Under incredulous brows, Shepherd’s eyes burned. “They won’t have time to freeze to death.”
The soldier didn’t understand, “Sir?”
“This was not like an attack against the Citadel, their enemy. This was an attack on the population. Panic will ensue... riots. Cutting their power will slow them down.”
Typing furiously across the Command Room’s console, another soldier interjected, “Sir, I cannot shut down the communications network. The fallback order has not been sent.”
“What is preventing it?”
Frustration was palpable in the man’s voice. “Someone has taken control of the system.”
A message began to roll across the screen: People of Thólos, the rebel forces are in possession of the virus. Storm the Citadel, destroy our enemy.
There was a blended murmur of curses offered up once the soldier read the lie. It was brilliant and also painfully devious. Svana had openly just betrayed every last Follower who had sworn an oath to install her as queen of Greth Dome.
Shepherd didn’t have time to roar out his anger. Not now. “Get the first wave of transports ready to launch. Ship 7 must remain until Svana has been captured and stowed onboard. Have our men build a fire around it to keep it warm.”
A young man who had survived the torment of the Undercroft thanks to Shepherd, looked to his commander and acknowledged that he could not carry out the order. “They need another hour, sir.”
Shepherd impatiently detailed the outcome should they not get those ships in the air. “If the transport ships’ engines freeze, they will seize. Successful launch will be impossible. Svana is attempting to cut off our exit.” He had more orders to give. “Bridges linking the Citadel to the city must be destroyed. That will remove at least seven access points to our gates. That leaves only the promenade before the steps. We will funnel the citizens into that arena, and kill them before they can storm our walls.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I will return in an hour.” Shepherd looked to his COMspecialist and barked, “By that time, I expect you’ll have regained control of the communications network and disrupted the rebel’s message.”
“Yes, sir.”
Shepherd looked to leadership gathered in the Control Center and said what they were all thinking. “We fight for our brothers now. If we can hold the rabble back for twelve hours, if we can keep the Citadel and the transport pad intact, they will live the life we’ve dreamed of.”
There was a cheer, a lack of desolation. Every man in that room was more than willing to die for his brother.
Shepherd left them to carry out their orders, the expression of detachment and ruthless focus he had maintained for his men falling away the instant he was running to his mate through the underground catacombs.
Jules had sworn to him he would do his duty and gather Svana. His men would lock down the Citadel and destroy as many access points as time would allow. Now all Shepherd could manage was one hour before he had to send his mate to a future where more and more it seemed he would be unable to follow.
All he could do was buy time.
It would not be enough... not for the seventy-two hours it would take before the third round of Followers might be rescued.
The groaning of their metal door did nothing to stir the beautiful woman sleeping in her nest, and for one minute Shepherd allowed himself to just look down at her, to pretend he would get to enjoy that vision every day as they grew old together.
Long black hair streamed over pillows in what Shepherd had learned was a shade called bird’s egg blue: her favorite color. She looked so peaceful in sleep, the fan of her lashes lowered to pale cheeks, her lips gently parted, and of course, her little hand resting over their son. At the upcoming moment of his death, that was the image he would carry to the grave.
Taking a seat on the bed, he pulled Claire to his lap and cradled her. He held her in the same manner in which she would cradle their child once Collin was born. Shepherd did not miss the parallel, tracing his favorite parts of her face and trying to memorize this last peaceful moment.
There was no other time in Shepherd’s life he could recall a handful of minutes as being so precious.
Time in the Undercroft had dragged by, moved at the grating pace of skin slowly scraped over broken glass. There were days it had been almost unbearable, and it drove many prisoners mad within a few years.
Since Svana had guided him from that hell, time had taken on a quality of almost moving too fast. There was never enough of it, always so much to do, hours that needed to be dedicated to training, to planning.
All of that had changed the instant he’d seen Claire.