58. Chapter Fifty-Eight
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Halley
The patrol report in front of me stopped making sense ten minutes ago.
I read the same line again anyway, because apparently leadership means staring at a datapad until either it surrenders or my brain does. So far, the datapad is winning.
Knox’s office smells like old stone, cooling coffee, and the deep ink-and-spice trace he's left on every surface. General Stone’s desk still sits beneath the tall window, big and too ornate for the Prime Alpha currently trying to make Blackgate less miserable one logistics decision at a time.
Knox is busy helping coordinate the rollout of Shade's newest upgrades to the surveillance net surrounding the fortress.
They're installing hundreds of cameras pilfered from an abandoned military base two days' drive from here.
It'll make a big difference to the workload of our patrols, but it does mean I'm picking up the administrative slack in the meantime.
There are supply counts blinking in my inbox from the newly appointed Beta operations officer.
He was a refugee, but is very, very enthusiastic about contributing, which, as a former storeroom officer myself, I appreciate.
However, he is so enthusiastic that he sends a report twice daily, and I'm already five behind.
Once I review and sign off on those, the repair updates are waiting for my eyes.
Then there is a list of patrol rotations that the Prime Alphas scrawled on an old paper map that need digitizing.
It's half-pinned under my forearm because I set it down to read, couldn't make out their atrocious handwriting, then gave up and trapped it there like a captured enemy.
I should be grateful.
I am grateful.
Being needed is better than being hidden. It's much better than being treated like a fragile Omega who needs coddling. The people of Blackgate bring me problems now because they trust me to help solve them, and realizing how deeply they believe in me still aches when I let myself take it in.
Unfortunately, gratitude does not make supply count reports interesting.
My inner Omega is entirely done with this room.
She wants her nest, food, warm blankets, and one of my mates hands combing his fingers through my hair.
Maybe even an orgasm or two. My mates are always eager to go down on me.
I barely even have to think it before one of them is burying their face between my legs and making me scream.
I'm starting to suspect they have some sort of betting pool about who can make me come the most.
Again, not complaining.
So not complaining.
Frack. Just thinking about how fast Blaze can flick his tongue against my clit makes me clench my thighs, and the faint scent of my arousal perfumes the air.
It's probably a good thing I'm alone, because even the slightest hint of my slick sends my Pack wild.
Through the bond, Knox is a steady weight somewhere next to Shade, whose focus flickers at the edge of my awareness, busy and bright with surveillance work. Viper is farther out, probably working on the mountain path, endlessly trying to make it safer for civilians to climb.
But Blaze is absent. He's been gone since dawn, and his side of the bond is rather quiet.
The window latch clicks.
My head lifts at the sound, and the scent of wildfire slips into the room first.
Ah. Trouble has come home.
The window swings inward, and Blaze slips through it.
He lands in a crouch beside the desk, one knee down, one hand braced against the floorboards. Full recon gear hugs his body, all straps, buckles, knives, and mud. There’s soot along his jaw, a healed scrape on one cheek, and a bright, wicked gleam in his eyes.
He releases his control over his side of the bond, and I'm flooded with crackling energy and amusement. Blaise is in a playful mood and he's been hiding it from me.
My Omega perks up, greedy for the smell of our mate. Cold air clings to his clothes, but beneath it is Blaze, blood-warm and satisfied from whatever he did beyond the walls of our fortress.
I narrow my eyes at him. "I think we need to reconsider security if you keep insisting on breaking into the General's office."
He lifts one finger to his mouth.
"Target located," he whispers to himself.
I stare at him.
Then he leans closer and sniffs near my temple.
"Confirmed," he murmurs.
I pull back so fast the chair creaks beneath me. "Target? C—confirmed… What?"
He tries to scent me again.
I slap a hand over his face.
He ducks under it with insulting ease, all loose-limbed Alpha grace and smug confidence. "Immediate extraction required."
"And what is this extraction based on, Sergeant?"
He scans the room with grave intensity, gaze sweeping over the datapad on the desk in front of me, the cold coffee, and me slumped in Knox’s chair.
"Evidence of neglect."
"This," I say, gesturing to the office, "is not neglect. It's administrative work."
Blaze shifts closer, and I swat at him again, but he evades me with a delighted little huff. His mouth curves as he dips his face back toward my throat, careful not to touch his teeth to my skin, though the promise of them makes my Omega perk up like the traitor she is.
