Page 21 of Guardian's Destiny

He moved to the wall where he had kicked the beanbag against and pulled it back toward the window.

I had no idea why I felt the need to try, but try I did. "I have trouble sleeping too. Dreams can be a bitch sometimes."

He plopped down on the chair, his hands still rubbing his face, his neck, running through his hair, before he rubbed the mating marks on his arm. I didn't think he would reply and was ready to lay back down and start another round of fighting my mind, when he finally did, "I never had trouble sleeping before."

"Before?" I fished, even though I wasn't sure I was really in the mood of getting up close and personal with him, before I decided that we were about to spend a few weeks together, so we might as well try to get along.

Why I was so set against it, I had no clue. I had gotten along with far more difficult personalities than his for the sake of a mission.

"Before I ran into the others," he clarified.

"Oh," I nodded as if that made everything crystal clear.

"I liked my life. I chased down the bad guys, eliminated them, and moved to the next mission," he filled me in. I could relate to that. I liked that kind of life too. Only once I was recruited by the CIA, the line between good and bad blurred too much for my taste. "Now, I don't know who the bad ones are anymore." He finished, and goosebumps ran down my arm at our similar stories.

"Turns out, my bosses are the bad guys. Ironic, right?"

"Yeah," I agreed as a particularly nasty memory tried to prick through my skull. "I killed my boss," I confided, unsure why.

That perked him up though, "What?"

"It was self-defense, really, her or me. She was about to support a major terror attack. So anyway, I know what it feels like to be betrayed by the people who you're supposed to trust." I still didn't understand why I shared this with him.

He got up from the chair and sat down on the edge of the bed. "That couldn't have been easy."

"It wasn't as hard as you might think. Hate is a powerful motivator, and the hate you feel for being betrayed… it's right up there."

He nodded, "Yeah. I wanted to rip Possedion to pieces. When you did what you did," he shook his head and regarded me with admiration, "I wanted to be you."

I laughed dryly. "Trust me, it didn't feel that good." I shuddered at the memory, wondering what night it would come to hunt me. That was the price I paid for being able to shut my emotions off during the day and do what I had to do. I didn't care about Possedion, one way or another, I really didn't. I didn't know the guy, just like I hadn't known many of the others. He was a job, that was all—an obstacle in my way to getmymission done.

He tilted his head, drawing his brows together. "You didn't seem like you cared."

"Yeah," another dry chuckle ran through me. "I'm the queen of pretend." Where the fuck did that come from? "I made him talk; that's all that matters."

"Not if it bothers you," he said, his hand reached forward and I pulled mine back, ignoring the quick flicker of hurt in his eyes for the rejection.

"Even if it bothers me. You of all people should know what it means to accomplish a mission, no matter your personal sentiments about it."

He looked stunned. "Actually, I don't. I've always taken pride in taking out criminals and protecting the innocent."

I barely stopped my eyes from rolling. Who was this guy, and why the hell were we talking in the middle of the night about feelings and missions and… whatever?

"You don't question the validity of having killed all those people? Because they were criminals?" I asked.

He shook his head. "Never."

He was either lying or more callous than I had pegged him.

I didn't have to ask the next logical question because he elaborated on his own. "Space Guardians have a deep sense of right and wrong. People give out certain auras for us; I can spot a bad person from across the room."

He wasn't boasting; he was simply explaining, and I probably would have laughed into his face had I not met Zapharos before. Now, his statement only served to raise more goosebumps across my flesh.

"That's a neat little talent to have," something bugged me about it though, "but if you have that sense, how come it didn't alarm you to the true nature of the Ohrurs?"

He ran his hand through his black, short hair, making my palms itch to copy his moves. I would have loved to explore if his hair was soft or bristly.

"That's because I've never met the Ohrurs face to face. I've only met with them via holocomms. Never in person. Not until Tharaax brought Possedion in. That's when I saw how evil he was."

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