I tried to swallow the lump in my throat. Every instinct inside of me screamed for my magic to reign free. To wrap around the man in front of me and to reduce him to rubble. I held back. It was physically painful. A deep ache in my chest that became scores of writhing insects under my skin.
If Hart realized I was a Demon, he would kill me.
“What the hell do you think you're doing?” An angry shout came from the edge of the yard. Hart released my throat and stepped back. He blinked and looked down at his hand as if he didn’t remember attacking me.
I still had not moved an inch. Frankie’s heart was a runaway train, and it took all of my strength to remain still. Locked up like a deer caught in headlights.
Davenport strode across the dog enclosure, lightning in his eyes.
“I asked, Sergeant Hart, what the Hell do you think you are doing?” Davenport repeated. His voice was dangerous.
Hart continued to blink rapidly. “I just—”
He tried to explain, but Davenport cut him off with a look.
“Go to the infirmary, Corporal Gardiner.” His gaze was full of hidden meaning.
It took a few seconds for my limbs to cooperate, but when they did, I did not look back as I hurried down the path.
Dr. Dan's mop of red hair was visible over his computer monitor, tucked away from the empty beds in the infirmary. He typed away, nibbling away at a stick of celery. I almost felt sorry for the guy—eating the most boring food known to man.
“Daniel,” I called out his name, so I wouldn’t startle him. Though it would have been funny to see him gag on a celery stalk.
“Francesca.” He turned around, looking me over from head to toe. “Have you come for the results of your medical examination?”
“Nah,” I hopped onto one of the empty beds and swung my feet. “Hart went nutso and pinned me like a naughty puppy. He didn’t hurt me, but Davenport sent me to the infirmary to get me out of the way.”
Daniel did not rush to his feet with my proclamation of potential injury. He stood up and moved slowly to the faucet to wash his hands. When he was done, he put on a pair of gloves.
“Where did he touch you?” Daniel stepped forward. I motioned to my neck, and he tilted my chin to the ceiling.
After a few seconds, he nodded to himself. “You’re fine. No bruising.”
“That’s what I thought.” My smile was cocky. “You have the infirmary all to yourself, Dr. Dan?”
The doctor’s narrowed his eyes. “Daniel.” He corrected. “You know I cannot abide that nickname.” He studied me for a second as if we were adversaries.
“Sorry, Dr. Daniel Gardiner.” I corrected as he turned his back to retrieve my file.
There was a stick up the good doctor's ass; it was a shame that the only person qualified to remove it was himself.
Dr. Dan flicked open Frankie's manila file and read a few lines. “You’re healthy. Nothing to be concerned about. Some of your levels are low, so I’m going to give you a supplement.”
I groaned. “I had one last time.”
“It’s a different supplement.”
I rolled up my sleeve and waited for the needle prick. Just like last time, Dr. Dan was quick, but I was sure he left a bruise.
“If you hurry, you can still catch breakfast.” Dr. Dan turned his back and dismissed me without a goodbye.
I smiled sweetly at Gary, the canteen worker, as he handed me a bottle of water and burnt bacon. He had a sadistic sort of gleam in his eyes, which I could fully get behind. I loved a bit of wrath—even in the paltry form of passive-aggressive breakfast.
My eyes swept over the various tables and benches, settling on Hugo and Remi in the corner. Hugo stared at the table as if he wanted to world to swallow him whole. Remi threw his head back and guffawed. Hugo flinched at the loud sound.
With a swagger in my step, holding my tray like a goddamn high school student, I approached the men.
“Howdy.” I slid into the seat next to Remi. “How were morning drills?”
Remi rolled his eyes. “Some of the new recruits are a bit cocky. One of the women couldn’t stop flirting with Sinclair.”
Hugo groaned and unrolled his silverware. “There’s always one every year.”
“You’d think that being part Demon would put off some of the lady Hunters.” I unscrewed my bottled water and took a swig.
“Huntresses?” Remi questioned.
“No, I think the term is still Hunter.” Hugo put a hand in front of his mouth as he swallowed his omelet before eating.
“No hot sauce today?” Remi pointed to my plate with his fork.
“I was running late. None left at the condiment counter.” I bit into my bacon; it crumbled like black ash in my mouth.
Hugo glanced across the room, and I followed his gaze. Riley Fisher sat at a table with three bottles of Tabasco. How immature.
“Do you want me to go get a bottle?” Hugo asked.
I waved my hand. “S’okay,” I said with my mouth full.
“How's your punishment going?” Remi asked.
I coughed as a piece of bacon lodged in my windpipe. I took a hearty mouthful of water to try and clear the taste from my mouth. “S’okay,” I repeated, with tears in my eyes from almost choking.
I turned to the side, wiping my eyes on the back of my sleeve. “Oh, man. Gary isn’t pulling any punches with his post-rejection revenge campaign.”
“He’ll get over it.” Remi snorted.
“He’ll be crying into his Cheerio’s for years.” I winked. “Who could deal with losing a chance at all this.” I waved a hand to bring attention to my unkempt appearance. I hadn’t had a chance to shower since working in the dog yard.
Hugo's look was soft. “If he keeps bothering you—”
“I can fight my own battles, Hewey-Loo.” I gave him a chastising look.
Hugo flushed. “I didn’t mean—”
“I know you didn’t.” I reached across the table and patted Hugo's shoulder.
Someone cleared their throat behind me. I glanced over my shoulder and was met with the massive form of Sgt Callum Hart. He couldn’t meet my eyes.
I took a long swallow of my water. Crinkling the bottle when it emptied, the water tasted a bit off, but I ignored it. I said nothing and let Hart squirm.
“You need something, Sarge?” Remi asked.
“Maybe he wants to ask me on a date?” I said with a cocky smirk.
Hart looked like he was in physical pain. “Can I speak to you outside, Corporal Gardiner.” His voice was calm, quiet, and polite.
Remi hooted. “You called it.”
I stood up and bussed my tray with a wink and a swagger. Callum Hart followed on my heels like a chastised pet.
I didn’t speak to him until we had walked off the beaten path outside of the Mess Hall.
“What's up, Sarge?” I put my hands on my hips.
“I wanted to apologize for putting my hands on you.” His Adam's apple bobbed. “I treated you like one of my pack. I restrained you as an alpha. I wanted to check that you weren’t harmed.”
The words 'pack' and 'alpha' swirled in my mind. Any number of dog-shaped Demons, shifters, or animal Fae crossed my mind. His magic tasted like the forest. Like burning bracken.
I narrowed my eyes. “You’re on Team P, aren’t you?” Dr. Lee had mentioned that the entire team was 'special' in some way. I wondered what Hart's damage was.
Hart growled. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“It’s okay, Sarge,” I said, patting his chest. “You didn’t hurt me.”