Ruptured: The Cantati Chronicles by Maggie Mae Gallagher Page B

through? There had been a smattering of cross-breeds in the group—those half demon, half human abominations were like rabid dogs on steroids.
    After my last mission, it was better that we were all fully armed and prepared than caught with our pants down. “Colin, open the weapons chest and make sure everyone is fully armed, got it?” I ordered the freckle-faced kid, barely old enough to shave, on my right as I gasped oxygen into my lungs. My pulse pounded from my mad dash. A few years in the field and his skin wouldn’t be so unblemished—if he made it a few years. Had I ever been that green? At twenty-three, compared to him, I was ancient.
    “Yes, Lieutenant. Right away, ma’am,” Colin replied with something akin to reverence. At least he recognized the chain of command, even with someone who was persona non grata at the moment.
    “Alana, my office. Now,” General O’Hara demanded. Cantati forces taking up positions near the center door glanced back at his harsh command.
    Well shit, that took a lot longer than I thought it would.
    When he gave a command, you followed it or he relieved you. His voice stirred, leaving traces of apprehension along my spine.
    “But … sir?” I cringed inwardly. Glancing at his tall, sturdy frame, always dressed in camo military garb, I admitted he had every right to be pissed. My hands balled into fists. At a time like this, what the hell had gotten into him? We needed to form a counter offensive, not discuss the varied details of my recent failure. If we survived this assault, we could examine the fact that an entire Cantati squad was nothing more than demon fodder because of me. The images from that mission had been emblazoned upon my soul. I shoved it from my mind because if I allowed it, the guilt would swallow me whole.
    Barking his response in short, clipped words, he bellowed. “No time, damn it! My office, NOW!” He stiffly turned, expecting me to follow. Snarling a command over his shoulder he shouted, “Keep that door closed. Don’t let those bastards in.”
    Bloody hell, like I didn’t have enough problems with these guys. They’d talk about my sparring with the General for weeks. Dread churned my belly. I ignored the dozen pair of eyes that studied my reaction, me the fabled ice queen who’d led good men to their deaths. They all blamed me. Head held high, unwilling to falter beneath their steely gazes, I followed him and focused on his bald head instead of their glares. As I walked past the blinking computer lights and sector radar, I shot a quick glance at the map and my blood chilled. I marched past the radar into Dad’s office. He’d bark, but he knew I was the best he had.
    Dad typed a code into his computer with enough force I thought the keyboard buttons would fall off from the reverberation. The wall behind his desk moved, sliding open to reveal a hidden room.
    Bloody hell.
    There was a vault in Dad’s office? It was small, not much larger than a walk-in closet, the inside walls lined with silver metal compartments, each locked with a security keypad. He stepped to the far left corner, keyed in a second code, and had his thumb print scanned. A hatch opened seamlessly, emitting a luminescent violet light. He removed two items from the vault, a glowing jade orb the size of my hand and a leather-bound manuscript.
    The vault door closed upon his exit. Dad sat across from me at his desk. I’d always thought of his heavy, old-world, wooden desk as Dad’s one concession to history. His lips tensed into a flat, compressed line; his eyes searched mine. Fingers of dread reached up, grabbed ahold of my windpipe and squeezed. I didn’t want to hear what he was about to say.
    Sorrow flitted through his brown gaze for a split second. A shock-wave rumbled through the compound and the resounding boom from another grenade rent the air. “Your orders are to travel back and stop the Mutari.”
    “What?” I croaked. He wanted me to stop the Mutari? It was the