The Gates of Winter - Mark Anthony [189]
Travis scratched his scruffy beard and laughed. “I don't really remember.”
Deirdre glanced at Travis. “So, are you going to introduce us to your friend?”
Dr. Larsen stood near the door, her expression uncertain. Travis took a deep breath. How was he going to do this? “Everyone, this is—”
“You!” Beltan roared.
In three strides he covered the distance to Larsen, and before she could react he wrapped his big hands around her neck and squeezed. Her eyes bulged, and her fingers clawed at his wrists, but without effect.
For a moment shock paralyzed Travis, then he was moving. “Stop it, Beltan. Let her go—now.”
The blond man clenched his jaw. “No. Not after what she did to Ellie and the fairy. Not after what she did to me.”
Larsen's struggling was already growing weaker. Her skin was white, and her eyes rolled up.
“Vani!” Travis shouted. “Help me.”
However, the T'gol only crossed her arms over her black leathers. Deirdre stared, her expression one of horror. Anders reached into his jacket and pulled out a gun. Travis shook his head. No one was going to die, not if he could help it.
He put his hands on Beltan's arms, not to pull them away, simply to touch them. They were hard and rigid. A light shone in the blond man's eyes: a faint green glow.
“Please, Beltan,” he said. “Let her go. Not for her sake, or for mine, but for your own. You said they tried to make you into a killer. Don't show them that they've won.”
Larsen was no longer struggling. She hung limply in the big man's arms. For a moment he didn't move, his face as hard as if carved of stone. Then a shudder passed through him, and Larsen slumped to the floor. Beltan stared at his hands. The fey light was gone from his eyes.
“What have I done?” he said softly. “By Vathris, what have I done?”
Deirdre was already kneeling next to Larsen. “Anders, help me.”
Together, they pulled Larsen up and sat her on a nearby chair. Her head lolled back and forth. Panic surged in Travis. She couldn't die. He needed her. They all needed her.
Larsen's eyes fluttered open, and a ragged breath rushed into her.
Travis touched her shoulder. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, I—” She winced, holding a hand to her throat. Her skin was already beginning to bruise. “I'm fine.” She looked at Beltan, her expression stricken. “I'm sorry. I know you can never forgive me, but I want you to know how sorry I am.”
Beltan tried to say something, but no words came out. He turned and hunched his shoulders. Travis started to move to him, but Vani was swifter. She placed her arms around Beltan. He resisted a moment, then rested his head on her shoulder.
Stunned, Travis simply stared as Anders fetched a glass of water. Deirdre helped Dr. Larsen sit up straight and drink it. Beltan had pushed Vani away. The knight moved to Larsen, kneeling before her chair.
“Ellie gave herself for me. If you made her what she was, then your work could not have been for evil.”
Tears streamed down Larsen's cheeks. She reached out a trembling hand and touched Beltan's face, and they stayed that way for a moment before he stood again.
“Well, that was all a bit on the awkward side,” Anders said, slipping his gun back inside his coat.
Travis let out a tight breath. “I thought Seekers didn't carry guns.”
“They don't.” Deirdre crossed her arms and gave Anders a sharp look. “At least, not usually.”
Anders winked at her, a grin on his craggy face. “I thought you knew by now I was anything but usual, mate.”
Larsen looked up at Travis, new fear registering in her eyes. “Seekers? These people are Seekers?”
Travis nodded. “That they are. And now we're going to have a good long conversation with them.”
“No,” Deirdre said. “First you're going to have a good long shower. Then we'll talk.”
Travis spent the next half hour standing under a jet of hot water, letting it wash away the dirt, the weariness, the fear. As he showered, he thought of Jay and Marty, and he hoped they were all right.
He toweled off, then pulled on a pair of jeans and a sweater that Deirdre had bought