Page 100 of Sergi
I kept walking and pushed open the French doors leading to the back terrace hard enough that I feared they’d break.
Then I stopped in my tracks.
Braden was leaning against the wrought iron and stone railing, a beer in his hand. He lifted another one that had been sitting on one of the stone pillars.
I grinned as I walked toward him. He knew me so well.
“That’s enough for tonight, boys. I think Alex remembers how to get to her room.” After a couple of seconds, he stood straighter, and a red glow replaced his sea-green eyes. “I don’t think her uncle meant for her to be treated like a prisoner. Try standing guard at the front doors if you must. And don’t make me say it a second time.”
I didn’t turn around. Their retreating boot steps and the shutting of the French doors were enough.
Braden chuckled and opened the beer for me.
“Damn. This tastes really good.”
“I told your uncle a barbecue on the terrace would have been just as good, but he wanted to show off for Cadfael.”
I took in the landscape, lit with dozens of small lamps, and breathed in the mixed scent of blooms and fresh compost. “I have to admit, my uncle is right about acclimating. I forgot how peaceful it was here.” I waited a beat, but Braden remained silent. I was curious if he felt the same way as my uncle. “I can’t just sit around.”
“Are you sure?”
I nodded enthusiastically. “In my last couple months at the facility, I’d been given more freedoms.” I shuddered. “But it wasn’t necessarily a good thing. I saw such horrendous experiments I don’t think those images will ever go away.” I took a long swig of the cold brew and turned toward him. “And maybe they shouldn’t. Not while we’re on the brink of war. If nothing else, I can be the reminder of why the shifters have to be in this war. This is quite literally our lives on the line. I cannot—no—I will not stand by while everyone else does the heavy lifting.”
I wasn’t sure what to expect from Braden. He was used to listening to my rants and petty grievances for years. What I didn’t expect was the huge grin.
“Yeah, I know. I sound like I’ve been radicalized.”
“And I have to say, little sister, it looks good on you.”
I blushed. Not many could make me do that, but Braden was one of them. Then his words sunk in, and I squinted at him.
“What exactly does that mean?” I finally took the time to really assess him. He was up to something.
“I have a proposition for you.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Sergi wokeearly but remained in bed, staring at the ceiling, a grin on his face. His dreams had been of Alex. Intimate dreams that turned erotic. It had been decades, maybe longer, since he’d been close with a female. Hell, in the last century in House Trelane, he’d dealt with more turmoil and tragedy than any House could bear. He’d had no time to think of females.
And in all that time, he hadn’t forgotten how to pleasure a woman. His grin widened when he remembered how passionate Alex had been. He was curious whether her assertive nature came from her year of captivity or if it was her innate nature. When she’d come to his cell, her soft touches, while tentative, had been daring.
He jumped out of bed and showered, though it did little to erase the shifter from his thoughts. If he hurried, he would have time to catch up on reports before Devon’s morning meeting. On the way to his office, he made a quick stop in the kitchen and ordered breakfast.
The first thing he noted when opening his office door was the scent of a woman.
He sighed. Cressa.
Was he disappointed it hadn’t been Alex’s scent?
He pushed the thought aside as he sat at his desk and immediately scowled. His chair was too high. He fiddled with the lever until it lowered to his preferred position. Then he surveyed his desk. Everything was out of place—even the mementos he kept at the corners.
A stack of folders sat to his left, and when he checked the labels, he released a long breath and maybe a small growl. There were dozens of multicolored sticky notes sticking out of all of them. He turned on his tablet and found forty-three messages waiting for him. Thirty-nine were from Cressa. The other four had arrived that morning from security team leaders welcoming him back and reporting all clear.
When he opened Cressa’s first message, he assumed it would be a security report from that day.
It wasn’t.
It was more of a diary of her daily activities, and each one was signed with the name Pandora and emojis of little hearts. He set the tablet aside and tried to open a desk drawer, but all the drawers were locked. He never locked his desk. No one was foolish enough to go into them. Cressa might have a need, but why lock them?
