Chapter 29 You Have To Lie
You Have To Lie
Melinda Mayweather
The scent of rain hangs in the evening air as Cormac and I approach Astrid's apartment building. My wolf paces restlessly beneath my skin, anticipation and wariness battling for dominance.
The last time I was here significant progress wooing Astrid was made—involving her shower, her naked body, and the taste and feel of her skin against mine—but nothing about our situation is simple.
Bringing Cormac feels wrong. Territorial. My wolf doesn't like him here. Not after he took us from her at the warehouse.
"She should be back from the office by now," I say, catching her scent in the hallway layered with an undercurrent of stress and exhaustion that makes my chest tighten.
Cormac knocks, three sharp raps against the wood. We wait, listening to the soft footfalls approaching from inside. The lock disengages and the door opens.
There she is. Hair pulled back in a severe ponytail, dark circles under her eyes, wearing a faded black t-shirt and sweatpants. Beautiful. My mind instantly flashes to how that hair looked spread across her pillow, how those eyes darkened with pleasure in her shower.
Her eyes widen briefly in surprise, then narrow into a deliberate mask to try hide the rush of heat I can smell rising from her skin at the sight of me.
"I didn't expect you both." She steps back, allowing us entry but keeping one hand near the small of her back where I know she’s likely got a weapon tucked.
Our eyes lock for a fraction of a second longer than necessary, and I catch the slight hitch in her breathing that has nothing to do with caution and everything to do with remembering my hands on her body.
"We need to coordinate," Cormac says, stepping forward with unearned confidence.
Astrid's eyes flash dangerously. "Planning to stick around this time, or should I expect another disappearing act when things get complicated?" The ice in her voice could freeze hellfire.
Cormac at least has the decency to look uncomfortable. "That was... a tactical decision."
"Tactical for who?" she snaps, hand still hovering near her weapon.
I can't help the satisfied smirk that tugs at my lips. Watching her tear into him soothes me.
"We thought it would be better to discuss plans together since I’m more familiar with this world than Fen," Cormac explains, stepping inside.
I follow, breathing in her fresh scent. "How did your meeting go?" I ask, studying her face for signs of trouble while deliberately avoiding looking at her lips. Lips I now know the taste of, the softness of.
She closes the door and locks it back. When she turns, she pointedly avoids prolonged eye contact with me, though I catch her gaze dropping momentarily to my hands before she quickly redirects her attention to Cormac.
"Better than expected," she replies, moving toward her kitchen. "Coffee?"
"Please," Cormac answers.
I nod, watching as she goes through the motions of brewing coffee, her movements efficient and precise. Even in this simple domestic task, she moves like me, like a predator aware of her surroundings, economical in her movements, always ready.
She reaches for the mugs on a high shelf, her shirt riding up to expose a sliver of skin at her lower back and revealing the small backup pistol holstered at her waistband.
I don’t care about the gun, what I remember is how that skin felt beneath my fingers, how she arched when I traced my touch along her spine.
I shift my weight, suddenly uncomfortable in my jeans, and catch Astrid watching me from the corner of her eye. A flush creeps up her neck as our gazes meet, and she nearly fumbles the mug she's holding.
"Hayes is giving my team the green light for the warehouse raid," she continues, her voice slightly huskier than before as she busies herself with the coffee. "We go in tomorrow night. Ghost and Sherlock will be with me."
"Your partners from this morning," I say, unable to keep a slight growl from my voice. I can’t imagine the thought of those other men near her, breathing in her scent.
I can still smell traces of them in the apartment.
It's irrational, I know, but some instincts run too deep to reason with, especially now that I've tasted her and held her in my arms.
She shoots me a look that's half amusement, half warning. "Yes, my partners. Who, by the way, have no idea that I'm working with you." Her gaze hardens. “Honestly, I can’t even believe that I am. How are we going to keep it that way?”
“That won’t be a problem,” Cormac says. “My glamour will hide us from everyone but you, apparently.”
Astrid's eyebrow arches sharply. "What do you mean 'but me'?"
"Exactly what I said." Cormac's tone holds a hint of amusement that makes my fingers twitch with the urge to wipe it off his face. "My glamour will affect everyone else. Not you."
"Why not?" she challenges, arms crossing over her chest. The stance pushes her closer to me, though I doubt she realizes it. "What makes me special?"
