Page 57 of Claimed By the Psychos
Not that I'm planning another escape or anything. Just... old habits.
Archer opens a door at the end of the hall, and Carlisle's voice drifts out, dripping with that particular brand of British sarcasm that makes everything sound like an insult wrapped in a silk ascot.
"Welcome to the war room," he announces with a flourish as we enter, spreading his arms wide like a game show host revealing the grand prize. "Where we plan our daring raids and argue about whose turn it is to buy coffee."
"It's not called the war room," Bane growls in a tone that suggests he's lying through his teeth from his position at the head of a massive oak table that looks like it was stolen from some medieval castle. His hazel eyes narrow at Carlisle in clear annoyance. "It's just the briefing room."
"You literally called it the war room last week," Carlisle points out, examining his nails with studied disinterest. "I have it on good authority. That authority being my functioning ears and the fucking leaflet you printed out."
"Can we not do this right now?" Elias interjects from his seat, looking tired but alert in that way that suggests he's running on caffeine and fumes. I guess he has been treating Felix round the clock, while trying to be unobtrusive.
The room itself is exactly what you'd expect from a bunch of militaristic alphas with too much money and a hero complex. Maps covering the walls, marked with red pins and string like they're tracking serial killers. Weapons displayed in cases, even though they probably weren't obtained legally. Books on strategy and warfare and other testosterone-fueled topics that would make perfect kindling if we needed to start a fire.
My eyes catch on something in one of the display cases and I practically freeze mid-step. "Holy shit, is that a Miller-Borne Tactical RK-59?" I breathe, pressing my face against the glass like a kid at a candy store. "With the integrated suppressor system?"
Carlisle perks up immediately, that dangerous smile of his shifting into something genuinely delighted. "You know your firearms," he says, already moving to unlock the case. "Most people have never even heard of Miller-Borne. They only manufactured seventy-three of these before the company went under."
"Because the ATF shut them down," I say eagerly, watching him lift it with reverent hands. "The burst-fire mechanism was technically illegal but God, the engineering on that selective trigger system..."
"Magnificent, isn't it?" Carlisle agrees, checking the chamber before offering it to me. "Three-round burst with less than a millimeter of trigger travel between semi and burst mode. The recoil compensation alone?—"
I take it reverently, feeling the perfect weight distribution. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see the other alphas shifting nervously. You'd think I'd tried to kill them or something. "Carbon fiber lower, titanium upper," I breathe, trying not to drool as I caress the barrel in a way that probably looks like it's something else, judging from the way Carlisle's eyes darken a fraction. "It's beautiful."
"She certainly is," he purrs, his gaze locked on mine in a way that makes my heart do a stupid little flip flop in my chest for no fucking reason.
Archer makes a strangled sound from across the room. "Maybe we save the geeking out over illegal weapons for another day." His face has gone pale. "That's literally a war crime in gun form."
"Only if you use it in war," Carlisle corrects cheerfully. "In private hands, it's merely felonious."
Archer narrows his eyes.
"I'd be happy to let you try it out sometime," Carlisle continues, watching me sight down the barrel with obvious approval. "I have a lovely range setup in the basement. Completely soundproofed."
Bane clears his throat loudly. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves."
"Fine," I pout, reluctantly handing the gun back to Carlisle, who locks it away in that case it's now my life's goal to break into. I need to know how that metal tastes.
Felix takes a seat, and I drop into his lap, my arms draped around his neck. I look at the alphas to see if they'll take the bait, but they all keep neutral expressions. All but Carlisle, who's smirking as if he enjoys me toying with his pack mates every bit as much as I do.
At leastoneof them is fun.
"How are you both feeling?" Bane asks, and there's something in his tone that makes my hackles rise. Too gentle. Too careful. Like he's about to deliver bad news and wants to soften the blow.
"Cut the shit," Felix says, because he's never met a social nicety he didn't want to murder. "What do you want?"
The four alphas exchange looks. One of those annoying silent conversations that people who've worked together too long always do. Finally, Elias clears his throat, those blue eyes finding mine with an intensity that makes me want to squirm.
"You're both our scent matches," he says, ripping the bandaid off with medical efficiency.
The words hang in the air like a grenade with the pin pulled.
Felix's hand stills on my thigh, no longer stroking with casual possessiveness.
My brain short-circuits. Just completely fucking flatlines for a solid three seconds while I try to process what he just said. Scent matches. Both of us. Felix and me. These four alphas and?—
Oh.
Oh.
