“But I’m not yours.”
“Yes. You are.”
Chapter 40
BEATRICE KNEW SHE wasn’t a very good Arrow. She was just a disposable foot soldier, not one of the shining stars. She wasn’t like Zaira, who was so strong and who needed no one. Beatrice fumbled things when she worked on her own; even her otherwise encouraging new trainer had made that clear.
“You’re not skilled enough to work alone.”
Those words had hurt her so much. She knew she wasn’t supposed to have or to acknowledge emotions, but ever since the Honeycomb had come into effect, she’d found it near impossible to maintain the arctic calm within that was the Arrow way. No one had discovered her fractured Silence yet, but she was terrified she’d be disavowed when it happened.
Vasic and Abbot felt emotion, but they were important. The rules didn’t apply to them. Ming had always said Beatrice and those like her had less value. He’d told her to her face that she should be ready to sacrifice herself if that sacrifice meant a more important Arrow would live.
Beatrice could do that, and even with her awakening emotions, she hadn’t lost control of her abilities. Not even once. She’d been proud of that, so hearing Blake dismiss her competence as a solo operative had hurt even more. But then he’d said, “Partnerships can be valuable. You need a partner and I’m searching for one.”
Never had she expected that such a senior, experienced Arrow would choose her for a partner. He’d even given her a choice. Of course she’d said yes. No one else had ever seen such potential in her.
Now she had to make sure she didn’t screw up. She’d do everything he said, follow orders without hesitation. She’d be the perfect Arrow.
Chapter 41
THE DAY AFTER she’d met Tavish, Zaira put in time working on the construction in the valley. Venice was quiet at present and the Net in general had stabilized after recent disruptions. Much as it pained Zaira to admit it, Nikita had been right to insist on the public statement by the Ruling Coalition.
As for the hunt for the people behind Aden’s and Zaira’s abductions, that continued unabated. Both of them were in direct touch with the team tasked with following all possible leads, including those via property records. It turned out the bunker land was owned by a shell company that was owned by a shell company ad nauseam.
The final ownership led back to a five-year-old child who’d died fifty years earlier; but no Arrow had ever let a dead end stop him or her, and the hunt continued. Zaira didn’t interfere with the investigation, aware she wasn’t the best person to handle this kind of a back-end track—she did better with a physical target.
Instead, as she worked in the valley, she plotted how to get Aden to take a break from his duties as leader. He needed time to just be Aden, she thought . . . and remembered how he’d been in the bed in the aerie. He’d definitely not been thinking about his responsibilities then. The primal part of her stretched out at the memory of his arousal, at the remembered sensation of his hand clenching in her hair, and of how he’d felt so hard and hot under her.
Breasts swelling tight against her bra and pulse racing, Zaira could feel the rage that wasn’t rage around Aden rising to the surface. Even two days earlier, she’d have fought to stifle it, but that was before she’d met Tavish, before she’d begun to question whether she had in fact inherited the madness, rather than simply being driven by a justified anger. If it was the latter, then there was the possibility she could leash her violent possessiveness and have the man who currently worked in her line of sight.
At some point during the past hour, several of the males had stripped off their T-shirts, sweat dripping down their backs. All were in Arrow shape, their bodies strong, but Zaira noticed only Aden. Sleek and muscled and beautiful as he maneuvered a heavy piece into place, she wanted to pet him.
His eyes caught hers as the thought passed through her head, and for an instant he looked incredibly young, the words he telepathed to her unexpectedly playful. I’m never wearing a shirt again.
She replied instinctively. Good. I like the view.
Forced to look away by his task, Aden nonetheless didn’t break their telepathic connection. Would you do what you did at the aerie? Touch me, kiss me, own me?
You forgot the biting.
Anything you want, Zaira. I’m yours.
A shudder rippled through her at the passionate commitment in his tone, but a squadmate five feet to her left yelled for help with a falling wall right then, interrupting her sensual conversation with Aden. By the time she finished the assist and found Aden again, it was to see him in intense discussion with Cristabel and Walker.
No more time for play, she thought, disappointed. The latter should’ve worried her for what it betrayed about her discipline, but once again, she thought of Tavish and of how her parents had hurt her. She’d never do that to a child. Never. That cruelty was simply beyond her. So maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t a monster and could be permitted to love Aden.
Returning to Venice after night had fallen over the canals, that thought in mind, she’d just finished changing after her shower when Mica telepathed her. We have intruders.
Zaira had put the entire facility on alert as soon as she and Aden returned from the Smokies, the watch doubled and extra sensors laid down along the entire perimeter, including in the waters of the relevant canals. How far?
Three minutes till they cross the southwestern boundary line. Confirmation that it’s two operatives, moving with stealth. A pause. They have small packs. No visible weapons.
Outside on the roof by this point and in a position to watch the boundary, she got down on her belly. Did our scanners detect explosives?