Cormac's eyes flick to me, then back to her. "Your connection to Fen."
The room goes still. I watch her profile carefully, see the subtle widening of her eyes, the momentary parting of her lips. Surprise. Confusion.
"What connection?" Her voice is quieter now, careful. Dangerous.
"There is a link between you," Cormac explains, with that infuriating calm.
Her heartbeat quickens. I can hear it, the rapid flutter beneath her ribs. Smell the complex cocktail of emotions rolling off her skin. Wariness. Interest. Arousal.
She turns slightly toward me, not quite meeting my eyes. "Is that true?"
The question hangs between us, loaded with implications neither of us is ready to voice.
"Yes." One word. All I can manage with my wolf prowling so close to the surface, desperate to confirm what Cormac has revealed.
She absorbs this, jaw tightening. "Convenient," she finally says, voice clipped as she turns back to the matter at hand. But the way her body remains angled toward mine tells a different story.
My wolf knows. She feels it too.
"What's the official mission objective?" Cormac asks, smoothly redirecting the conversation. “What did you tell your commanding officer?”
Astrid leans against the counter, crossing her arms. "Human trafficking. I told them I'd observed transport vehicles and cage-like structures during surveillance. Which isn't a lie," she adds. "Just not the whole truth."
"And they approved based on that?" Cormac asks.
"Human trafficking is a priority concern." She shrugs. "Plus, I said it was linked to the Enclave, which is guaranteed to get Hayes' attention."
"They are Enclave."
"I know," she says, a flash of frustration crossing her face. "But I couldn't tell them how I know. I couldn't mention Tharin, or other planets, or..." Her eyes meet mine. "Or you."
She's protecting me. Choosing me over her duty. I force my hands to remain at my sides, though they itch to reach for her. To mark her with my scent. To show Cormac and anyone else exactly where her allegiance now lies.
The coffee finishes brewing, and she pours three mugs, handing them out before leading us to her small dining table. Spread across it are several maps and what appear to be building schematics.
"I pulled these from the city planning office," she explains, tapping the blueprints. "They're outdated. The warehouse was renovated five years ago. But it’s the best we have."
Cormac and I lean in, studying the layout. The warehouse is larger than it appears from the outside, with a maze of storage rooms.
"Our approach will be from the east," Astrid continues, pointing to the main entrance. "Standard breach and clear. Ghost will take point, I'll cover the flank, and Sherlock will handle tech and communications."
I don’t like it. Her in the open. Exposed. Vulnerable. "You're the first target they'll see after Ghost," I say. "That position puts you directly in the line of fire."
Her eyes narrow slightly. Challenge accepted.
"I'm not on point. It's the most defensible position while maintaining offensive capabilities."
She speaks like a soldier. Thinks like one too. My wolf hates it—wants her far from danger—but the warrior in me recognizes sound tactics.
I lean closer, finger tracing a different path on the blueprint. "This approach gives better coverage. More shadows. Less exposure."
"And adds forty-five seconds to response time," she counters immediately.
Our eyes lock. A battle of wills. Of experience.
Grudging respect rises in my chest. She knows her craft. Has survived this long for good reason.
I straighten, conceding the point with a short nod. "Your team, your call." The words taste bitter, but they're necessary. This is her world, her mission.
For now.
My wolf settles, but remains alert. Watching. Planning. If anything goes wrong, her plan becomes irrelevant. I'll tear through anyone who threatens her, mission be damned.
She looks up at us, her expression turning solemn. "Now, how do you plan to extract the magickal prisoners while we're busy with the human side of the operation?"
"This is where the glamour comes in." Cormac leans forward, placing his finger on the blueprint.
"Based on what Tharin told us, the magickal prisoners are being held here, in a sub-level beneath the main floor. He said there's an access point at the rear of the building. It’s not on the plans, but he said that’s how he got out. "
"A concealed entrance," Astrid murmurs, eyes narrowing. "What if it’s not there?"
"It's protected by both physical locks and magickal wards," Cormac explains. "But we've prepared countermeasures. It will work."
"And my team won't see any of this happening?" Astrid asks.
"That's the idea," he confirms. "Your team breaches from the front, creating a distraction that draws attention away from the rear exit.
While they're focused on securing the human traffickers and victims, we slip in through the back, free the magickal prisoners, and extract them under the glamour. "