Chapter Two
Arrow slammed the phone down on his desk hard enough that the plastic casing cracked. The sixth call in as many hours and still nothing. No one at the agency would give him Flint’s address. Not the records department, not his supervisor, not even Jenkins from IT, who owed him three favors.
“Personnel files are confidential,” they all said. “File a formal request through channels.”
Like he had time for bureaucratic bullshit when every nerve in his body screamed to find his mate.
His wolf snarled, pacing restlessly beneath his skin. Mate. Need mate. Find him.
Arrow scrubbed his hands over his face. His loft had felt wrong. Too empty. Too quiet. The expensive furniture and designer artwork that usually made him feel successful now mocked him. What good was any of it without Flint here?
Not Flint - who would give anyone so sweet a harsh name like that? He’s Pretty Boy. The twink from the bar.
Except that both Cyrus and Python had called him Flint. They’d said he was the agency’s best sniper, and worse, they’d looked at Arrow like he was dirt for how he’d treated him. Arrow had come to the office, hoping he’d get more answers there…and that would be big fat “no.”
Arrow’s stomach twisted. He shoved the feeling away and reached for his phone again.
“Don’t even think about it.” Jack appeared in his office doorway, arms crossed. The other wolf worked in cybercrimes too and was often partnered with Arrow when they went to apprehend white-collar criminals. “You’ve been calling people non-stop for two days. What’s going on?”
“Nothing.” Arrow turned away, pretending to sort through papers.
“Bullshit. You haven’t been out to Howl in weeks.
Tommy asked me last night if you died.” Jack moved into the office uninvited, shutting the door.
“You always hit the clubs on Fridays, at the very least. Every Friday, like clockwork. But you’ve been holed up in here instead, snapping at everyone and making phone calls. ”
“I’ve been busy.”
“Busy trying to track down someone’s address. I heard you yelling at Jenkins.” Jack’s eyes narrowed. “Who is it? Some hookup who didn’t give you their number?”
Arrow’s hands clenched into fists. Fur rippled across his knuckles before he forced it back. “Drop it, Jack.”
“No way. You’re my friend, even when you’re being an asshole.” Jack dropped into one of the chairs across from Arrow’s desk. “Talk to me.”
For a moment, Arrow considered it. Jack was pack, even if they weren’t from the same one. He’d understand the pull of a mate, the way it burned through Arrow’s blood and made rational thought impossible.
But then Jack would want to meet him. He’d expect Arrow to introduce his mate properly, and how could Arrow do that when Flint refused to even see him?
Because you treated him like garbage, a small voice whispered in the back of his mind. Arrow crushed it.
“There’s nothing to talk about,” Arrow said. “I’ve got a case I’m working on. I’m trying to track down a witness.”
“A witness.” Jack didn’t sound convinced, and that wasn’t surprising - chasing witnesses was a totally different department.
“That’s what I said.” Arrow could be stubborn, even as he knew Jack could scent the lie.
“All right then.” Jack stood. “When you’re done being a stubborn prick about whatever’s actually going on, you know where to find me.” He paused at the door. “And Arrow? Whatever’s eating at you...fix it before it destroys you. You’ve been looking like shit for days.”
Arrow waited until the door closed before slumping back in his chair.
His reflection stared back at him from the dark computer screen.
Jack was right - he looked terrible. Dark circles under his eyes.
Hair disheveled. His suit was rumpled because he’d slept in it last night after passing out on his couch.
Because you can’t sleep without your mate, his wolf whined.
Arrow’s phone buzzed. A text from his brother Kyle back in Wyoming: Mom wants to know when you’re visiting. She says you haven’t called in two months.
Arrow deleted it without responding. He’d left Wyoming to get away from his family’s expectations and the pack’s old-fashioned rules.
He’d worked his ass off to get into the agency, to prove he was better than his brothers, who still lived in their parents’ basement and worked at the same factory their father did.
He’d earned his expensive loft, his designer suits and his reputation as someone who could have anyone he wanted and usually did.
Except now the only person he wanted couldn’t even be bothered to write on a piece of paper left for him. A blank piece of paper. Arrow’s jaw clenched. That’s what the hybrid had given him. A fucking blank piece of paper, like Arrow wasn’t even worth words.
His phone buzzed again. This time, it was Taylor from legal: Stop calling people about personnel files. You’re making waves, and Patterson’s asking questions, wanting to know why you’re trying to track down an assassin.
