Page 43 of A Cruel Kindness

“What?” Then why did she and Ford stay away from each other? I didn’t believe they hated one another. I didn’t think the Bond would allow that.

Esme’s smile turned … sad. “The Bond doesn’t speak to me. To Ford either.”

“Why?” I mean it was annoying at times, but it felt like an inseparable part of me after a few short days.

Esme shrugged, though something about it seemed forced, a little sharp. “Ford rejected the Bond. Never manifested for either of us.”

“Wha—how?” I stuttered out. That seemed impossible. Looking back on it, I could have sworn I felt the Bond, though much quieter and hidden, well before I’d walked myself down to that temple and had the priestesses pull out my Mark.

It was a shock to realize that I recognized the Mark—my Mark— but if I was honest with myself, I never felt surprised when I found out it was Soren.

Esme smiled, though it looked forced. “Story for another day.” She tipped her chin up and over her shoulder. “Get settled. We’re unfortunately the favorites around here, so you won’t get a chance after tonight.”

I wanted to ask so many more questions, but I could tell that Esme had kindly changed the subject. I’d respect that, despite my curiosity.

Once I took a step forward, Esme took leave to turn and shoot up the stairs on quick legs, disappearing into the cabin.

I was slower to move, my steps more measured, my hand trailing up the sanded wood of the bannister. I never had a chance to take in my new reality back on the base. I was shoved into everything unceremoniously.

I wanted to appreciate it this time.

My eyes adjusted to the light as I stepped over the threshold, finding a open space that I was sure was supposed to be a living room and kitchenette of sorts.

Instead of plush furniture, the room housed one long couch and a desk, but was otherwise filled to the brim with equipment.

Ford was crouching on the floor, putting together a long rifle that looked so precise it made my stomach clench in fear. Esme was at the back wall, running through the small kitchen like a tornado, opening cabinets and drawers with a clear purpose in mind.

I guessed they had a routine, what they needed to check and do right on arrival. I was still a fumbling mess trying to hold on for dear life.

No one really told me what my role here was supposed to be. From listening in on conversations over the last week, I’d gleaned that Soren and Carson were strategists, relied on to judge the success of a plan or formulate one themselves.

Esme was a spy—though she’d be hard pressed to admit it. Ford was a sniper. And he would be hard pressed to admit that their dynamic fit quite well. I was sure Esme stepped into enemy territory constantly, with Ford hiding in the bushes watching her every move through a scope.

Feeling unease curl through my stomach, I did the only thing I knew how to do to deal with it—move forward despite it. I kept walking to the left, following Soren’s scent like a wolf tracking prey.

If I focused on it too long, I felt utterly ridiculous that I could know it was him by scent alone. I chalked it up to the Bond.

He smells yummy, it said, almost in answer to my thoughts.

I shoved it away as I stepped over the threshold of the room that would serve as my bedroom, yet another situation where I’d be forced to share a bed with Soren so the Bond wouldn't throw a tantrum. I wouldn’t be surprised if the beds were already pushed together.

I’d woken up this morning with Soren against my back, his hand wrapped around my midriff like he was scared I was going to leave him.

“Oh my God, Soren!” I yelled as soon as I realized what was in front of me, the bare skin of Soren’s chest shocking me as much as a bright light in my eye.

His only answer was to laugh, the sound rich and deep, while he continued to fold his clothes.

I should be covering my eyes with my hands. That’s what normal people did when they were confronted with something they didn’t want to see. The problem was, I did want to see it.

It was too late to do anything now, so I straightened my spine and attempted to appear unbothered.

I walked toward the bed—the shared bed. “Did you and Carson share when you were here?” I asked before I could think not to.

Luckily, Soren’s grin widened an inch further. “I pushed them together while you were taking your sweet time outside. Broke a sweat. Took my shirt off.”

“You aren’t as strong as you’d like people to believe if you broke a sweat from that.”

“Person,” Soren responded, his eyes still on his neatly folded stack of clothes.