8. Thornar
Thornar
Clearing the last room always proved to be the most dangerous.
By the time you reached the last room, your body had already started doing the math—already easing off, if you let it. That was how good soldiers ended up dead: letting their guard down prematurely. I’d watched it happen enough times to make sure it never fucking happened to me.
A three finger signal. Two. One.
We moved in.
In under a minute, two guards who’d been facing the wrong door lay in blood at my feet. Neither of them had expected us, too fearful of the commotion they’d heard outside to be watchful.
Too fucking easy. Which was why I should have expected the third bastard to come out of the back corner closet. It was too late by the time I registered him. The knife he threw grazed my shoulder a millisecond after my shot rang off and hit him square in the forehead.
“Clear.”
I was already moving toward the window to signal Basir’s unit, which included Waylon. That had been a surprising decision. I hadn’t realized the old bastard had that type of fight in him, but I’d heard the screams echoing from the assault their team led.
“You’ve been hit,” Ravik said as I put my gun away. The fabric on my arm had been sliced clean, blood soaking through.
“Grazed at most. It’s not even my good arm.”
“Base is empty, call it in!” Ravik yelled to the Stark Flight soldiers through the window before turning back to me. “You’re seeing a healer when we get back to camp.”
I nearly rolled my eyes but instead made my way out the door, the border post quiet in the way that meant the enemy was gone.
We had soldiers checking the computers already, making sure no message had been sent to the capital—or if it had, that it wasn’t detailed enough to matter.
I didn’t think we’d go unnoticed approaching the capital city, but any bit of shielding helped.
“I’m heading back!” I called out to Ravik and Basir. Neither stopped me, and I knew they probably assumed it was because of my arm. I didn’t care about that. All I wanted was to see my little flame.
I felt Gracie before I laid eyes on her.
The bond between us was a tether that always led me right back to her, and I’d be lying if I said it hadn’t been a distraction during the operation.
Not enough to compromise anything, but enough that I’d been aware of it at the edge of my consciousness.
Her anxiety for us was a live wire, almost intoxicating when threaded with the love she felt.
In a twisted sense, I loved how worried she was for us. I loved that she wanted us back so damn bad. When I stepped into camp, I didn’t bother with a healer and went right to her.
“Thornar!” Her voice was a squeak of relief when she saw me, the emotion slamming through our bond. I saw in her expression exactly what this last hour had cost her. She was already moving toward me before I’d fully cleared the border of the camp, her eyes brimming with unshed tears.
I grabbed her the moment she was within reach, lifting her into my arms and pressing my lips to hers. She gripped my arms, her fingers grazing the cut, but the sting was almost pleasurable because it meant her hands were on me. She kissed me deeply…until she realized she had blood on her hands.
Gracie ripped back with wide eyes and scrambled to look at my arm. “You’re hurt! We need to get you to a healer.”
“I’m fine,” I promised, not letting her move me anywhere. “Besides, I look worse than I am. It’s for dramatic effect.” My wink didn’t make her smile; tears started leaking down her cheeks. Fuck.
“Gracie.” I chuckled softly, capturing her face between my hands. “I am seriously fine. It’s a minor cut and the others didn’t even get a bruise. Fucking ridiculous if you ask me.”
My little flame still didn’t laugh.
Her hands went back to my arm, and the look on her face killed any other joke I had left. I let her steer me toward the tent without another word, the soft tug on my arm telling me not to push even though I knew the injury would look worse in the light.
“Thornar.”
I winced at Gracie’s hushed whisper. It wasn’t life threatening—I’d had that before—but the knife had caught me clean across my upper arm, so deep that the edges of the cut gaped when I flexed. Honestly, it was impressive how sharp that knife must’ve been. I should have grabbed it for Basir.
“It’s a bit bloodier than I thought,” I told her honestly.
Her brow furrowed as she moved across the space and grabbed a medical kit before laying out the things she’d need: antiseptic, gauze, a bandage. I could see Gracie needed to do this, and I would never tell her no to taking care of me.
When I sat down at the edge of the cot, I dragged my shirt over my head before kicking off my boots. If she was going to be touching me, I wanted as little between us as possible.
“Next time, I want to be with all of you,” Gracie said softly as she pressed a clean cloth against the wound, firm and steady. I clenched my jaw at the sting.