Arrow threw the phone across the room. It hit the wall and clattered to the floor, screen cracked.
He needed to find Flint, needed to bring him home where he belonged. He needed to...
To what? The thought stopped him cold.
What exactly did he expect to happen when he found Flint? That the pretty blond would take one look at him and fall into his arms? That the mating bond would override everything Arrow had said and done when his dick had taken over and he’d let it do the talking?
He’s the agency’s best sniper.
Cyrus’s words echoed in his head.
Flint is a highly respected professional and our friend.
Python’s voice, sharp with an underlying threat.
Arrow stood and started pacing. The wolf inside him pushed against his skin, wanting out, wanting to hunt. In his head it was simple. He wanted to find their mate and drag him back to the den.
But Flint wasn’t prey. He was... What was he, exactly?
Arrow tried to remember their encounter at the bar. He’d been there hunting for a hookup - someone tall, muscled, dominant. Instead, he’d caught a scent that made his wolf sit up and howl. Clean and sharp, like fresh-cut grass with something sweeter underneath.
He’d tracked it to a small blond in the corner, nursing a drink and watching the crowd. Arrow had approached, already imagining those pouty lips wrapped around his cock.
“Hey there, pretty thing.”
The blond had looked up with huge eyes. “I’m working.”
“Working?” Arrow had laughed. “What, as a go-go dancer? You’re way too covered up for that.” He’d reached out to trace one finger down the man’s arm. “Why don’t you come home with me instead? I’ve got a much better place for you to work that mouth.”
“I’m on a job. For the same agency you work for.” The blond had nodded at the discreet pin Arrow wore with pride on his jacket lapel.
That had made Arrow pause. “The agency? You?” He’d looked the blond up and down. Small, delicate, pretty. “What do you do, answer phones?”
“I’m in the field.”
“Sure you are, sweetheart.” Arrow had moved closer, crowding into his mate’s space.
The scent was intoxicating. “Look, I get it. You probably tell all the guys you’re important.
But between you and me, we both know what you’re really good for.
” He’d dropped his voice. “And I can smell how much you want it. So why don’t we skip the games and… ”
“I need to focus.” The blond had stood, barely coming up to Arrow’s shoulder. “My target’s about to move.”
“Your target?” Arrow had grabbed his wrist. “Come on, baby. Stop playing hard to get. The mating pull’s driving me crazy, and I know you feel it too.”
“Let go of me.”
“Not until you agree to come home with me. You can’t fight the bond. You’re my mate, which means you belong to me now.”
The blond had yanked free with surprising strength. “I don’t belong to anyone. And if you don’t stop interfering with my work, I’m going to report you.”
“Report me?” Arrow had laughed. “To who?”
“To whoever your supervisor is at cybercrimes. I saw your credentials when you flashed them at the bar.” Those huge eyes had narrowed. “Now, excuse me. I have an actual job to do.”
And then he’d walked away. Just turned and walked through the crowd like Arrow didn’t exist, leaving him standing there stunned and furious. His mate had rejected him and walked away like the bond meant nothing.
Those weren’t the only things you said to him…
He’d tried to follow, but the crowd had swallowed the blond up. By the time Arrow pushed through to the back of the bar, the blond was gone. It wasn’t until later that Arrow realized he’d never gotten his mate’s name. Arrow had gotten that confirmed from Cyrus.
Now, sitting in his office, Arrow replayed what he remembered from the conversation, trying to see it from the other side. He had a feeling his version of events was completely skewed, but he did remember a couple of points very clearly.
I’m working. I’m on a job. I need to focus. My target’s about to move.
What if the blond had been telling the truth?
What if he really had been tracking someone? And Arrow had...
You interfered with an active operation, Arrow realized with dawning horror. If he was really working, you could have blown his cover, which could have gotten him killed.
His wolf whimpered.
No. No, that’s not...He was too small. Too pretty. He couldn’t be...
The agency’s best sniper, that damn mechanic Cyrus had said, with one of the highest kill rates.
Arrow’s stomach dropped. He’d assumed. He’d taken one look at his mate - at Flint - and decided he knew everything about him based on his appearance, and then gone on to treat him like he was nothing more than a body to warm Arrow’s bed.
It’s worse - own it. And Arrow knew that was true, too. He’d grabbed his mate, propositioned him, was probably rude, crude, and a fucking loser because he was thinking with his dick. But then he refused to listen when the blond said he was working.