Meridian’s gaze cut to him, dark and serious. “Go,” he said. “I’ll handle it.”
He and Meridian held each other’s stare for a moment, the silent language of Ravens—the code of assassins—passing between them.
Scar’s place was with Gage, and Adrian’s fate now belonged to Meridian.
God rest his soul.
He turned and chased after his heart.
White Ravens
Scar
Scar opened Gage’s apartment door with deliberate slowness.
He stepped inside and called out, “Gage? It’s me.”
Silence.
His quarters was dark as always and Scar was getting used to moving around the dim outlines of Gage’s furniture.
He closed the door behind him, his stomach clenching with a mix of regret and worry.
He’d fucked up downstairs, he knew that. But after watching what really happened, fury had blinded him, and he’d acted like a Neanderthal, demanding vengeance for his lover.
But Gage wasn’t some fragile thing that belonged to him. He was his own man, a Raven, sharp as any blade, and Scar’s overprotectiveness had stripped him of that in front of everyone.
Guilt stirred in his chest, hotter than his initial anger. He hoped he hadn’t pushed too far and made Gage question their relationship days before their wedding.
He caught the white noise of running water from the bedroom.
His steps were reluctant and heavy as he crossed the bedroom and eased the bathroom door open.
The steam veiling the room was thick and warm, and filled with the scent of Gage’s powdery soap.
He stripped off his shirt, unbuckled his belt, then kicked off his boots and pants, leaving everything in a heap on the floor.
He went to the glass shower door, through the haze, he made out Gage’s form.
His toned shoulders were hunched and his hands braced flat against the onyx wall. He had his head bowed, letting the hot water pound over the tension knotting his neck and back.
Scar gritted his teeth at the sight of the red scratches on Gage’s sides and lower back, a taunting reminder of that obsessed fucker’s hands on what was his.
He forced calm, taking several deep breaths before he tapped lightly on the glass.
When Gage didn’t turn around, he slid the door to the side.
“Can I join you?”
“I’m finished,” Gage said flatly, brushing past him.
“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, watching Gage yank a towel off the shelf and leave the bathroom.
The rejection stung, but he wasn’t giving up.
He stepped under the spray, washed fast to rinse the day’s grime off, and was out three minutes later.
Scar toweled off roughly, cinched it around his waist, and followed Gage.
