Oliver snorted quietly into his empty glass, shaking his head.
Alexei’s lips twitched. “Once a year, huh? Was she strict with all aspects of your life?”
My answer hung in the air, unspoken. He had no idea. Nor would he ever.
He grinned, the glint in his eyes turning mischievous. “I’m going to take that as a yes, beautiful. Need any help curing that… innocence?”
Rune growled and bared her teeth at Alexei, her shadow fur stilling.
“No, thank you.” I could only imagine what the golden warrior had in mind.
Standing, the world tilted a little too much, forcing me to steady myself with the table. But the dizziness didn’t fade like I’d hoped.
Oliver sighed. “You’re so out of your element.”
I shot him a wry smile. “Well, then I guess it’s time I change that,” I said, turning on my heel and heading toward the frosted bar. “The general isn’t going to butter himself up.”
I weaved through tables and lively patrons, my gaze glued to the general’s back. With each step I took, I swore the tension in his shoulders increased as if he could feel me coming. He probably could. A foot from his back, I side-stepped him and plopped myself down on a glass barstool, bringing our arms within inches of each other.
“Is there something you need, Hellion?” he asked, his voice low and irritated. He stood, twirling a tumbler of amber liquid, staring resolutely at the glass shelving of liquor behind the bar.
“No,” I lied. “I just wanted a drink.” I locked my gaze on a bartender and waited until they came over. “The Abyssal, please,” I said with confidence, acting like I knew what I liked, and ignoring the large description beneath the drink.
The general side-eyed me. I flicked my gaze to him and back to the bartender, who nodded and walked away.
We sat in tense silence—or I sat; the general stood—his shadows slithering around his palm and the unusual letters tattooed into his wrist.
The warm fog from the martini Alexei ordered me didn’t give me the courage I’d hoped for. I had no idea what to ask or how to approach buttering up General Storm-Cloud. Still, this was the perfect opportunity. He wasn’t walking away, nor was he grating on my nerves with his usual disdain.
I needed to ease into it. Ask something easy.
“What does this mean?” I traced my finger over his wrist, the motion so casual that I barely registered the shock of contact until weboth flinched. He stepped back, and my face flushed, my mind scrambling.
Why the hell did I do that?
I didn’t need a second martini after all, but it was too late to cancel my order. A moment later, the bartender appeared with my pitch-black drink. I said a quick thanks. The general handed her a few coins, and my flush deepened, burning all the way through me. I’d forgotten about the whole payment thing.
“Sorry, I—I didn’t realize. Thanks,” I muttered, keeping my gaze locked onto my unusually dark drink as I pushed my hair to cover my face. I waited for him to leave, knowing he only stuck around to pay for my drink. When I heard him move, I shook my head, a soft laugh escaping. “I knew it’d never be that easy,” I whispered to myself.
“Aletheia.”
I froze.
Turning slowly, tension knotted in my stomach. He stood there, fully facing me, his golden eyes unreadable as they burned into my face. My pulse quickened, but I forced myself to bear the weight of his attention.
“What?” I asked.
He unbuttoned his cuff, revealing dark, bold lettering circling his right wrist. “It’s ancient Greek. It means truth.” His eyes narrowed, holding mine with a depth that made the word feel heavy—like it was meant for me, like it carried a warning or a challenge.
“And your other tattoo?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady as I pointed to his other wrist.
General Ronen stared, as though weighing whether I was worthy of more information. His fingers lingered on the button of his othercuff, and for a ridiculous moment, I had the sudden urge to help him. To uncover whatever secrets lay hidden in the black ink swallowing his tanned skin.
I shot a glance to meet his gaze. But it wasn’t quick, not when I got lost in the gold. It didn’t matter if they were unreadable. It didn’t matter if a frown creased his brows. They pulled me in.
Everything I’d been carrying—the weight of my decisions, the urgency to help Aspen and my mom, the gnawing frustration over how far behind I was—lifted. My chest expanded, my breath coming deep and steady, and for the first time in ages, I felt something close to peace. And, hell, I wanted more.
Before I could stop myself, I was on my feet.
