Chapter Two #2
Oh fuck. Resting his elbows on his desk, Arrow buried his face in his hands. He’d fucked up, as in really, truly fucked up.
His phone buzzed from where it lay on the floor. Arrow ignored it. Nothing else mattered when he’d destroyed his one chance with his mate.
You can fix this, his wolf insisted. Find him. Apologize. Make it right.
But how? Flint wouldn’t see him. He had sent a blank piece of paper because Arrow didn’t even deserve words.
Arrow thought about what Python had said.
About Flint being respected, and about a whole group of assassins protecting him.
They aren’t just coworkers. They’ve formed their own pack.
They’re a family. And Arrow had treated one of their own like trash.
His phone kept buzzing. Arrow finally crawled across the floor to grab it. Three missed calls from Jack. Two from his supervisor. One from his mother.
And one text from an unknown number: This is Cyrus. If you contact anyone else at the agency trying to find Flint’s address, I will personally ensure Python removes your balls. Stop harassing people and leave him alone.
Arrow stared at the message. His first instinct was rage - how dare they threaten him? He had every right to find his mate. But did he? What right did he have, really, after what he’d done?
You have to try, his wolf begged. Have to make him understand. He’s ours.
“He doesn’t want to be,” Arrow said aloud.
The words hung like accusations in the empty office - the place where Arrow was supposed to be respected, in a space he earned.
None of it - not the accolades on the wall hung in discreet frames or the ridiculously expensive pen he’d purchased for himself after he completed his first successful case - meant anything anymore.
All Arrow had ever wanted was to prove he was better than everyone he’d lived with growing up. He had left home determined to be better than his brothers, better than any pack member he’d left behind, including those he was related to.
The realization slapped Arrow around the head. He wasn’t better. He was worse. He’d treated his mate - his fated mate, the person the Fates had chosen specifically for him - like he was nothing. He’d assumed the worst based on appearances and refused to listen when his mate tried to correct him.
Just like my father used to do. Arrow sighed.
He’d behaved exactly like the pack alphas back home, deciding someone’s worth based on their size, rank, or bloodline.
I always swore I’d never be like them. And yet, Arrow was currently in his coveted office space, all alone, purely and simply because he’d driven away the one person who actually mattered.
His phone buzzed again. Jack: Seriously, what the hell is going on? Patterson’s on the warpath, talking about suspending your ass if you don’t shape up.
Arrow typed back slowly: I met my mate. I fucked it up. He won’t see me.
The response came fast: Then FIX IT, you idiot.
How?
I don’t know. Grovel? Beg? Send flowers? Whatever it takes. You don’t give up on your mate.
Arrow closed his eyes. Jack was right. He couldn’t give up.
But he also couldn’t keep doing what he’d been doing - calling in favors, trying to track Flint down, planning to what? Show up at his door and demand he listen?
That isn’t going to work, his wolf snarled.
Arrow needed to think. Actually, he needed a time machine, but as he didn’t have one he did need to figure out how to prove to Flint that he wasn’t the asshole he’d been at the bar.
That he could be better. That he could be worthy of someone like Flint - someone brave enough to work as an assassin despite his size.
Someone skilled enough to be the best. Someone strong enough to walk away from his own mate when that mate treated him wrong.
I need help, Arrow realized.
But who could he ask? Who would even talk to him after the way he’d been acting?
He thought about the hybrid’s cold stare. The demon’s threat. They’d protect Flint, so they weren’t likely to help him. But maybe...maybe they knew someone who would?
Arrow picked up his phone and started typing a new message to Cyrus: You’re right. I was an asshole. I want to fix it. But I don’t know how. Can you help me?
He stared at it for a long moment before deleting it. It was too desperate, too pathetic.
He tried again: I need to apologize to Flint properly. What would he want to hear?
Delete.
Tell me how to make this right.
Delete.
Finally, Arrow just typed: I’m sorry.
He hit send before he could overthink it.
The response came twenty minutes later: You’re apologizing to the wrong person.
Fair enough.
Arrow: Then tell me how to apologize to the right one.
Cyrus: Figure it out yourself. You’re supposed to be a smart wolf. Act like it.
The conversation ended there. Arrow sat in his office as the sun set and the city lights came on as darkness fell.
His wolf paced and whined. His body ached with the mating pull, but for the first time since he’d met Flint, Arrow wasn’t thinking about dragging him home and getting his dick sucked.
He was thinking about earning the right to even speak to him again. How the hell do I do that?