Chapter 5
Iease myself behind the door to my room, making my movements as quiet as possible when I spot Sterling curled up in my bed.
Shit. He must have been waiting for me to return, and fell asleep.
I don’t want to wake him. He looks so peaceful in his sleep.
Instead I shrug off my veil and leather jacket with the Blood Order’s crest stitched across the back.
I throw the mask on top of the dresser and drape the coat across the chair in the corner, making sure to pull a pack of smokes and my lighter from the breast pocket before slipping through the sliding glass door on the other end of the room.
I don’t bother closing the sliders, letting the wind play with the dark curtains that separate me from him.
It’s quiet out tonight, a rare occurrence in the ungoverned district.
But I know why that is. I may have been masked, but I made my presence known when I dropped the burned remnants of Tyge’s body—made sure everyone knew the Blood Order had exacted vengeance for the shit Tyge was pulling and would do so again, if necessary.
The truth is, I don’t give two fucks about the people of the ungoverned district. This isn’t my home. These aren’t my people. These shitheads can fuck their lives away for all I care, strung out on some lab-manufactured drug peddled by the very people working so hard to eradicate our kind.
My eyes drift to Sterling and I wince. Except I have my own shithead to worry about.
It’s been years since he’s been exposed to a substance like that, but I worked too damn hard to bring him back from the brink of death.
Have spent too long repairing the trauma he faced at the hand of our previous asshole Alpha and nursing him back to health after we left our city, Sommael.
We’ve fought hard to get him to where he is, finally sleeping through the days and only experiencing the occasional panic attack.
I’m not about to let some fuckhead come along and bring that poison into another city.
Nor will I let that shit traumatize Sterling further or trigger him into some sort of regression.
I lean against the half wall that lines my patio, looking back into the bedroom through the curtains rustling in the night air, and catch glimpses of Sterling’s tranquil features in the quickly receding moonlight.
I let a cigarette slip out of the pack in my hand and hold it between my lips as I flick the lighter on and cup my hand around the flame to protect it from the breeze.
When it ignites, I suck in the smoke, letting the nicotine flood my system and take the edge off from another shitty night in this shitty city.
“Is it done?” Aamon’s voice calls from the shadows of the next patio over. I leave the question unanswered for several moments, needing a couple more drags to have this conversation.
“It’s done,” I answer at last, the smoke putting an extra layer of gravel on my words.
Aamon emerges, swinging his legs over the halfwall and perching atop it.
His hands are folded in front of him, his elbows resting on his knees.
He’s shirtless—the jackass always is—proudly showing off the never-ending layers of ink dancing across his skin.
My eyes track the dual blood drops on either side of his collarbone, the mark of the Blood Order.
My own heat against my chest, making my skin itch in recognition.
“I’m sorry, Zeke. This shit wasn’t yours to deal with.” He shakes his head, the shadow of a bruise still lingering on his cheek—one that should have healed hours ago.
“You should spend more time looking after yourself and less time apologizing for shit you can’t control,” I respond, taking another drag before plucking the cigarette from my mouth and offering it over.
He takes it reluctantly, and I watch the end crackle with specks of orange.
I motion to the bruise lingering on his face. “You need to feed.”
Aamon runs a hand over the abrasion, chuckling to himself as if there’s some inside joke I missed. “It will fade, it’s just a bruise.”
I eye him warily. This is a game he’s known to play with his primal side, starving the beast and denying himself what he needs most. A game I tire of putting up with, because it will only end in misery.
When Aamon notices my eyes still tracking his movements, he turns so his face is wrapped in the shadows of the patio. “I’m fine, Zeke. It’s you I’m worried about.”
I huff out a breath, turning my head skyward. “Tyge wasn’t a friend of mine. I barely knew the fucker. Makes no difference to me.”
But my words don’t convince Aamon. He fixes me with a hard stare, one I can feel even though I’m not looking at him, evaluating me in a way only he can.
I suddenly feel naked. Exposed. I scratch at the stubble on my jaw, turning my attention back towards Sterling still sleeping soundly inside my room.
“Still,” Aamon continues after a moment, "this isn’t the shit you and Sterling signed up for when you joined. Andras shouldn’t be asking this stuff of either of you. I have half a mind to tell him as much.”
I stand up straight at that, turning my attention back to Aamon. “You don’t get to decide that.”
“You’re right.” Aamon lifts a defensive hand. “It’s just—”
“No, Aamon.” I cut him off, closing the distance between us as I let my irritation slip through my clipped, low words.
“Sterling and I made the decision to join the Blood Order of our own free will. We knew damn well what we were signing up for. And as bad as you think it is here, I guarantee you it's sunshine and rainbows compared to what’s out there.” I point behind him, towards where I know the WildLands lay beyond the outskirts of the ungoverned district.
“You think you understand, but you don’t.” I don’t hide the anger in my eyes, letting Aamon feel the gravity of my words. “So until you experience what it’s like out there without the protection of Andras and the Blood Order, you will not speak for me or Sterling on what we will or will not do.”
His dark eyes meet mine, always watching, always assessing. But I don’t shy away from them, from his careful watch.
“Okay.” Aamon nods at last, breaking eye contact. “I won’t speak for you, Zeke. But you say the word . . . just know I’m here for you.” He shoots a glance to the open door. “Both of you.”
He takes another drag from the cigarette and hands it back to me. I take it and settle back against the half wall.
“I appreciate it," I reply, then jerk my head toward the bedroom to clarify. "How you watch out for him.”
Not many here have impressed me. But from the moment I saw Aamon fighting in the rings, I could sense his character.
I knew he was our best chance of survival in this hellshole.
Because despite all of the things that irk me about Quinn and Aamon, they do look out for him.
He’s found a place in their ranks, a role to fill.
A home. Even if I can’t find the same here.
“It’s not just him, you know.” Aamon hops down from the half wall to return to his own patio. “You’re family, Zeke. Whether you accept it or not.”
I grunt, refusing to acknowledge the sentiment.
“You’re stuck with us.” I can hear the amusement in Aamon’s words as he slips back into the shadows of his patio. I grunt again, taking one final drag from the cigarette before putting it out.
“Goodnight, fuckwit,” I growl as I stalk back into my room. I hear his chuckle as I pass through the curtains.
“Goodnight, Ezekiel.”