Chapter 24 #2
“He made it from your cuffs,” Dane explains, watching my reaction.
I make a few practice swings, appreciating the weapon’s balance. “How many do we have?”
“Enough to equip your team.” He pauses, then adds quietly, “And to make sure you come home.”
“I’ll be fine,” I assure him, though we both know the risks involved.
“I know physically.” He moves closer, his pale blue eyes serious. “Lithia, what’s going on between you and Levi?”
The question I’ve been dreading. “Nothing that affects pack business.”
“Bullshit.” His tone is gentle but unyielding. “I’ve watched him hover around you for weeks. Watched you get more and more tense every time he’s near. And don’t think I haven’t noticed how Kier watches it all happen.”
I set down the shadow silver blade, suddenly needing something to do with my hands. “It’s complicated.”
“Uncomplicate it for me.”
I lean against the weapons rack, choosing my words carefully. “Levi has feelings. That I don’t return. He’s having difficulty accepting that.”
“And Kier?”
Heat creeps up my neck despite my best efforts to remain composed. “Kier is a friend who helped me survive captivity.”
Dane snorts. “Right. And I’m secretly a unicorn.” He crosses his arms, studying me with the patience that makes him such an effective tracker. “Sister, I’ve seen how you look at each other.”
My cheeks flame. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t you?” He steps closer, his voice dropping to the tone he used when we were children and he was trying to talk me out of some reckless plan. “Lithia, you’re my twin. I know you better than anyone. And right now, you’re scared.”
The accuracy of his assessment makes my wolf whine. “I’m not scared.”
“You’re terrified,” he corrects gently. “Do you really think you should go out into the field knowing that if something were to happen, you’d have regrets?”
“Everyone leaves, Dane.” The words slip out before I can stop them, raw with pain I’ve been carrying for years. “Everyone dies or betrays or just… goes away. It’s better to keep a distance.”
“Mom and Dad didn’t choose to leave,” he says quietly. “They died protecting us. That’s not the same as abandonment.”
“Isn’t it? The result is the same—we’re alone.”
“We’re not alone.” His hand finds my shoulder, squeezing gently. “You have me. You have this pack. And if you’d stop being stubborn for five minutes, you might have something even better.”
Before I can respond, the sound of approaching footsteps interrupts us. I turn to see Kier entering the weapons room, his expression carefully neutral.
“Sorry,” he says, noticing our serious conversation. “Didn’t mean to interrupt. Elias said I should come select gear for tomorrow.”
“No interruption,” Dane says smoothly, though his pointed glance at me makes me want to smack him. “I was just leaving.” He heads for the door, pausing to add, “Think about what I said, sister.”
Then he’s gone, leaving Kier and me alone among the weapons with tension thick enough to cut.
“Everything all right?” Kier asks, moving to examine the selection of blades.
“Fine,” I say too quickly. “Just sibling stuff.”
He nods, but I can feel his attention on me as I busy myself organizing weapons that don’t need organizing. The silence stretches between us, comfortable and uncomfortable at the same time.
“You know,” he says finally, his tone deliberately casual, “if you’re having second thoughts about me joining the team—”
“I’m not.” The response comes out sharper than intended, making him raise an eyebrow. “Your knowledge of the facility is valuable. It makes tactical sense.”
“Tactical sense,” he repeats, something unreadable in his voice. “Right.”
I risk a glance at him and find him studying a particularly vicious-looking dagger with more attention than it warrants. His dark copper hair falls across his forehead, and there’s tension in the line of his shoulders that suggests he’s as affected by our proximity as I am.
Just be professional, I tell myself. Focus on the mission.
But when he moves to test the weapon’s balance, his shirt pulls tight across his chest and shoulders, and I’m suddenly remembering the feel of those muscles under my hands, the taste of his skin, the way he’d gasped my name when I’d taken him in my mouth.
Heat pools low in my belly, and I have to look away before I do something stupid.
“These blades,” he says, thankfully oblivious to my internal struggle, “they’re specifically designed for enhanced enemies?”
“According to Elias, yes.” I force my voice to remain steady. “He’s tried to include anything in them that he knows is a weakness for supernaturals. Silver, salt, iron. We don’t know what those guards are spliced with. Their DNA could be anything.”
“Clever.” He sheathes the dagger, moving to examine a set of throwing knives. “What about armor? If we’re facing enhanced guards—”
“There’s limited protection available in human form,” I interrupt. “And nothing in were. If you want, there’s some leather which is better than nothing, but won’t stop a determined assault.”
