A deep-throated growl woke Lottie from a sound sleep. Her hand slipped out from under the covers, and she patted King’s chest. “What is it?” The dog’s growl deepened, and Lottie sat up abruptly. Her heart beat frantically. “King?” she whispered. He gave her a huffing bark that did nothing to calm her. She glanced down at Grey sleeping peacefully, one arm over his head and the other bent so he could suck on his thumb while he slept. Slowly, she slipped from the blankets, tucking the edges around Grey’s chest before she grabbed her knife and got to her knees. “Let’s go, King,” she whispered.
She would never let Grey talk her into letting King sleep in their tent again. The guard dog belonged in the clearing, just as Noah had insisted, and if King had been in the yard, he would have been free to take care of the threat that stalked her settlement instead of having to wake her first.
Unzipping the tent, Lottie slipped outside with King right behind her. His growl made her shiver. He sounded so menacing, and she could feel his fur standing on end. His skin twitched and rippled, and Lottie wished she could see better, but the moon had yet to rise and the night was new-moon dark.
She shivered. She hadn’t been afraid of the night in months, but with King’s hackles raised, her nerves were raw. “Come on King,” Lottie urged. “Show me what’s wrong.”
He woofed softly and pressed his warm body against her knees, guiding her forward. At the central fire, there was a pile of gear that had not been there when she went to bed. Inching forward, she tried to find any identifying marks—Was someone stealing from them?—but the red glow from the banked coals proved ineffectual to the task.
Spinning, she slashed with her knife, striking at her attacker before what he’d said registered. He tried to jump back, but she caught him before he could do more than block her blade with his forearm. “Fuck,” he yelped as the blade rent through the fabric and made contact with his skin.
“Tristan!” Lottie cried, dropping the knife, and lunging for him, trying to keep him from staggering and falling into the fire. “Ever-absent God, Tristan! I’m so sorry!” She felt tears well and cascade down her cheeks. “I didn’t mean it.” She sniffed. His hot blood poured over her fingers. “Are you okay? I’m so sorry.”
Tristan’s silence made the sick feeling in her gut worse.
“Jaesen!” Lottie whispered fiercely. She didn’t want to wake the others, but she needed help. The cut was bleeding too much. It had to be deep. “Sit,” she urged Tristan. “Jaesen!” she cried louder, guiding Tristan to one of the logs they used at mealtime. She helped him down and squatted by his side.
“It’s… Damn, this hurts, Momma.”
“I’m so sorry, Tristan! I didn’t mean to hurt you.” She sniffed. “Jaesen! Help.”
The volume of her pleas ended up bringing more than Jaesen out from his tent.
“What’s going on,” Nyah asked from her perch next to the screen in the door of her tent, and Lottie could see Ally and Katie staring at her from theirs. “Are you okay?”
“No. I cut Tristan. Bad. Can you build up the fire while I take care of him?”
Zippers rasped in the night as the women came out of their tents to help, and Jaesen dropped to his knees next to her, barking, “Let me see.” Lottie sat back; thankful Jaesen was finally there. He had more experience with field injuries than she did and she gratefully relinquished control of the situation.
“Help me with his jacket,” Jaesen ordered. Lottie nodded, sliding it from Tristan’s shoulders. When she reached the gaping wound in his forearm, she waited for Jaesen to ease the sleeve off.
“You’re damn lucky you were wearing that jacket,” he growled at Tristan. His nose so close to the injury he practically touched it. “It’s almost eighty out tonight, why are you wearing it.”
Tristan did not answer. Lottie searched his gaze, fearing his lack of response was due to shock. The warm glow of the building fire flickered in his eyes. Tristan wasn’t looking at her. He was looking over her shoulder. She turned to see what captivated him. Zoe knelt, one leg in her tent and one out, frozen in place, staring back at him. Lottie’s heart thudded in her chest. She’d hoped their first reunion after eight years would have been more romantic and with a lot less blood, but they didn’t seem to notice the lack of the former or the copious amount of the later. They only had eyes for each other.
“Tristan, why were you wearing a coat?” Jaesen prompted.
“I…” Tristan shook his head. With effort, he focused on Jaesen. “Case’s been arrested for treason.” No! Lottie’s legs gave out, and she sat down hard. “Sent to Fort Twenty-four. Noah stayed behind to learn more, and I booked it back to Fort Sutton. I gathered what I could carry and came straight here without stopping.”
“Casey’s arrested?” Lottie whispered, her throat hot and tight. Hands rubbed her arms, but she didn’t know who and couldn’t muster up enough energy to find out.
“Noah knows where he’s going,” Tristan said. “and decided to stay in St. Louis to check on a few things—namely Brad—who’s going to help out here, and when Case will be shipped off to Twenty-four. He’ll be back here as soon as he can.”
“Casey’s arrested?” She couldn’t believe it.
“Yeah, Green knows all about your escape from Gates. He wants Case will tell him where you are hiding.”
“Did you see him?”
Tristan shook his head. “When we learned he was detained, I turned around immediately and headed back. Only reason why I reenlisted was for Case. I wasn’t gonna retire ‘til he did, but now that he ain’t going back, I’m not either.”
“You’re AWOL?” a soft voice whispered, drawing Lottie’s gaze to Zoe standing a few feet away. Lottie sighed. Even with wild-looking bed hair and noticeable baby bump, the woman was gorgeous, and Lottie couldn’t quite suppress the small sting of jealousy that flared in her chest.
Swallowing hard, Tristan nodded.
“So, you’re not leaving?”
He shook his head.
Placing a hand on Tristan’s knee, Lottie asked, “But, you’re going to go get Casey, right?” She felt light-headed and ill.
Tristan turned his gaze to her. “He’ll come back,” he assured her.
“How?” she wailed. Fort Twenty-four was a high-security prison camp, where the worst of the worst went. They’d never break him out.
“I don’t know, but Noah’ll have a plan.”
She swallowed hard. “But…”
“Can you help me?” Jaesen growled, interrupting her.
Lottie jerked and turned to him. “What?”
“I need to stitch this,” he said, his tone conveying impatience and she felt her cheeks warm in embarrassment. He was right. Casey was fine for the time being, but Tristan needed care right now. “Can you help, or do I need to get someone else?” She glanced down at the wound in Tristan’s arm. It was at least four inches long and gaped open obscenely. “You’re damn lucky you caught him in the forearm and not the inner. You only sliced through muscle and not an artery.” She blinked at his harsh tone. Jaesen never sounded so angry. He bumped her shoulder with his. “Remind me to never get in a knife fight with you. You’re brutal.” Lottie exhaled. He didn’t seem as hostile now. “What did you use?”
She grimaced. “My butcher knife.”
“You sterilize it recently?” Lottie shook her head. Why would she? She only ever used it to slice up their game. Tristan gulped, and Jaesen shifted his focus to the injury. “We’ll let’s hope it doesn’t get infected.”
Turning her sympathetic gaze to Tristan, she whispered, “I’m so sorry. King was growling and… You surprised me. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“I know, Momma.” He patted her on the shoulder with his uninjured hand. “You’re forgiven.”
Tears which felt like hot needles pricked behind her eyes and Lottie blinked rapidly to hold them back.
“Ready?” Jaesen asked them both. He had a needle and thread ready. She assumed he got it from one of the sewing kits she’d stolen from Gates.
“Yes,” both Tristan and Lottie replied at the same time.
Jaesen acknowledged them, bent his head, and began stitching Tristan’s arm by firelight.
Call to action at the end of all odd chapters: *****If you like Acquisition and Preservation, please add it to your library!
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