Chapter Fifty-Two
White Ravens
Scar
Scar waited at the threshold of their division with his team dressed and battle-ready behind them.
Scar tucked Gage’s gold cross behind his white Kevlar vest, then caught the edges of his hood and pulled it up and over his head.
He touched his forehead to his for a moment and just breathed him in.
He cupped Gage’s jaw and kissed him, gentle and chaste, keeping his craving under control.
“This wasn’t how I wanted to spend our wedding night,” he said roughly.
“I know. Me either, but this is what we do.”
“Yeah.” He nodded. “So let’s go do it.”
Gage lifted his hand and kissed the gold band he’d slipped on his finger six hours ago.
“Scar, agreeing to be your partner in the field, protecting you, and falling in love with you was the best decision I ever made. Now, fighting beside you as my husband…will be my greatest honor.”
Scar didn’t trust his voice.
I love you, his heart whispered.
“All right, boys. Let’s get our heads in the game,” Roz said, already in handler mode. “It’s time to roll.”
He and Gage walked side by side, the Whites’ field team moving as one unit behind them.
Roz clicked on his radio and mumbled, “Whites are mobile.”
They entered the area called the Raven Concourse—a lobby-style nucleus where each division’s elevators opened.
The Greens and Browns were already waiting with their teams, suited, with hoods up, and weapons boxed.
Valor stood, solid and unshakable, like a mountain, in forest-green fatigues, heavy gauntlets clasped around his forearms, and wearing knuckle guards that extended into two-inch claws.
Zorion looked intense and focused, like the hawk that lurked inside him. His aerodynamic suit—that unfurled into flight configuration when triggered—was a green that would blend into the landscape. His wrists and fingers were taped for stability and torque to control his Cobra compound bow.
Grace was still and quiet, standing sentinel in a rusty-brown armor-plated trench that stopped at his shins. His shadow, Mirage, was tucked tight behind him, already in their fight stance—two bodies creating one super-being.
The Blacks’ elevator began to descend, and no one spoke as they watched the floor numbers illuminate until it opened on their floor.
Meridian stepped out first, and the air changed with his every step. Stifling and predatory.
He didn’t rush, never did, as if the world operated at his pace.
He wore black gear that looked like a designer suit built for war. His overcoat was sleek black onyx, with a high collar, and woven through with Armox steel plates, strong enough to stop high-velocity rifle rounds.
Ex walked at his right shoulder with the same level of calm fierceness.
In response to Meridian’s presence, the command PA clicked on overhead.
“All tactical mission divisions ready. Launch full Raven mobilization. Field code: Black Reaper Active. Airlift priority one.”
The long hallway beyond the concourse leading to the helipad was lined with nonessential personnel.
Scar expected stoic faces, lazy salutes, or simple waves goodbye, but he was surprised when they all began clapping and cheering them on.
People shouted encouragement, battle wishes, and some prayed in small huddles.
Scar wanted to take Gage’s hand so badly it made his fingers ache. But he couldn’t turn his mind away from the battle.
The man walking beside him now wasn’t just his husband, it was The Saint—the righteous, angel-warrior.
Heaven help anyone standing on the wrong side of good tonight.