"Your scent is begging me for intervention," he says, maddeningly pleased with himself.
"My scent is not begging!"
His eyes lift to mine, bright with trouble.
"Sparkles, your scent has filed a formal complaint."
I open my mouth to argue, but Blaze moves faster.
His warm and callused hand covers my mouth, and he leans in until his soot-smudged cheek nearly brushes mine.
"Do not alarm the enemy," he whispers.
I blink at him over his fingers.
His eyes dart down to the datapad, the screen open on the supply count reports.
Ah. I see.
The enemy is, apparently, supply management.
It clicks. This isn't Blaze coming back wired and deranged from a mission.
This is my Blaise being playful. Sometimes it can take a while to parse which personality I'm with, but I'm certain this doesn't require me to send out a distress signal to the Pack.
Blaise just wants to have fun, and I'm all for it.
I lick his palm.
Blaise freezes, and I watch as his pupils dilate.
Through the bond, his amusement flares into absolute, heated delight. "Oh, Sparkles. You want to play? Come play with me."
"I can't, I have work to do," I say when he finally lowers his hand.
I shove at his chest, but the laugh building in my throat ruins the effect. He smells like smoke and that wild, satisfied Alpha edge he always brings back from recon, and it wraps around me until the office feels warm with it.
"Please, please, please?"
"I need to read this report. I’m serious."
His expression softens beneath the mischief. He crouches in front of my chair, hands settling on the armrests, his thumbs close enough to brush my wrists.
"I know," he says, quieter. "That’s why I’m stealing you. You haven't smiled all day."
I start to ask how he would know and stop myself. When it comes to Blaze, it's best not to know the how.
My inner Omega preens, starved of attention after being left alone for only a few hours. It's ridiculous, because I'm a full-grown woman capable of being on her own. Except, now that I have a Pack, my instincts crave affection constantly. I'm like an addict.
Blaise must have felt a subtle change in my mood through the bond and, like a protective Alpha, came home from whatever nightmare he spent the day crawling through for the sole purpose of making me smile.
I sigh like I’m suffering, because dignity matters, but I'm buttery soft for my mate on the inside. Sometimes, he can be such a sweetheart.
"Fine," I mutter. "But if Knox asks, I was abducted against my will."
Blaise’s grin returns at full force.
"Absolutely. Try to look more kidnapped."
Before I can answer, he hauls me out of the chair and against his chest. I stumble into him, catching the straps of his combat vest, and his protective growl rumbles low, making my knees wobble.
"Blaise," I warn, but it's too late.
"Target secured."
He catches my hand, presses a quick kiss to my knuckles, then tugs me toward the door with outrageous seriousness.
The datapad chimes as another report lands in my inbox.
I glance back at the desk.
Blaise narrows his eyes and points a finger at the datapad.
"Bad report. Stay."
Then he pulls me into the corridor.
Blaise does not take me through the usual route. He has shortcuts and sneaky back ways I've never even noticed which end right next to the front gate. The guards on gate duty give me questioning looks, waiting for me to flag them for assistance, but I just wave them off.
Blaise crouches in front of me, gesturing for me to climb onto his back.
I stop. "Absolutely not. Not again."
He glances over his shoulder, eyes bright. "Aw, come on. I know Viper gives you rides!"
"Yes, but he is respectful, doesn't run at full speed, and takes me where I ask to go."
"But you don't know where we're going."
I raise a brow and plant a hand on my cocked hip. "Would you tell me if I asked?"
"Nope." He grins. "It's a surprise."
Then he catches my hands, tugs me onto his back, and hooks his arms beneath my thighs. I barely have time to gasp before he launches down the mountain path at a full sprint.
"Blaise!" I scream.
I cling to him with my arms locked around his shoulders and my thighs clamped against his ribs.
Cold air whips tears into my eyes. Rocks, roots, and patches of old snow vanish under Blaise’s boots at such an immense speed.
It would take me hours to descend the mountain on foot, but Blaise is an Alpha super-soldier, and he moves with terrifying ease, every stride powerful and sure, his body steady beneath mine even though the descent is steep and uneven.
"Slow down!"
His laugh tears through the air, wild and bright.
"Hold tighter, Sparkles."
"I am holding tight, you maniac!"
Through the bond, his joy crackles against mine until my fear starts tangling with laughter. My cheek presses to the side of his neck, and his pumping heartbeat rumbles under my chest.