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“Come with me.”
Patrick shot Mal’ik a confused look as he rushed into his own tent, Mal’ik on his heels. “What?”
The briefing had been, for once, actually brief. Every officer and squad leader had been pulled from their bed and gathered in front of Yal’rest, who had stood before them pale and shaking and looking nothing like a general.
The Insects had attacked Qesha. One of the smaller cities. The battle was ongoing. That was all they knew.
Every squad, whether or not they’d completed the Trial, was stationed on Base Ship Givast. Effective immediately. Departure in two hours.
“Come with me to Tava.” Mal’ik dropped to his knees and opened Patrick’s footlocker.
“What are you talking about?” Patrick shoved his empty duffel at Mal’ik before grabbing his two gatlungs off their racks and swinging them over his shoulder. “Why the hell would I do that?”
“Because the Klah’Eel refuse to use you and I can.” Mal’ik emptied Patrick’s footlocker into the duffel, then slapped it shut and pinned Patrick with his orange eyes, so much lighter than Fal’ran’s. “You should be a captain, Patrick. You should be more than a captain.”
Patrick had become immune to Mal’ik’s stern gaze years ago and packed his guns away into their cases without meeting it. “Obviously not.”
“Yes, you should.” Mal’ik yanked the zipper of the duffel closed and stood. “Come with me to Tava, Patrick. I need you. Tava needs you. The humans—”
“I am not Human.” Patrick whirled around. His knuckles turned white on the straps of his rifle case. “I am Klah’Eel. And while I respect your decision to shift your loyalties, I will not.”
He held out his hand for the duffel, fighting down the anger. His friend didn’t mean any offense, but how could he ask that of Patrick? How could it even occur to him? To run? To turn tail? To abandon his country in their hour of need?
To abandon his team?
Patrick’s hand shook as his anger grew and he dropped it into a fist at his side. “I am not leaving, and I never will.”
“What if they take your team?” Mal’ik spoke calmly, his nostrils flaring, and his eyes flicking up and down Patrick’s body.
“Then they take my team,” Patrick bit out. “We don’t desert just because we don’t like the decisions our superiors make.” He winced when Mal’ik’s shoulders stiffened. “I didn’t mean you.”
Mal’ik’s jaw clenched as he nodded. “I know.” But he didn’t give up Patrick’s bag.
They stared at each other and the sounds of Training Camp Pel’on’s mobilization pressed in on them. Aircraft whirred, land cruisers revved, people shouted, soldiers marched.
“There’s always a place for you with me, Patrick.” Mal’ik handed his bag to him. “Always.”
“I know.” Patrick took the bag and his heart clenched. “I appreciate that.”
A small, scared, weak part of him wanted to claim that place. He’d missed Mal’ik like a limb while he’d been gone, and in the brief time that Patrick had been in the army without him, his entire career had fallen down around his ears. It was tempting to go back to the way things had been before.
But they wouldn’t be back to the way things were before, and a far larger part of Patrick had too much pride and too much loyalty to consider the offer. He was a Klah’Eel soldier, and his country was on the brink of war. He wasn’t going anywhere.
A pair of burnt orange eyes appeared in his mind and gave him a whole different reason for refusing to leave, and he shoved them away. But he didn’t succeed. Fal’ran’s determined face lodged in his vision. He couldn’t leave Fal’ran now. Even if Mal’ik asked him to.
Mal’ik inhaled through his nose. “I can smell him on you again, you know.”
Patrick swallowed and shuffled his feet. “Yeah, I’m sure you can.” He’d showered the night before. He’d tried to scrub away the Trial, the terror, the emotions, and, though a part of him hadn’t wanted to, Fal’ran’s scent. But he didn’t doubt it lingered enough for Mal’ik to catch it.
“I’m glad he’s all right.” Mal’ik tilted his head as he stared at Patrick, and Patrick’s face heated.
“I am, too.” Patrick ignored the way his body went hot and trembly. He didn’t have words for how relieved he had been to see Fal’ran standing there in that locker room. And he definitely didn’t have words for what he’d felt as they’d kissed and touched and… Oh god, every time he thought about it, his nerves tangled up. “Mal’ik, we have to go.”
“I know. Come here.” Mal’ik grabbed him up into a tight hug. “Take care of yourself, you stubborn son of a bitch.”
“You too, you reckless fool.” Patrick burrowed his fingers into Mal’ik’s foreign uniform jacket. “I want to see you again at the end of this war.”
“You will.” Mal’ik stepped back, keeping his hands on Patrick’s shoulders, and giving Patrick another stern once over.
