Page 32 of The Beast's Betrayed Mate
The home screen lit up the room, and they shared a look. They were in.
“So far, so good,” she said.
Peter pulled a second chair up, having a seat next to her as her fingers flew across the keyboard, and she entered the facility’s server. It seemed there were only so many files she could access even from Jay’s computer, which was frustrating but expected.
“You know, you’re very attractive in the glow of a computer screen,” he said gently.
He hadn’t meant for the tone to be quite as insinuating as it was, but there was a definite huskiness to it, and she turned her eyes on him. “Focus,” she said sternly, but then a smile split her face, and he thought that if he kissed her, she wouldn’t mind.
His heart was suddenly speeding up at what her not minding would mean because he’d shunned it for so long, shunned being wanted because he hadn’t felt worthy.
And he swallowed, focusing, as requested.
“Wait,” she said, staring at the screen.
“What?” he asked.
“Oh, my God, this can’t be right,” she murmured.
“What is it?”
“Look,” she encouraged, and he had a look at the screen.
He frowned. “That’s results from splicing. What are the DNA samples?”
“It’s human and canine,” she replied, eyebrows raised high. “But… I don’t think these are splices. I think they’re just samples.”
“Samples from others like me,” he murmured.
She nodded slowly, then furrowed her brow. “But then, what is the trial?” she asked. “Unless the samples are taken after transformation…” She drew a soft breath, eyes locked back on his. “Look,” she said. “There.”
She pointed to the bottom right-hand corner of the screen, and he saw it clear as day. It might not be a drug he knew, but it was apparent that a drug was involved in the trial.
“What are they trying to do?” he murmured.
“I have no idea,” she said.
Chapter 10 - Olive
“This is insane,” Olive murmured, getting up from the chair to take a turn around the tiny office. It basically meant walking in a tight circle that only took three steps to complete. She rested her hands on the small of her back, tilting her head back as she stretched.
“Is now the time for doing… that?” he asked, watching her with a soft frown as though she was taking precious seconds away from coming up with a solution.
He couldn’t know this was her trying to come up with a solution, so she asked, “Do we have alcohol?” He gave her a look, and at the lack of a reply she finished, “Then stretching helps me focus.”
She wasn’t looking at him, head tilted away from any view of him to give her neck muscles that sweet, sweet stretchy feeling, and still she knew his brows were even more deeply furrowed.
“Alcohol helps you focus?” he inquired. He sounded as though she must be joking. But she really wasn’t.
“The right kind and the right amount—yes,” she said, stopping to lean forward, letting her hands drag on the floor.
“That is very… distracting,” he murmured.
She realized he wasn’t referencing the alcohol and turned her head to look at him. The air seemed to thicken, her heart slowing, and yet there was absolutely no time for any of it. She straightened up, the movement slicing the thickness right out of the air. And her heart was beating normally just like that. The world righting itself in the blink of an eye. Because they had amission.
The screen was glaring its truths at her, and she averted her gaze. She wasn’t even doing it to be theatrical. Her heart was speeding up at the thought of being confronted by her own naivete again.
“I don’t want to look,” she said, watching as Peter turned back to the screen.
