“We train for combat in both our forms for that reason,” Ethan says.
Surviving Wargate meant a certain amount of fighting, if for no other reason than because supes were struggling to cope with the stripping of their abilities, especially those of us who have another form. Some turned to drugs to numb the pain; others lashed out. Nevertheless, I had a desk job originally and the Independence Exam tests dragon skills, not bipedal ones. I’d be an idiot to pass up an opportunity like this.
‘I wouldn’t be averse to improving my self-defence skills, if one of you is willing to teach me.’
Ethan points at the laptop. “Sign that contract and I’ll think about it. I have a couple of other team members who are best suited to training you, but I need to be sure you’ll use those skills in the right way. Our level of trust in each other isn’t there yet.”
That’s fair. I read the contract, and it’s actually very well worded. I’m legally protected if I’m caught doing something I shouldn’t be or providing confidential information, as long as it’s for an active task force investigation and they’re aware of my actions beforehand. Basically, if I act independently just to get revenge on Lance, I’m at risk of repercussions. They don’t have to inform me of everything, and I have the right to refuse any request.
I’m conscious that signing this wouldn’t entirely be in the spirit of my pact with Harley. We agreed that quests for revenge could land us back in Wargate, and we’d do anything to avoid that fate.
But this is different. I’ll be on the right side of the law, and the task force will be calling the shots. Can I really refuse the chance to be involved in ensuring my sworn enemy faces the justice he so richly deserves? Besides, with the NDA they made me sign, Harley will never know.
Best of all, the contract says the task force will pay me as a consultant. I can pay my brother back that much faster, then start rebuilding my hoard.
I sign the task force contract, then bring up my email and locate the contract for the mandatory work programme. I turn the laptop towards Raj so that he can send it to himself. ‘Tell me how else I can help.’
I shift position, trying to get comfortable despite the lumpy mattress, and stare up at the wooden canopy above the antique four poster bed. My night vision allows me to see the ornate carvings in perfect detail, even in the pitch black of the bedroom. It’s moderately cool in here thanks to the magical dome regulating the temperature in the building, the sheets are relatively soft, albeit worn in places, and I have everything I could possibly need.
Except Raj. He’s in the bedroom next door, hopefully sleeping peacefully. I’ve told myself a hundred times that he’s fine, that nothing’s going to happen to him while he’s safely behind these wards, but my dragon keeps nudging me to go check just in case.
I ignore my dragon and close my eyes. The moment I do, I feel Raj’s body tense under me as agonisingly hot magic slams into me like a tsunami.
My scales break out and I bolt upright in bed, my breathing coming in fast pants. I look around the room, reminding myself that I’m in the Muroyi manor, not at work. Raj is fine. He’s next door. There’s no longer any pain.
My breathing calms but my scales won’t go away, so I throw the covers off and stride to the window. I yank one of the enormous curtains aside and look out at… scaffolding. Fuck, I need air.
The latches on the old sash window are stiff, but with a bit of wiggling I manage to open them and slide the window up. When I climb out onto the scaffolding, the wooden planks are rough against my bare feet, the metal pole cold under my palm. The sensations help to ground me, and my scales finally retract.
A light is coming from Raj’s window, so I pad a few feet over only to be confronted by curtains. I should leave him alone, let him sleep… but if there’s a light on that means he’s probably still awake. I figure what the hell and knock on the glass, needing to see him.
A few moments later, one of the curtains is drawn back andhe appears, looking delicious in a pair of joggers and nothing else, miles of gorgeous golden brown skin on show. He’s got a tattoo on one shoulder—a howling wolf’s head above stylised wings that I recognise as the Soldati Security logo on Ethan’s SUV—and dark circles under his eyes. His brow furrows as he tugs the window up.
‘What are you doing out there?’ he asks after stepping back to let me climb inside. ‘I thought you were Skye.’
‘Who’s Skye?’ And why would he be visiting my tiger’s bedroom in the middle of the night?
‘The eagle from this morning. One of my pack.’
Hmm. I might need to keep an eye on this Skye person.
‘I needed some air and saw your light on.’
He takes in the slight sheen of sweat on my bare chest and understanding flashes in his eyes. ‘I can’t sleep either. I keep reliving what happened. I thought I’d be okay, but maybe I was just too exhausted last night to have any nightmares.’
My dragon nudges me, needing to make Raj feel better, to reassure him he’s not alone.
‘Every time I picture you lying there, unconscious and covered in blood, I…’ I lower my hands, deciding it’s probably better to not tell him that while I’ve been lying in bed for the last two hours, unable to sleep, I’ve been fighting the irrational fear that he didn’t survive.
His chest slowly rises and falls. ‘Going through something like that is traumatic for anyone. When we were in the SAS we dealt with it as a pack. It’s more difficult alone.’
I frown, not sure what he’s trying to say or what I should suggest. Ethan and his mate are in a bedroom nearby, and the rest of the pack are sleeping in various other bedrooms on this floor and the one above. I’ve been assured I’ll meet them tomorrow.
‘Do you need your pack?’ I’d much rather be in here than next door, but I’ll go back if he’d prefer someone else’s company.
He looks over at the bed for a few seconds, then back at me. ‘I actually think I need you tonight.’
My mouth goes dry and my heart starts pounding. Is he suggesting…?
