Chapter Three
Green Ravens
Zorion
The new Ravens facility was a tower of black glass and steel. It was four levels but looked as tall as ten.
Zorion crouched on the edge of the roof, watching the pedestrians of Washington, DC, scamper in impatient directions.
From up high, he could read faces like an open book.
With his enhanced vision, he saw the screens of people’s phones and what they were scrolling on social media. Read the lips of a couple arguing, saw a server working the small tables on a restaurant’s patio, and rolling his eyes when his customers weren’t looking.
The night air sifted through his hair beneath his hood, and it was those slow, private moments that relaxed the animal inside him.
To his left, his partner and love, Valor, stood, silent and strong, the heat from his puma a constant comfort.
Across the roof, near the helipad, the Blacks’ retrieval team was waiting for their arrival.
Cases were lined up in neat rows for their gear, which would be stripped, cleaned, sorted, logged, and then stowed until their next mission.
Their handler, Corvo, stood wide-legged with a tablet tucked under his arm, conversing with his assistant.
Ten minutes later, the jet-black chopper ghosted in from the east, the rotor pitch dropping to its reduced-noise mode as it touched down.
The stairs dropped and Ex stepped out first…then Meridian.
His knee-length trench flared as the aircraft’s downdraft caught its tail. They both had their hoods low and bled into the night the way ink bleeds into water.
Zorion couldn’t help but stare.
Meridian’s suit was a weapon disguised as a wardrobe, perfectly tailored and blacker than volcanic glass.
A dark goatee framed his full lips, and his glare could cut through steel.
Ex wore black cargo pants and his usual long tunic with the oversized hood thrown forward.
They said a few words to their team before walking toward them.
Ex frowned at where Zorion was balanced on the ledge.
“Isn’t your choice of profession dangerous enough without you purposely risking a two-hundred-foot fall?”
“Just enjoying the view,” he said.
Ex clenched his teeth.
“You know I won’t fall,” Zorion scoffed. “Calm down.”
“I don’t care. It’s reckless.”
Zorion ignored him.
“Mere, make him get down,” Ex said, folding his arms over his chest.
“Get down,” Meridian said casually as he drew a black Sobranie cigarette from a slim case and slid it between his lips.
Dammit. Zorion leapt down, scowling at Ex. “Tattletale.”
Meridian angled the open cigarette case toward Valor in a silent offering, and his partner took one.
Meridian flipped open his dragon-head lighter and touched the twin flames to the chocolate tips.
Smoke filtered upward, sweet cedar and nutmeg overwhelming the air.
Zorion narrowed his eyes at Valor as he wrapped his lips around the gold filter and took a deep inhale.
The sight of the slow dip of his Adam’s apple went straight to his cock as he filed the image under later and turned back to business.
“How’d the mission go?” he asked.
Meridian let the smoke veil his mouth before he answered. “We got what we wanted.”
Ex grinned. “It was fun.”
“Did the guy scream?” Zorion asked.
Ex shook his head. “Nah. He cried, begged, and bargained though. But the funniest part is he was butt-ass naked and cupping his small-ass dick the whole time. By killing him, I think we saved him from a lifetime of inadequate performance in the bedroom.”
Zorion laughed. Those two had an interesting way of justifying murder.
Ex stretched his hands high over his head and yawned. “Where’s Grace and Mirage?”
“In their quarters,” Valor answered around a long pull. “Grace has the top two floors smelling like garlic and shrimp, or crab, or whatever crustacean died to end up on his plate.”
Zorion laughed. The predatory cat DNA in his partner preferred red meat over seafood.
Ex perked up, shoving his hood back. “Grace made scampi?”
Zorion hummed. “Sure did.”
“I’m making a pit stop. I’m starving,” Ex told Meridian.
“Good luck,” Zorion said. “Grace wouldn’t let me in, no matter how hard I banged on the door.”
“Well, he’s sure as fuck going to let me in,” Ex said, turning to leave.
Meridian grunted in agreement. “Make me a to-go plate,” he said, rolling the cigarette from one corner of his mouth to the other. “I’m going up to take a shower.”
He placed his mouth against Ex’s ear, his voice rough and smooth as velvet at the same time.
“Don’t take long,” he whispered. “I wouldn’t mind some company.”
Valor groaned.
“You do know we can hear you, right?” Zorion asked, pointing between his and Valor’s ears. “Hawk. Puma. Remember?”
“It’d be a problem if I cared,” Meridian droned, walking away.
A guard opened the access door, keeping his gaze to the ground.
Ex watched Meridian go, a bulge already tenting the front of his cargos. He made a face at Zorion, half suffering, half excited. “He’s always ravenous after killing.”
“TMI,” Valor said.
Ex threw his hood back up and gave a half-hearted salute as a goodbye.
Valor kept smoking, gaze on the skyline. Zorion watched the tobacco glow bright in the darkness with each exhale.
“Don’t we have enough hazards to our health without adding lung cancer to the list?” he asked dryly.
“I don’t inhale…much.” Valor shrugged. “It’s for the flavor.”
Zorion walked into Valor’s space with a sly smile. He licked his lips, voice low, teasing heat lacing his words. “Then give me some.”
Valor’s honey-colored eyes warmed under his hood. He lifted the Sobranie, took a slow, sinful inhale, holding their eye contact. With his free hand on Zorion’s hip, he pressed into him until his back met the wall and he allowed himself to be pinned.
Valor leaned in until their lips were a breath apart and exhaled.
Sweet, clove-scented smoke curled between them, warm and intimate, before Valor closed his mouth over his, sealing in the taste.
It was a kiss that lacked restraint. It went on too long to be innocent and was one beat away from being trouble.
A throat cleared before their own handler grunted at them to “Take it inside, fellas.”
He hadn’t even heard the Blacks’ handler, Corvo, coming toward them.
“Jo already has Intelligence scouring the drive Ex retrieved. She’s called a meeting at twenty-three hundred.”
“Plenty of time,” Valor murmured after Corvo walked away.
Zorion stole one last sample. “Agreed.”