Chapter 15

Cameron and Whip had been on more than two dozen missions together. They were an odd pair, the large, hulking woman and the tiny slip of a thing, but over the years, they had built up a strong friendship. Both of them were women of few words; in a glance, they were able to communicate more to each other than they could have shared with a stranger in an entire speech.

They'd both noticed Drew's growing attachment to the New Queen. It made no sense; she was the one female in the world who was supposed to be immune to the goblin's pheromones, but there it was. It was in the way she looked at her, the careful way she held her. Somehow, the scientist had let herself become attached, and it was starting to be a worry.

Cameron had no problem being merciless; the mission always came first, and if Drew's goblin expertise wasn't unmatched and potentially necessary to keep the New Queen alive, Cameron would have taken her out without blinking.

Unfortunately, they needed her.

Neither of them wanted to mention it to Vernita. Cameron had worked with many soldiers over many years, but she'd never seen anyone with such a hatred of goblins as Vernita. She wasn't the communicative type, so Cameron had no idea what had caused such passion, such fury, but for the most part, it was exactly what was needed in a soldier. Her hate ensured that at the end of the day, the goblins were dead, and that was all that mattered.

Here and now, it was starting to get in the way. They needed the Queen alive, and Vernita's hatred was, as a problem, starting to match Drew's obvious affection for her. The whole party was turning into a powder-keg, ready to explode, and without Bea's tact, Cameron was at a loss for what to do next.

So she'd taken the New Queen, and gestured for Whip to chat to Drew, see what she could find out. Cameron was going to see if she could get anything out of Vernita, but she didn't hold out much hope. She'd never heard Vernita share anything personal to anyone, and while she was in a state like this, Cameron would be lucky if she got more than a few words out of the tense woman.

Beatrice watched her old comrades. She had finally caught up, and was trying to remain half a tunnel behind, to see if she could observe anything from the outside that would help her Queen.

She felt nothing but sympathy for her old troupe, sympathy that they didn't know the pure ecstasy of servitude, the genuine bliss that came from worshipping a being of such majesty. She felt sympathy that it would be hours, maybe even days before her Queen deigned to turn them, and she especially felt sympathetic towards little Drew, not able to feel the utter perfection of a goblin's musk.