I shove past them, ignoring the buzz in my ears.
I feel overwhelmed. Smothered underneath the mountain of information dumped on my head.
It's too much.
Someone calls my name, but I don’t stop.
I need air. I need to breathe.
“She’ll Command entire armies.”Stone’s voice rings in my head.
Oh rut. I can’t. But don’t think I have a choice.
I run down the steps and sprint across the courtyard. I'm not sure where I'm going, but I can't be anywhere near the squad or General Stone, or anyone else for that matter.
I need to scream. Rage. Do something to expel this ball of frustration from my chest.
I find a door that leads down to a basement, and I take the stairs quickly. There is another set of doors that I shove openand I find myself in the middle of a massive cellar. A string of light bulbs flickers on, casting a dim glow over rows and rows of large oak barrels lining the walls.
It smells like rum and earth, and I draw in a deep breath, trying to calm the storm inside me.
As I'm walking past one of the rows of barrels, I hear footsteps and then a voice that stops me in my tracks.
"Halley?" A deep voice echoes off the walls.
I breathe in and freeze as I smell roses and gunpowder.
It’s my big, stubborn, sweet Alpha.
Viper.
Chapter Fifteen
Halley
Of course it’s Viper.
He’s always been there when I needed someone to ground me. Whenever I felt like the rug was being yanked out from under my feet, he was there to catch me before I fell.
My very own emotionally repressed Alpha-shaped safety net.
I turn and jolt.
Sweet rut, he’shuge.
Why do I keep forgetting that?
It’s like my memory filed him undercuddlyinstead ofa combat-ready killing machine.
There’s something different about him now. It’s not just the haircut which is shorter, shaved on the sides. Or the new scar, carved across his hairline, a clean, cruel slice that didn’t heal smooth.
No, the change is in the way he holds himself. As though he’s stifling a wave of something.
Acid scorches the back of my throat. When I speak, my voice scrapes low.
"What do you want, LT?"
I call him by his rank — lieutenant. Formal and cold. As if keeping things professional between us with dampen the emotional turmoil that is bubbling under the surface. We both know it’s useless. There is nothing professional about our relationship. There never has been.
