He wrapped his other arm around the front of her shoulders as he’d done in the aerie, enclosing her in protective warmth. And for the first time since she’d returned from RainFire, she felt as if she could sleep again, no screaming aloneness in her skull, no crying deep in her soul from missing him.
A breath against her ear, his lips brushing her skin. “It’s raining.”
Her eyes went to the balcony doors and to the soft, misty rain that had begun to fall. At that moment, it was as if they were back in the aerie, back in that precious, secret time when she could forget her twisted history.
“Sleep,” she whispered. “I’ll keep you safe.”
He nudged his thigh between hers, their bodies utterly entwined. “How about we keep each other safe?”
She was the commander, her task to make sure no harm came to him, but she had the thought that right now they were just Aden and Zaira, and Aden was a man who would always want to protect his lover.
While they might not be lovers in the sexual sense, he was as entwined in her existence as their bodies were in this bed. Her heart, that twisted, scarred organ, felt things for him it felt for no one else.
Turning into his hold, her back to the threat of the open balcony doors, she closed her eyes and slept in the arms of the only person she had ever loved.
Chapter 42
BEATRICE FOLLOWED HER trainer down an alley that exited behind a human nightclub pulsating with noise far beyond the efficacy of the flimsy soundproofing. Sweat trickled down her spine and her pulse thudded, but she was determined not to make a mistake during her first live mission; she’d prove to Blake that he’d been right to take her as his partner.
“You remember the mission parameters?”
“Yes, sir.” They were to incapacitate and acquire a specified human female. Brown haired and blue eyed, the female was twenty-three years of age. When Beatrice had dared ask why they were targeting a young human, Blake had answered her in an unexpected sign of respect.
“She’s the child of a Human Alliance scientist who is in the process of developing a serum meant to neutralize Psy abilities. The Ruling Coalition has requested we interrogate her as she knows the pass codes of her father’s highly secured systems. It’ll allow us to download then erase all data before disposing of the male in what will appear to be a simple vehicular accident.”
Beatrice had assumed the target must be very smart to have memorized all the codes, but as she saw the female stumble out of the club in high heels, a cigarette hanging from her fingers, she couldn’t see any sign of that intellect. Not only were those shoes impractical to run in, the target, who apparently worked at the club, had a nightly habit of smoking at this time and this place, alone.
There was no light back here, no security cameras, no other traffic. The girl had to realize the data she had in her head made her a target. Why would she then not carry a weapon at least? Perhaps it had to do with intrafamily rebellion—Beatrice had been taught about that in her psych classes. Humans sometimes rebelled against their parents. It was a weakness that could be exploited both subtly and more directly.
Tonight, it was clearly to be the latter.
When she glanced at Blake, he gave a small nod.
The mission was a go.
Inhaling quietly, Beatrice stepped around the corner and toward the target. She’d dressed in civilian clothing for this mission, her dress as short and as sparkly as the girl’s skirt. Beatrice liked the dress. It wasn’t an Arrow thing to think, but she’d never had anything so pretty.
Her feet, of course, were in combat boots. An acceptable style choice, according to her research. That was good, because Beatrice wasn’t sure she could’ve walked in high heels.
Catching sight of her, the target frowned. “Where’d you come from?”
“My boyfriend ditched me,” Beatrice said, reciting the script she’d been given and mimicking the tone and intonation she’d seen in a movie clip; she’d found that clip herself, studied it in preparation for the mission. “Creep. He’s screwing some girl in our car.”
“Ugh.” The target wasn’t the least suspicious as Beatrice drew closer. “You want a cigare—” Her words ended in a choking sound, her eyes stunned as Beatrice incapacitated her with a single slamming hit to the throat with the side of her hand. Blake had made it clear no weapons or psychic abilities were to be used, this mission part of her equivalency exam in weaponless action.
Catching the target’s heavier body as she fell, Beatrice pinched a nerve in her neck to ensure total unconsciousness. That done, she looked up, hopeful.
Coming out of the shadows, Blake said, “A near-perfect takedown.” He lifted the target and threw her over his shoulder.
It was easy to move her without being seen. Blake had parked their vehicle in the deserted and overgrown lot next door, and they’d used a preexisting hole in the chain-link fence to get to this side. Three minutes after Beatrice had first seen the target, she was in the trunk of their vehicle as they drove to the interrogation center.
Chapter 43
ADEN SLEPT DEEPLY—or as deeply as any Arrow ever slept—and woke to find Zaira still in his arms, her hand over his heart.
She’d thrown her leg over his own sometime in their sleep, and his hand was spread on her lower back, under her T-shirt. Her skin was warm, softer than his own, her body relaxed. Not moving, he just drank her in. He didn’t know why she’d asked him to stay, but he knew he’d have to be careful.
She was like a wild bird who’d finally decided a man could be trusted. One wrong move and she’d be gone, lost in the clouds before he had a chance to coax her back.