The Gender War (The Gender Game #4) by Bella Forrest (read novel full TXT) 📗

“Okay,” I agreed tiredly. “We also need to find out when Solomon last ate, and figure out a system for getting him food and water. Owen—did Desmond ever tell you anything about when he would recover, or even… if he would recover?”

Owen’s face fell at my question, his mouth turning downward in dismay. “I never asked after my first report—she assured me she would have the scientists work on a solution, but then things got crazy and… I didn’t follow up.”

I felt a pang of regret for also not bothering Desmond about finding a cure for Solomon. I should have been keeping up—it was my fault he was in the condition he was in, after all.

I was also a little afraid of the answer. I didn’t want to think that Solomon would be stuck like this forever.

“We’ll… We’ll figure it out,” I said, patting Owen on the shoulder. He met my gaze solemnly, and nodded. I turned to Viggo. “Let’s handle this gate thing and get some sleep.”

He gazed in the direction of the gate and sighed heavily. “Yeah.”

His voice was tinged with resignation.

I followed his gaze, unsettled by his mood. We were only reacting at this point. We had yet to come up with anything remotely resembling a plan, and that was going to break us long before this battle with Elena and Desmond was over. We couldn’t wait for problems to fix themselves—and in the process, allow more problems to creep up on us unawares. We needed to create some problems for our enemies to fix. The thought sent a rush of energy through me.

“Hang on, guys,” I said, the sudden commanding tone in my voice surprising even me. “Change of plan.” Viggo turned back to me, his brows furrowed. I met his and Owen’s gazes evenly. “Let’s get that truck in front of the gate, and then the three of us, and Maxen and Ashabee, are going to have a little meeting about what our next steps are.”

I didn’t wait for them to respond. I just marched forward. My mind was beginning to wake up, spinning out ideas and scenarios faster than I could record them all. I thought back to my ideas in the truck this afternoon—well, yesterday afternoon, now—and realized I finally had a place where we could start.

20

Viggo

It had taken us an hour to rig a fix for the gate, but somehow, Violet, Owen, and I had managed it. In the end, rather than rigging some brilliant feat of engineering, we’d just leaned the broken side of the iron gate back up and used the truck to support it. I was less than pleased by the final result. It might keep people from coming in, but it certainly didn’t open.

I was trying to remain optimistic while waiting for the meeting to begin, but it was hard when I was so sleep-deprived. We’d probably only been sleeping for a few hours before Thomas had interrupted. My ability to focus was waning, not because I wasn’t interested in planning our next move, but because my brain kept trying to shut off, leaving me staring blankly at a bookcase until my head would drop suddenly and I would jerk back awake.

Taking a deep breath, I stood up, scrubbing my eyes. Owen looked up from where he was lounging on the couch, looking pretty exhausted himself. I admired his brave attempt to lie down—if I were him, I would have been asleep long ago.

We were in one of the numerous top-floor studies that seemed to be around every corner—between all the bedrooms—in the Ashabee mansion. This one was outfitted with an array of antique-looking furniture and trinkets centered on a giant desk, all in shades of yellow and gold. It was not making me feel any more awake or cheerful.

I paced the room as we waited for Violet, my footsteps practically silent on the mustard-colored carpet. Owen watched me, and then shook his head. He sat up with a groan and rolled his neck. “How long is she going to take?” he asked.

I shrugged. She had volunteered to go fetch Maxen and Ashabee, and I didn’t imagine either of them taking kindly to a wake-up call in the wee hours of the morning.

That thought alone gave me a small, twisted thrill of pleasure. I was being spiteful, but those two weren’t going to lift a finger to make our jobs easier. Or to defend this place. So the fact that they were at least getting to share in our rude awakening made me feel better. At least it allowed me to stop resenting their good night’s sleep.

Yes, I was exhausted to the point of behaving like an ill-tempered toddler.

An amused smile grew on my face as I heard the familiar indignant squawk of Ashabee, followed by a visceral growl from Maxen, coming from the dining room. Within seconds, they staggered in, forcibly pushed by Violet.

I quickly downgraded the smile to one of tight-lipped politeness and inclined my head to them. “Good evening, gentlemen. Or morning. Not really clear at the moment.”

Ashabee’s cheeks were red as he jerked his elbow out of Violet’s grasp. “Do you have any idea what it was like to be roused from our beds by this… this… harlot?” he spluttered, looking at me for sympathy.

I cocked my head at both of them and frowned. “Do you have any idea what it was like to be roused from my very comfortable bed lying next to that so-called harlot in order to keep your enemies from killing you, only to be treated with whining and rudeness?”

Ashabee recoiled, as if he had been bitten by a snake, and fell into silence. Maxen, however, was a tougher nut to crack. “I believe that is the job you volunteered for, Mr. Croft. So forgive me if I lack any sympathy for your plight.”

I growled, about to open my mouth to tell him exactly what I would do with