Chapter 11
CHAPTER
ELEVEN
“What kind of place is this, anyway?”
Despite the fact that Cecilia’s voice was piped directly into his ears through his helmet’s speakers, it sounded like it came from underwater.
Sloane breathed heavily through his mouth as he watched her approach the wall of windows that overlooked the ocean.
The lights of San Francisco’s skyline glittered across the navy stretch of the bay, giving the edges of her figure an uncanny, gleaming quality.
Being near her was torture.
Every muscle quivered as he stood stiffly a few feet behind her, his hands tucked behind his back not only because it was the proper position but so he could stop himself from reaching for her.
The shape of her naked back was burned into his mind. The fragile line of her spine, the smooth expanse of her skin…
Sloane bit his lip hard. His fang pierced it smoothly, sending a much-needed prickle of pain through his system.
“It’s a decommissioned battery,” he finally replied. The rough edges of his voice were smoothed by the modulator, but he still wondered if she could hear his desperation.
Cecilia turned away from the window to look at him.
She’d put on a soft pink shirt and matching sweatpants after he’d been instructed to turn his back.
After decades of brutal training and psychological assessments, he knew tests when he saw them.
So he’d turned, even though it went against every instinct he possessed.
Not that she was any less desirable in her sweats than she was half-naked. Sloane couldn’t take his eyes off her as she stood there, one hand propped on her hip and the length of her hair a dark wave down her back.
“Battery?” Her brows drew together with confusion. “Like… electricity?”
“Like defenses,” he corrected. “This is Battery 129, a strategic defense bunker built during the war.”
Cecilia turned on her bare heel to prowl around the open living quarters. He eyed her warily, half-wishing he’d stuck to keeping her locked in the bedroom. Not because he worried she’d escape — she wouldn’t — but because she was altogether too active now that she was free.
“How are your injuries?” He followed her into the kitchen, which she appeared intent on examining.
Ignoring him, she asked, “Is this a Patrol bunker or something now?”
“No.”
He stood to one side of the kitchen island and tracked her movements intently, fascinated by how loud she was even when she wasn’t saying anything.
The rustle of her clothing, the taps of her feet on the floor, and the soft little sounds she made in her throat when she opened one empty cabinet after another were alien to him.
Perched on the roof of the building beside hers, he’d only ever gotten to watch as she went about her strange rituals. It satisfied a deep, unnamed craving to be so close to her as she did something as mundane as check the fridge.
Her nose wrinkled when she opened a drawer and peered inside. “So this is your place?”
Wondering what she was seeing at that could possibly put that look on her face, he stepped around her to look over her shoulder. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary in the containers of raw meat, he replied, “This is one of my places.”
She slid the drawer back into place. “But it’s so empty. You don’t actually live here, do you?”
“I typically live in the barracks.” When it didn’t appear she minded his proximity, he shadowed her as she moved to another set of cabinets, where he’d stored the foods he believed she’d enjoy.
Grabbing a bag of chips out of the cabinet — a flavor he’d seen her eat with Dahlia once — she surprised him by hopping up onto the island.
Even with the boost, she was quite a bit shorter than him.
Cecilia swung her legs back and forth as she expertly ripped open the bag.
Popping a chip into her mouth, she eyed him intently.
“So what’s the deal here?” she asked, sticking one arm halfway into the bag.
Sloane stood awkwardly by the refrigerator, unsure whether he was allowed to approach or what he should be doing with his arms. She looked so at ease perched on the countertop that it disarmed him.
He’d never had to deal with captives before — outside of an interrogation room, anyway — and certainly not one who appeared determined to assert her dominance through sheer confidence.
Seeing her in his space eating the strange human food he’d gotten for her filled him with a satisfaction he normally associated with a successful hunt. His chest expanded with a deep breath that rattled with a purr on the way out.
My consort in my home, he thought, marveling at the strangeness of her. The longing he felt, the pure pleasure of her presence, created an urgency in him that he could only describe as similar to panic.
Watching her blunt little teeth snap a section off a ruffled chip, he demanded, “Elaborate.”
