Page 70 of Claimed By the Psychos
I can still smell her on him, even three days later. That sweet wildflower scent mixed with something darker, something that screamsminein frequencies only I can hear. It clings to his skin like a confession, and every breath I take is another reminder that he's had what I haven't.
The truck hits a pothole, jostling us all, but my knife never wavers. Flip, catch, flip, catch. The blade catches the dim light filtering through the canvas covering, and I imagine it wet with blood. His blood, specifically. I've been cataloging all the ways I could open him up. Start with the carotid, maybe, or go for something more artistic. The subclavian artery is lovely when severed properly, creates this beautiful spray pattern that?—
"You're doing that thing again," Elias says without looking up from the medical supplies he's checking for the third time. Nervous habit. The good doctor gets twitchy before missions, needs to count his gauze and morphine like a rosary.
"What thing?" I ask, knowing exactly what thing.
"Staring at me like you're planning my murder." He finally meets my gaze, those blue eyes steady despite the accusation. "It's creepy, Carlisle. Even for you."
"Everything I do is creepy, darling," The endearment drips with the kind of poison that makes people check their drinks. "It's part of my charm."
Bane grunts from his position near the cab, checking his rifle for the dozenth time. It's just the three of us today. Archer stayed home watching Felix and Juniper. Lucky bastard.
"Can you two shut the fuck up?" Bane growls. "We're five minutes out and I need to get my head in the game."
Five minutes until we hit a drug ring that's been poisoning half the city with fentanyl-laced heroin. Not our usual trafficking gig, which is refreshing. I was getting bored of playing hero to doe-eyed omegas. At least drug dealers look at us like we're the monsters we are.
"How's your hand?" I ask Elias, my voice casual. "The one that's been between our omega's thighs."
The medical kit slips from his grip, supplies scattering across the truck bed. Bane's head snaps up, hazel eyes narrowing to dangerous slits.
"What the fuck did you just say?" Bane's voice drops to that register that usually precedes someone getting their teeth knocked out.
"Oh, didn't he tell you?" I examine my knife blade, checking for imperfections that don't exist. "Our dear doctor has been conducting some very thorough examinations of our scent match. The kind that involve tongues and fingers andother appendages one doesn't typically associate with medical practice. But then, I never went to medical school, so what do I really know?"
Elias's jaw clenches so hard I can hear his molars grinding. "Carlisle?—"
"I smelled her on you," I continue, because I'm nothing if not thorough in my torment. "That particular bouquet of arousal and satisfaction that only comes from making an omega scream your name. Tell me, Doctor, does she taste as sweet as she smells?"
Bane is between us before I can blink, one massive hand wrapped around my throat. Not squeezing, not yet, but the promise is there in the way his fingers twitch against my windpipe.
"You want to run that by me again?" His voice is deceptively calm, the eye of a hurricane that's about to level everything in its path.
"Our doctor has been playing with our new pets without permission," I say, meeting his gaze without flinching. The lack of oxygen is mildly inconvenient, but I've been choked by better men than Bane and lived to tell about it. Or rather, lived to kill them slowly while they begged for the mercy I don't possess. "Thought you should know."
"Is this true?" Bane turns to Elias, his grip on my throat loosening just enough that I can appreciate the way Elias squirms under scrutiny.
"It's complicated," Elias says, which is doctor-speak foryes, but I don't want to admit it.
"Uncomplicate it." Bane releases me entirely, turning his full attention to our medical professional who's looking decidedly unprofessional at the moment.
"Felix... gave permission," Elias says carefully, like he's navigating a minefield. Which, metaphorically speaking, he is."He told me I could... if she wanted me to." His gaze flicks to mine, full of challenge. "And she did."
The silence that follows is beautiful in its violence. I can practically hear Bane's blood pressure rising, watch the way his hands curl into fists that could punch through concrete. This is better than Christmas. Better than that time I got to use white phosphorus on a trafficking ring. Better than?—
"We have a fucking mission," Bane says finally, each word bitten off like he's chewing glass. "We'll deal with this later."
He shoulders his rifle and exits the truck, leaving Elias and me in the kind of awkward silence that usually precedes bloodshed. Perfect.
"You're a fucking asshole," Elias mutters, gathering his scattered supplies.
"Yes, but I'm an honest asshole." I sheath my knife with a flourish. "You should have told us. Pack dynamics and all that."
"There are no pack dynamics. She's not ours."
"Yet." I follow him out of the truck, into the muggy night air that smells like rain and imminent violence. "But she will be. The only question is whether you've fucked it all up with your premature sampling."
The warehouse squats ahead, looking predictably identical to all the others. Intel says thirty men inside, all armed, all dangerous, all about to be extremely dead. My favorite kind of odds.
