.

"Let's get him inside," Tristan says.

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Chapter 93

Together, though adimittedly with Tristan carrying more of Caleb's weight than me, we manage to get Caleb up the front steps of the farmhouse and then in through the front door.

The house is decorated nicely, albeit with a thin layer of dust on everything. It seems like a family lived her once, maybe a long time ago and then disappeared, taking nothing with them.

I tried not to think too hard of the implications of that. The house itself seems nice and peaceful, and safe. For now, that is enough.

We carry Caleb in. I try to head for the couch, but Tristan leads us to the kitchen table.

"He needs to rest," I argue.

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"He needs those silver bullets out of him," Tristan replies.

Caleb's chest is still bleeding. As much as I don't want to admit it or participate in what's going to come after, I agree.

So we lift Caleb up onto the kitchen table and roll him onto his back.

"I'm going to need a knife," Tristan says. "The wounds are trying to heal. I'll have to make new incisions to get those bullets out."

I head into the kitchen, searching through the drawers. At last, I replace a sharp steak knife, after tossing aside three or four that were too dull.

"Will this work?" I ask Tristan.

His face is grim with the work he must now perform.

"Find some towels and get fresh water from the pump outside," Tristan says. "This isn't going to be pleasant."

I hurry to follow his orders.

While Tristan works to remove the bullets from Caleb's chest, Caleb blessedly does not awaken, In his sleep, he merely grunts now and then as the bullets are pried from under his skin one by one.

I do my best to clean the wounds after the silver has been removed, when Tristan moves onto the next one.

It takes several hours. When we finish, I step out onto the porch for fresh air.

Tristan joins me, after a while. "He'll be fine now. Thanks to you. After some time to recover, he will be his old self again."

I nod, glad for it, while also conflicted. Caleb is a ruthless tyrant. Did I make the right choice?

Tristan and I look out over the swaying grasses and the trees beyond. Everything is so isolated here. Peaceful. So different than what

my life has been like for the best few months. Hells, maybe ever.

"You could have run in the chaos," Tristan says. "No one would have known. The King might have died. Everything would have been different..."

I'm not sure I believe that. Even after what I've seen today, prying those bullets from Caleb's body, I'm still not sure I believe he has any weakness at all. He would have found some way to survive. I'm sure of it. "Why didn't you run?" Tristan asks. He's looking right at me now

I don't know the answer. Not really

The smarter move would have been to run, to live my life free, with a chance to be happy whether with Samuel or not. Instead, I tethered myself to Caleb.

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Chapter 93

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"I couldn't let him die," I say

"Why not?" Tristan asks. "After the way he treated you, you might not have even lived with any blame."

"That's not how it would work for me," I say. "But I didn't do it just to keep from feeling guilty."

Tristan lifts a lone brow.

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I don't really want to admit the depths of my feelings for Caleb to Tristan, but there's something about this place that calms me. It makes it easier for me to open up. Maybe because it's so quiet. "My feelings for Caleb are... complicated," I say. Even as peace, that's the most I can manage.

It seems to be enough for Tristan. He looks forward again, and we both watch the tree line in silence for a while.

Caleb blinks away in an unknown room, on a hard kitchen table that wreaks of his own blood and silver. Someone is trying to kill him.

He won't go down quietly.

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Hopping off the table, he starts to growl. He doesn't know where he is. None of this looks or smells familiar.

Someone smuggled him out of the city. Maybe they don't mean to kill him, then. Maybe they simply want to use him as blackmail.

He won't allow that either.

Then, suddenly, a woman enters the living room of this quaint house. At a glance, she seems familiar, but Caleb's mind is so fogged with unpleasant memories and pain, that he can only think of one word. Traitor.

He lunges.