37
TATE
We went to the Training Centre today, completely forgetting that, as Alby told us, Havoc had given us the day off. So now we’re on our way back to our Bonded chambers after deciding to have a short sparring session since we were all ready to go.
I’m still fucking jealous about that, furious even, that she keeps speaking into his goddamn mind and not mine.
But I like Alby now, I’ll admit, so I can’t really cave his skull in like my fists beg to every time he gets more attention and special treatment from my—okay, our, I remind myself none too happily—girl.
“Ugh! We’re such idiots!” Tiger wails dramatically, throwing his hands wide up in the air, his brother having to dodge one before it can whack him in the head.
“Nah, just trained dogs,” Cooper mutters.
“Woof! I’d bark for her, Coops! My cock always barks for her.”
My lips twitch. He can be funny.
Sometimes.
“Seriously, brother? Tate’s rubbing off on you. I do not need another one of you guys constantly talking about your dick.”
“Booooo, brother.” Tiger sticks one of his thumbs down with a boyish pout, and Scotty’s eyes take a trip around the back of his brain as we turn the last corner to the long hallway that leads to our chambers, the glowing number 14 clear at its centre.
“It’s not about our dicks, it’s about our Bonded!
Ezzy should always be the topic of conversation when she’s such a queen.
And I just . . . wow.” He clasps his hands under his chin and sighs dreamily, glazed eyes staring off into space as if he’s seeing a naked Havoc there.
Same.
Reaching the door at the end of the hall, I scan my thumb on the panel beside it, opening my mouth to speak about all the delightful things I’d like to do to my—our girl—as the door slides away, displaying the—
Every single part of me stills. Just . . . stops.
It’s so, so silent in here, and I wouldn’t know if the other men have frozen in place as well to tell if that’s partly their fault, because they don’t exist anymore.
I simply . . . stare. Nothing working.
I don’t . . . can’t . . . she’s . . .
On the black leather couch that faces the entrance I’ve paused in, looking right at us, sits a woman. Arms laid out across the back of the couch, one long leg crossed over the other, her lithe body is relaxed in a way that drips confidence, sensuality.
But the face . . . her face . . .
Never in my life have I ever seen anything so breathtaking, so devastating it hurts, could make me weep.
Pale, milky-smooth skin with a faint olive tint to it . . .
Pin-straight glossy chestnut hair that falls to just above her hips, which my fingers twitch with the overpowering need to touch . . .
A small, straight nose that’s just slightly upturned at the tip . . .
A sharp jawline and a subtle arch to her dark brows that perfectly match those long, thick lashes in colour . . .
And those lips . . . they look so incredibly soft, like rose petals. And they’re not too heavy or too thin, more somewhere in the middle and leaning towards a plumper look, her cupid’s bow defined yet not overly severe . . .
But it’s the eyes that draw the most attention, that demand I drop at her feet from the sheer beauty of them.
One is a dark, rich coffee, something intense and velvety there. And the other . . .
The other is crimson.
An inky, deep crimson that only a Score of 100 will get you.
And then there’s the slash . . . the scar . . .
It glows gently like her right eye, in the exact same shade, and there’s no doubt in my mind it’s Avri.
Avri that slices viciously, without mercy, from mid-cheek, up past her eye, through her brow, and halts halfway up her forehead, the entire thick line almost perfectly vertical but for a minor tilt towards the left side of her face that’s hardly noticeable unless you’re looking close enough like I am.
The crimson energy doesn’t actually split her eye, but there’s no way it was avoided in the original attack—the slash is too thick, the Avri embedded too deep.
Which means Avri must have been used to rebuild her eye, something that’s not uncommon in hospitals.
And yet what is uncommon is that both her iris and the slash are coloured like that.
But with the utter magnificence before me, I can’t think about who’s ordered the energy to be that way right now.
She’s . . . she’s everything.
And there’s no doubt in my mind who she is.
The Avri embedded in her face isn’t my girl’s, but the cluster used on her familiar skintight suit definitely is.
My breath is sharp as I finally manage to get one in, but I only use it to utter one word:
“Havoc.”