Hugo, Remi, and even Hart and Dr. Lee were tantalizing enough to make me want to stay in one place for the first time in my life.
But Drudes drifted. They rode the air currents and searched for new terrors to feed on.
I needed to solve the mystery of Team C's deaths, so I could move on.
Safe and alive.
I crept into the hallway. I didn’t know where the officer's building was located, and the door had locked behind me when I had left the warmth of Hart's bed.
My thoughts of him must have summoned the stoic man because Hart stood in front of me. I had not heard him approach, which was a testament to how silent he could be when he wanted.
“You left.” He said, his marmalade eyes beamed into mine. Searching for an answer that I had no idea how to provide.
“Yes?” I quirked a brow and waited for him elaborate.
He didn’t. Hart growled low in his throat and strode to the door opposite. He placed his hand on the electronic pad and disappeared inside. He held open the door for me to follow.
“I have been tasked with your safety.” Hart turned on a lamp and then sat on the edge of the bed. “Please do not leave without me.”
I raised one shoulder and let it drop.
“Gary Putnam has been brought in for questioning, but Dr. Gardiner rushed the blood results. You were not poisoned.”
“That’s the most I have heard you speak.” I put my hand on my hip. “I like it.”
“Dr. Gardiner believes that you collapsed due to stress and dehydration.” Hart continued.
“You'd know if I was stressed, believe me.” I leaned back against the bedroom wall and crossed my arms over my chest.
“Where are your gloves?” Callum Hart examined me with an inscrutable expression.
Self-preservation demanded that I burst into smoke and disappear on the wind. Instead, I stepped forward, between Hart’s parted legs. The same way that he had cornered me on the fence earlier.
“Maybe I don’t want to wear gloves anymore,” I whispered. Every word, another excuse, a lie, to make someone else believe that I was Frankie Gardiner.
If I continued living inside her body, would I wake up and one day no longer know where I ended and she began.
I never inhabited bodies for long. I did not sleep in them. I ate for pleasure but not for sustenance.
Living inside a body, using it and maintaining it, was forcing a connection that I was not sure I wanted. Something much more different than borrowing a meat suit and joyriding it through Central Park naked.
Hart reached up and tucked a lock of hair behind my ear. “You’re different. Since you woke up.”
I swallowed a lump in my throat. Did he know?
Heat sparked between us. The air was thick with tension. One wrong move and either of us poised to run away.
So I did something foolish.
I kissed him.
His lips were soft. His stubble scratched my chin. His tongue was tentative as if he wasn’t sure that I would scarper. Our eyes were open. Close and staring into each other. I moaned as his hands reached forward and slid up the small of my back, to rest against my shoulder blades. Hart pulled me closer. I stood. He sat. He held me close and plundered my mouth. I wanted everything he had to give.
My first kiss.
Something motivated by my selfish, petty, demonic desires, that spat in the face of self-preservation.
I kissed Callum Hart—and then I ran.
I did not sleep that night. I paced the confines of Frankie's quarters and thought about all of the ways that I had fucked up.
Was everyone in the compound utterly crazy? Or just unobservant.
I was obviously not Frankie Gardiner. It was clear that I was an imposter.
Why had no one called me out?
I couldn’t even masturbate. I was too wound up. Every time I tried to think about it, Hart's face would flash through my mind, and I would remember how I had fucked up.
I had told Dr. Lee that I wasn’t Frankie. All while under the influence of his therapist Nephilim magic.
Hugo knew. Deep down. He had told Davenport.
Remi hadn’t known Frankie before I had inhabited her—so at least I was safe on that front.
And Callum Hart? He had been suspicious of me beforehand. He had known Frankie. Maybe they had formed a club for people with sticks up their asses and a love of using as few words as possible?
And I had kissed him.
If it weren’t for Dirk's promise to take five years off my contract if I could see this through, I would have ditched Frankie's body behind and be halfway to the East Village by now.
Even the notion that Dirk had faith in me, and knew that I could do it, was wearing thin.
It was only a short jump from imposter to Demon.
I looked awful when I walked into the Mess Hall the next morning. Even though I had brushed my hair and teeth and worn actual unwrinkled clothes, Frankie had dark circles under her eyes. My lack of sleep showed. My stress was a constant thrum through my blood. An unease that demanded I bolted and leave Frankie's body on the floor. She'd die, but I’d be long gone by the time her body could be analyzed.
I had tried to read the romance novel that I had stolen from Dr. Lee but gave up after a few pages. Unable to concentrate.
None of my boys were up yet. There were a few stragglers, hunched over coffee, and looking as terrible as I did. I caught enough of their conversations to know that my power had leaked into the dorms the night before. My nightmares had infiltrated the dreams of the Hunters.
I sat by myself and poured hot sauce over my granola and banana pancakes. I drank OJ, staring at the viscous liquid and wishing that I could morph it into a mimosa if I thought about it hard enough.
I didn’t know how long I had been studying my orange juice as if it had the answers to the universe when someone slid their tray in front of mine.
Riley Fisher.
Her dark eyes took in my breakfast, and her lip twisted in disgust.
I barely looked at the woman as I made a point to shove as much pancake into my mouth as possible. I did not greet her.
Riley sat down, unscrewing the top of her water bottle with a smugness that made me want to hit her.
“I saw you leave Commander Davenport's room last night, Corporal Gardiner.” She said as she took a deep swig of water. “I wonder what someone of your rank would be doing in an officer’s bedroom in the dead of night.”
I quirked a brow and chewed. “So?”
“Sleeping your way up the ranks?” Her eyes were wide and innocent.
“If I said yes, would you leave me alone?” I asked, hopefully.
Her eyes narrowed. “Was the reason my Harvey died, because you were on a mission you weren’t qualified for? A mission that Davenport put you on because you were fucking him?”
“Are you trying to blame someone that is just as much a victim as 'your Harvey'?” I asked with genuine curiosity. The human mind was fascinating.
Her eyes sparkled with anger. “You lived. He didn’t.
“Almost didn’t live.” I corrected her. I looked around at the hush that had fallen over the canteen. Numerous people were glancing our way and whispering. Davenport's name had worked it’s way into their gossiping. I appraised Riley with a searching look. “You work quick.”
“Everyone needs to know that you don't deserve your rank,” Riley said, back straight.
I took a swig of my OJ and snorted. “Rank? This might masquerade as a military operation, but the Hunters are freelance. They use titles to make you think that you're doing God's work and killing all the big bad Demons, but have you ever stopped to ask why the Demons don’t bite back?” I was on a roll. Riley looked at me like I had sprouted a second head. “Hunters are pests. They are weeds to Demons who are simply too lazy to deal with them—us.”