14
LOKAN
The afternoon sun beat down on Lokan's head as mercilessly as it scorched the dusty outskirts of Choibalsan, turning the air into shimmering waves of heat that made the distant mountains dance like mirages. The small town represented a significant detour from their route toward the border with Russia, but Kian had insisted that they needed protection and shouldn't attempt the crossing alone.
So here he was, standing beside the van, one hand shading his eyes as he scanned the road.
"Are you sure this is the right place?" Carol asked.
"These are the coordinates Turner sent, and it matches his description—a desolate stretch of road two kilometers outside of Choibalsan. It's far enough from curious eyes but close enough to the airport to make sense as a rendezvous point."
"They're late," Carol said from her perch on the van's bumper.
"They didn't provide the exact time. Just to be there between two and three in the afternoon."
"They are costing us a day. We could've reached the border today."
He sighed. "That was Kian's entire point. He doesn't want us crossing the border without protection. Chances are that my father's minions are guarding each crossing."
A distant thrum caught his attention, but it wasn't the sound of a vehicle approaching, and Lokan's muscles tensed as he identified that it was made by helicopter rotors.
"Get in the van," he ordered, already moving toward the driver's door.
Carol stood up, but instead of following his instructions, she lifted her hand. "It's probably the Guardians."
"Carol—"
"How on earth would the Brotherhood know to look for us here?"
She had a point, but he still preferred for them not to be sitting ducks in case she was wrong.
"You're probably right but get in the van anyway." He strode toward her, ready to throw her over his shoulder and shove her inside the vehicle.
He was too late.
The aircraft appeared over a low rise, painted white with commercial insignia on the tail, and as it circled their position, looking for a place to land, Carol began bouncing on her toes.
"It's them! I can see Grant through the window. That enormous bald head of his is unmistakable."
Relief flooded through Lokan, but then what she'd said registered. "Why is he bald?"
Immortals didn't lose their hair like humans did.
"He shaves his head. Don't ask me why. Something about wanting to look like Kojak."
"Who's Kojak?"
Carol huffed. "Where have you been living? Under a rock? He was the most famous television detective of the seventies and was named one of the greatest TV characters of all time."
He grimaced. "Actually, I was living under the proverbial rock. I didn't get to watch much television on the island."
Her expression turned remorseful. "My poor baby. We are going to watch it together as soon as we are in the village."
The helicopter landed on a relatively flat patch of ground, less than a hundred meters away, kicking up a cloud of dust that had them both shielding their faces with their arms and turning away. When the rotors powered down, three figures stepped out, carrying enough weaponry to assault a fortress.
"Carol!" The bald Guardian opened his arms wide as she ran toward him.
Lokan watched with amusement as his mate was engulfed in the Guardian's embrace, her feet leaving the ground as he spun her around. The other two Guardians waited their turn, grinning broadly.
