58. Chapter Fifty-Eight #2
By the time we reach the forest at the base of the slope, my heart is racing, my hair is a disaster, and Blaise is panting but looks like he wants to run it again for fun.
He lowers me carefully to my feet, keeping one hand at my waist until I’m steady.
"Why didn't we take a truck!?" I clutch at my forehead as I wait for the dizziness to stop.
His grin spreads.
"Efficiency."
"The truck would have been faster."
"Nope. It takes me thirty-two minutes to run. Takes that long to just sign out a truck," he says, deeply proud.
I stare at him.
He leans in, a speck of blood on his jaw, mischief in his eyes, and his hands still warm on my hips.
"Now we have more time for romance."
I glance past him at the dark trees of the forest looming forebodingly over us.
Trees crowd the base of the mountain, their trunks dark with damp and melting snow.
Evidence of the battle remains everywhere.
Bullet holes pock the bark, explosions have torn up the ground, and shell casings lie beneath the leaf litter.
Even so, the forest is already covering the damage.
The ground rises and falls across shelves of rock, mud, tangled roots, and half-frozen moss, while a narrow game trail winds between the trees before disappearing into the shadows.
Blaise steps behind me, tucks his chin near my shoulder, and points.
"Look lower."
I squint.
A thin line of wire catches the pale afternoon light between two roots.
"Blaise," I ask carefully, "why does your romance have trip hazards?"
His whole face lights up.
"Because I'm giving you a tour of my workplace."
I suck in a breath, my heart picking up pace. For Blaise, that could mean anything, and none of it involves safety.
"Your… workplace?"
"Yup, this is where I do my best work. Sure, my recon missions are interesting, but this is where I can really be creative."
"And your creativity is expressed through building traps?"
"Yeah, it's been so long since I could really have fun."
I don’t point out that most people wouldn’t consider building lethal traps fun, because Blaze has never been most people. I’m just glad he has somewhere to direct his "creativity" before he starts using it on the residents of Blackgate.
He kisses my cheek like that settles the matter, then takes my hand and guides me three steps to the left. I do not feel secure in moving an inch on my own, and I match his steps perfectly.
Once I know to look, the forest stops being only forest. A strip of bark sits too neatly against a fallen trunk. A patch of leaves doesn’t match the rest of the ground. One low branch is bent at an angle that looks natural until I notice the grenade tied to it.
Blaise watches my face with the breathless anticipation of a man waiting for me to admire his art.
"Welcome to the romantic part of our date."
He spreads his arms like he’s presenting a plush nest, instead of a scene straight from the nightmares of every Human soldier.
I stare at the trees. "The romantic part is a murder forest?"
"Our murder forest," he says with absolute sincerity.
His Alpha is practically glowing with satisfaction, his scent rich with wildfire and pleased possessiveness. He wants me to understand that this is him proving he is an Alpha capable of protecting his Omega.
Blaise steps closer, his chest brushing my back, and points toward the hidden wire with the same reverence another person might use to show his mate a garden in bloom.
"That one is Bitey Betty."
I close my eyes. "Of course they have names."
"She’s shy."
"Betty has razor wire and a grenade. She doesn't seem shy."
"She contains multitudes."
I turn in his arms and look up at him. He watches my face like he’s waiting for a verdict, and frack help me, I like what he’s built far more than any sensible person should. My Omega, traitorous little beast that she is, practically purrs over him, so I sigh and squeeze his hand.
"Go on then, show me your other torture devices."
Blaise lights up and takes my hand as if I’m about to walk into a ballroom instead of a carefully engineered nightmare.
"Step where I step," he says.
"No shit," I murmur under my breath and follow him.
He stops in front of a fallen trunk and crouches, tugging me down beside him. Up close, Bitey Betty is even more horrifying than from afar.
"She catches ankles," he says, pointing without touching anything. "Cuts right through the Achilles tendon, then the grenade finishes the job. The noise works as an early warning system and will bring a patrol down on any surviving trespassers."
"Aren't you worried our patrols might get caught up in your… creativity?"
I stare at the grenade pin held taut by the wire, ready to be tripped by the slightest movement.
"Sure, but it's excellent encouragement."
"Encouragement to do what?"
"To pay attention to their patrol. I’ve found terror does wonders to improve concentration."
A laugh slips out before I can stop it, and Blaise’s pleased growl answers immediately.
He tries to look serious, but the bond gives him away.
He loves making me laugh, and I love that he's able to pull himself out of his darkness to joke with me. It warms me more than the heavy coat I stole from Knox’s chair.
He leads me deeper between the trees.
The next trap is hidden beneath a patch of leaves so ordinary I step toward it without thinking. Blaise catches me around the waist and hauls me back against his chest.
A protective growl vibrates against my shoulder.
"Left foot back, Sparkles."
I freeze, then shift my boot away from the leaves.
Blaise exhales against my hair, and his scent rolls over me, wildfire and a pulse of possessive Alpha worry.
I tip my head back enough to glare at him, and he kisses the corner of my mouth, quick and smug. "This is called Blaze's Bad Choice."
I glance at the harmless-looking leaves. "Let me guess, stepping on it is a bad choice?"
"Oh, it's a really, really bad choice."
I don't ask what's underneath the innocuous-looking leaves. I don't think I want to know.
He walks me around it, keeping his arm around my middle longer. I'm glad because I feel less likely to step on an active trap, and because my Omega is embarrassingly pleased by his fussing.
The tour gets worse from there.
Or better.
Possibly both, depending on how I look at it.
A narrow snare between two rocks is named Zero's Apology because, according to Blaise, anyone caught in it owes an apology for being stupid enough to step on it.
A weighted net tucked into the branches is called Knox’s Mood.
"Practical, precise, heavy, and comes down on your head like a ton of arrogant bricks if you ignore warnings," Blaise explains.
I press my lips together, holding back a smirk. "I’m telling him."
Blaise goes still, doubt creeping onto his features. "He’ll respect its efficiency."
"Wanna make a bet?"
His eyes narrow. "Oh, you're a tricky one, little Omega."
I scoff and gesture at the surrounding forest. "Says the man with a thousand traps."
He frowns. "It's only fifty-four."
When we reach the next trap, Blaise drops his chin to my shoulder, wrapping his arms tightly around my waist. His body is warm and strong against my back, and the bond between us thrums at our closeness.
This stretch of forest looks almost pretty. Moss over stone, pale winter light through the branches, and a thin path curving between two pines.
Then I notice the concealed razor wire above an old animal track, the small hooks along the trunk, and the way every easy step leads exactly where Blaise wants an intruder to go.
"This one is Viper’s Aim," he says.
"It never misses?"
Blaise purrs. "This is why you're my Omega. You understand my art."