Page 83 of Shadow Blind

“I know we didn’t get off to the best start. But these bots are above us—above all of us. If they get loose—” he sucked in a sharp breath, the livid, raging faces of his dead brothers swelling in his mind. “We won’t be the only ones to pay the price. The entire world will blow up alongside us.” He broke off to massage the ache spreading through his temples. “I’m not asking for confirmation about your background. But if you are, or were a spook, then, for God’s sake, reach out to your contacts. Nobody will question where the intel came from. I’ll make sure of it. I’ll keep this conversation private. But we need a break. If you can provide that break, then for Christ’s sake, make some calls.”

He didn’t wait for a response, just brushed past O’Neill’s frozen form and headed for the door. Exhaustion dogged every step. A hammer chiseled at his skull. Chills coursed through him with increasing intensity. He didn’t have anywhere to be, anything to do. For all of two seconds, he considered swinging by the clinic, having them run more tests—make sure those damn nanobots weren’t rocking and rolling in his noggin.

Except they’d run every test known to the medical field and given him a clean bill of health. Plus, these new symptoms didn’t match the ones he’d witnessed in his team brothers. He checked his hand. No twitching. Nor was he feeling particularly enraged and paranoid. It was probably just a cold, which sleep, fluids, and some healthy chow would cure.

He followed the sidewalk to the elevator and pushed the button for the third level, where his quarters were located. A couple hours of shuteye, followed by a good breakfast were in order. If that didn’t curb the exhaustion, headache, and chills, he’d pay the clinic a visit.

Day 16

Denali, Alaska

His fingers fiddling with the small leather pouch tucked in his pocket, O’Neill watched the Shadow Warrior’s chosen one stagger out the door. The squid looked wrecked, like he’d just climbed off a hell of a bender. The gray face. The stumbling. The obvious fatigue. The sweats. Okay, maybe not the sweats. Wolf’s younger bro had been working out, after all. But Winchester was ripped, a sure sign of someone who’d turned exercise into an obsession. Guys who zealously worked out didn’t sweat so copiously.

Except Winchester didn’t have that telltale stink of boozy toxins seeping from his pores. Nor had Winchester’s eyes been red or sensitive to the light, which ruled out the hangover theory.

Something else must have been ailing the chosen one. Woman trouble, perhaps? There had been obvious friction between the bright-haired woman on the plane and Wolf’s little bro. O’Neill considered that for longer than he should have. It made no difference if Winchester and the woman on the plane were splitting. He had no iron in that fire.

Except for the cat. He liked the cat.

Still, it was hard to imagine that breaking up with some chick would hit Winchester like a hangover. Whatever was going on with the dude had to be something else. Something more. Not that it was any of his business. Not that he cared, even if the bastard had the balls to ask him for a favor, which brought up something else entirely.

Annoyance rippled through him. Did the asshole really think O’Neill had to be asked to reach out to his contacts? That he hadn’t done so immediately when it became clear how dangerous this new weapon was? Did Winchester and the rest of them really think he’d let the world go insane and all the people in it slaughter each other unless someone asked him nicely to stop it?

He huffed a disgusted breath, bitterness rising. What the hell was wrong with him? Why was he still here, skulking around this motherfucking base, where nobody bothered to talk to him, but everyone thought the worst of him? He scowled, his fingers clamping over the heschrmal totem in his pocket. He should slide back into the shadows and do his part to keep the world safe all by his lonesome.

Except he couldn’t leave. Not now, not when everything the Taounaha had shown him was coming true.

The ability the heschrmal had given him was more curse than gift. He’d used it three times since the spirit lion had appeared before him. Its use the first time had been accidental and drove him from the Brenahiilo. The second time, it had been used against him deliberately, and forced him back among those who despised him. This last time, when he’d attempted to use it on the prisoners from California, the gift had proved useless. But then none of Winchester’s fancy drugs had pulled info from them either. Maybe his heschrmal talent hadn’t failed. Maybe those two assholes had nothing useful to share.

He’d spent a full year hanging around base because of what the Taounaha had shown him. What a waste of time and tolerance. The mouthpiece had advised patience, had told him his presence was required early, even though the apocalypse hadn’t yet tiptoed into view.

Benioko stressed building rapport and trust with Wolf and his warriors. O’Neill grimaced, every synapse in his brain vibrating with irritation. Yeah, that hadn’t gone well. He was still jie'van. The unwanted one.

Outcast.

He would have left months ago if those damn visions Benioko had shoved into his mind didn’t still haunt his dreams, if the knowledge of what was coming didn’t fill him with dread.

O’Neill hadn’t asked to see it, hadn’t asked to be involved, didn’t want to be a part of this Herculean attempt to save the world—and all the people in it. But he couldn’t turn his back on it either, and he sure as hell hadn’t asked to witness his own death or the irony surrounding it.

And the kicker—the greatest irony of all—was that the only person he’d trusted way back when, the one person he’d exposed his true self to, would never know that despite her betrayal, he’d still knowingly sacrificed himself to save her life along with everyone else on the planet.

He scoffed beneath his breath. She’d done him a favor, really. Taught him to trust no one, count on no one. Her betrayal had driven him from the Brenahiilo and stung a promise from him. The promise that he’d never return, never let anyone betray him again.

Yet wasn’t that exactly what he was doing? Setting himself up for the ultimate betrayal? None of the warriors on this base gave a shit about his ass. When the situation went sideways, which it would, he’d be left out in the cold.

He never should have let Benioko talk him into joining Shadow Mountain. He should have stayed put and fought against the end of humanity from the shadows where he worked best. He’d still end up dead, but on his own terms, watching his own back instead of sacrificing himself to keep other warriors alive.

Grimacing, he turned toward the door. Aiden Winchester was right about one thing, though. It was time to reach out to his people—again. His real people. The ones he could count on. Find out if they’d pinpointed who was behind this apocalyptic weapon and if they had a location on Kuznetsov yet. But most of all, he needed to brace himself, because the storm was coming and about to swallow him whole.

The Taounaha and the Shadow Warrior owed him one. A big one. Like fucking everything. When he joined the web of his ancestors, he had better live like a king.

Chapter thirty-three

Day 16

Denali, Alaska

Five hours after his embarrassingly wimpy workout, Aiden awoke to a banging on his door. He grabbed his tactical pants from beside the bed and fumbled into them with shaking hands and legs. Fuck, he felt worse—a lot worse—than he’d felt prior to shucking his clothes and falling asleep. He wrenched the door open and twisted left to avoid Cosky’s fist, which—since the door was out of the way—was headed straight for Aiden’s face.