“No.”
Gracie looked up and narrowed her gaze before looking back down, her bottom lip catching between her teeth in a way that told me she wanted to argue. So I waited.
“Yes” she whispered. “I can’t handle just waiting to see if you made it back unharmed. You would never be able to handle that either.”
My little flame wasn’t wrong. I exhaled as she applied the antiseptic and cleared debris from the wound that I hadn’t even noticed. My gaze moved over the dress she wore, simple and practical, an oversized jacket hanging off her shoulders. She looked beautiful.
“I wouldn’t, you’re right,” I admitted. “But I still can’t accept the idea of you in harm’s way until it’s absolutely necessary.”
Gracie shook her head, moving past the point for the moment. “I’m going to wrap this, but it may need stitches.”
“It will heal,” I tried to assure her. “I’ve had much deeper than this.”
Gracie’s eyes flashed as her mouth turned into a thin line.
Shit. I really wasn’t helping my case here.
She maintained her careful silence as she wrapped the wound with the same steady skill she’d had from the start—methodical and unhurried.
Her fingers were gentle in a way that made the whole thing feel different from every other time I’d been patched up in the field.
I was used to people treating wounds like paperwork, something to get through and move on from.
Gracie treated it like it mattered, because I mattered to her.
“Gracie.”
“I’m almost done,” she said, not looking up.
“I love you.”
Her hands stilled.
She looked up at me then, and all the pieces of herself she’d been holding together for the last hour came apart quietly.
Tears spilled over, her breath catching on something that wasn’t quite a sob.
Shit. I reached out and caught her face in my hands, thumbs moving across her cheeks. “Hey. I’m right here.”
“I know,” she managed, her voice raspy. “I know, I just—” She let out a shaky breath. “I love you too. So much, Thornar. I should have said it before you left and I just—”
I love you too. Gracie loved me. I could fucking live off those words forever.
“Gracie.” I tilted her face up, unable to keep the smile from my face. “You just did.”
Her lashes were wet as she offered me a gorgeous smile, and I nearly groaned at how fucking beautiful she was.
Our bond surged, lighting up and burning straight through every reasonable thought I’d had up until that point.
My little flame loved me. That was all that mattered in that moment, and my hand moved before I’d made the decision—sliding down to her throat, fingers running along my mating mark.
Her breath caught and her pupils dilated.
There it was.
I’d run out of my ability to be careful tonight. My arm throbbed under its bandage but I didn’t give a single damn about it because she was right here, looking up at me like that. I couldn’t ignore that I’d been in danger tonight. What if I hadn’t come back to her?
“Thornar.” My name on her lips, barely a sound.
“I know,” I rumbled.
I pulled her to me, and before she could finish whatever she’d been about to say, I melded my lips to hers. Gracie made a sound against my mouth that was both surprise and pleasure.
My tenderness cracked cleanly open, revealing something with an edge to it. Something that had been sitting underneath my skin the whole time, patient and waiting. The fight tonight and her confession had ripped away the guise.
The cotton of her dress bunched under my hand, my injured arm tensing as she kissed me back with equal vigor.
I wasn’t gentle. Couldn’t be—not with the way the bond was singing through my chest like a plucked wire, carrying everything she felt straight into me.
Her pure need hit me first. A wave of heat followed by anticipation, sharp and sweet and making it very difficult to think straight.
“Gracie.” It wasn’t really a question; I could feel she needed me.
She pulled back just slightly as my gaze moved to my mating mark, my fingers spanning across it, feeling her pulse underneath my touch. She shivered and I pulled her closer so that she went from standing between my legs to nearly straddling me, her knee coming up to the side of the cot.
The dress wasn’t staying on. I made the decision without announcement as I slid my hand under the hem and began to tug.
Her hands moved to help me, my eyes tracing every inch of her body as she pulled the garment over her head and discarded it.
I groaned, the lantern light highlighting just how little the cotton undergarments covered her perfect fucking body.
It was almost too much. Almost.
“We shouldn’t,” she whispered half-heartedly. “You’re injured and there are people outside—”
“Good,” I rumbled. “I want them to know you’re mine.” It was a dark and satisfying urge of possessiveness that I didn’t even bother to fight.