“So the key for dealing with them is speed and stealth over direct confrontation.”
“Exactly.” I move to the armor rack, pulling out a set in his size. “Try this.”
He strips off his shirt, and I immediately regret my suggestion.
My mouth goes dry as he pulls on the armored vest, adjusting the straps across his chest. When he reaches for the side buckles, I step forward instinctively.
“Here, let me—”
My fingers brush his skin as I work the fastenings, and electricity shoots up my arm. He goes very still, his breathing shallow as I adjust the fit across his shoulders and torso.
“How’s that?” I ask quietly.
“Good.”
Our eyes meet, and the air between us crackles with the tension. I’m close enough to smell his scent—pine and leather and something uniquely him that makes my wolf whine with need.
“Lithia,” he starts, his voice low.
“We should test mobility,” I say quickly, stepping back before I do something I’ll regret. “Make sure the armor doesn’t restrict your movements.”
He nods.
I move to the center of the room, drawing one of the practice blades. “Come at me. Let’s see how the armor affects your speed.”
He draws his own practice weapon, settling into a fighting stance that speaks of years of training. We circle each other slowly, testing distance and reaction time.
“The leather’s heavier than I expected,” he says, making a quick thrust that I easily deflect. “But the balance is good.”
I counter with a low sweep that he blocks, our blades ringing together in the empty room. The sound is sharp and clean, echoing off stone walls.
“Not bad,” I praise.
“I’ve been practicing with a den full of warriors,” he replies, deflecting my attack. “Your people don’t believe in going easy on the outsider.”
The word “outsider” carries more weight than it should, and I find myself faltering. He takes immediate advantage, stepping inside my guard to place his blade at my throat.
“Point,” he says, but he doesn’t step back.
We’re close now, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his body, can see the flecks of darker gold in his amber eyes. His free hand comes up to rest on my waist, the touch burning through my clothes.
“You’re not an outsider,” I hear myself say. “Not anymore.”
“Lithia—”
“Again,” I say, stepping back before I lose what’s left of my control. “But faster this time.”
We resume sparring, but there’s a different energy to it now—less practice and more dance, each movement flowing into the next with increasing intensity. He presses forward with renewed aggression, forcing me to work harder to match his speed and strength.
I duck under a high slash, coming up inside his guard to drive my elbow toward his ribs. He twists away, grabbing my arm to spin me around until my back is pressed against his chest, his blade at my throat while mine is trapped uselessly at my side.
“Point,” he breathes against my ear, but neither of us moves.
His arm bands across my stomach, holding me against him, and I can feel every line of his body pressed to mine. The armor does nothing to hide his strength, the solid warmth of his chest against my back, the way his breathing has gone ragged.
“Kier,” I whisper, not sure if it’s a warning or a plea.
His grip tightens fractionally, and I feel something else pressed against the small of my back—hard and insistent and absolutely inappropriate for a training session.
“Fuck,” he mutters, starting to pull away. “Sorry, I—”
I lean back into him instead, grinding my ass against his erection in a movement that’s pure instinct and terrible judgment. His sharp intake of breath tells me exactly how much he appreciates the contact.
“Lithia, we shouldn’t—”
“I know,” I agree, but I don’t stop moving against him. His free hand slides down to grip my hip, holding me still even as his body betrays how much he wants me to continue.
“Don’t start what you won’t finish.”
“Right,” I breathe, but I turn in his arms instead of stepping away. Now we’re face to face, his hands on my waist, his erection pressing against my belly through our clothes.
For a heartbeat, we just stare at each other, balanced on the knife’s edge between distance and desire. Then his control snaps.
“Fuck it.”
He kisses me with desperate hunger, backing me toward the weapons rack until I’m pinned between cold metal and his burning body. I respond with equal ferocity, cracking apart under the weight of need.
His hands slide into my hair, angling my head to deepen the kiss while I claw at the buckles of his armor. I need to feel his skin, need to touch him without barriers between us.
“Fuck, you taste good,” he growls against my mouth, his teeth scraping my lower lip. “I fucking hate when my mouth isn’t on you.”
I manage to get his vest undone, pushing it off his shoulders where it hits the floor with a heavy thud. My hands map the planes of his chest, relearning every scar and line of muscle while he tugs at my shirt, pulling it up and tossing it away.