“You’re a Patrol officer. Are you gonna go to work while I stay locked in here or what?
Also, isn’t it, like, super against the law for you to spy on civilians?
” She pointed one bandaged foot at him, her delicate toes arched.
“Going by how you killed Duke, I’m gonna guess that you’re used to working outside of the law, but I’m wondering how you thought this whole thing would play out. ”
Sloane was silent for a beat. He didn’t want to lie to her. It went against something ancient and important in his DNA to deceive his consort. She was his. He was hers. Even if he could never allow himself to truly be with her, he knew enough about mates to understand that lying to them was taboo.
But he also flinched away from the thought of telling her who he really was.
She was too young to have experienced the terror of Thaddeus’s reign, but she’d know about the infamous shadows squads. She’d know about the masked soldiers he used to kidnap, torture, and kill. She’d know and she’d hate him for it.
Throat working hard around a jagged lump, he forced himself to say, “Protecting civilians is our job.” Now.
Cecilia snorted. “Nice workaround you’ve got there, champ.”
“I’m not going back to the barracks,” he added. “You won’t be alone here.”
“But don’t you have to work?” She gestured to his clothing and mask with a chip. “Or is there some sort of special leave for officers who kidnap women?”
Technically speaking, there was a mandatory three month leave for any elf who found their consort.
It was more for the sake of everyone around them than the elf in question, since they became irrationally territorial, possessive, and prone to lash out at any perceived threats to their mates.
The first three months were also essential to the bonding period.
Skin to skin contact was vital to establishing the chemical connections that lay at the heart of a mated pair.
But none of that applied to Fracture.
Sloane’s heart rate sped up. He knew what he was supposed to do if he found his consort.
Fracture didn’t get the luxury of three months to indulge in their new relationships. They didn’t get to indulge in anything.
If they found their consorts, they were required to follow the Starsbury Protocol: separation, evacuation, isolation.
Immediate separation upon recognition, then evacuation from the area, and isolation from the consort until the pull lessened its grip.
Of course, they were also required to report any incident to their captain, who would then be in charge of keeping them from their consort — with force, if necessary.
Arguably, Sloane had followed the protocol. Just not in the way the good doctor and his superiors intended. He’d separated himself from the team, evacuated with his consort to a safe location, and isolated them together.
Theoretically, he could return to the barracks and continue with his duties, but that would require leaving Cecilia alone.
Not to mention the fact that the risks of discovery increased dramatically if he continued to go back and forth regularly.
Eventually, one of his nosy teammates would try to follow him, and if they discovered he’d found his consort…
They’d take her away.
That hot, snapped nerve in his chest pulsed with fury at the very idea.
Sloane had no idea what he was going to do now, but he was certain about one thing: no one would take Cecilia away from him.
“I’m on leave,” he explained. It was technically not a lie, since his weekend was still active.
Cecilia made a thoughtful sound. Giving him a narrow-eyed look, she asked, “You suspended or something? No offense, but going by what I’ve seen, you don’t exactly scream rule follower.”
The corners of his mouth twitched. “I’m not.”
It was a fun little game Fracture played.
Already alienated from elvish society and the hierarchy of Patrol, they liked to see just how far they could push limits.
They also got a lot of pleasure out of literal interpretation.
That was why they’d been on what was essentially house arrest since they tracked down the captain and his mate.
The sovereign had given them strict orders to find his brother, not bring him home.
Of course, the sovereign hadn’t taken that well.
“So you’re gonna stay here.” She paused to eat another chip. “With me. For how long?”
“However long it takes.”
What it was… Well, she could interpret that however she pleased, because he had no answer for her.
Cecilia set aside the bag of chips and dusted off her hands. Her head tilted as she peered into his visor. “Are you gonna wear that thing all the time?”
Licking his lips, he rasped, “I only take it off within the barracks.”
“Why?”
“Protocol.”
“But why is it protocol?”
“You ask a lot of questions,” he observed.
Those dark brows arched. “Can’t blame a girl for wanting clarity when she’s considering spending an undeclared amount of time with the stalker who kidnapped her.”
“I saved you,” he insisted.