by Chant, Zoe
About a million thoughts popped into her head at that:
He is nice. Not in a brother-boss-best friend way, in a good guy way that’s exactly what I want in my mate.
If we can’t make love, I’d rather cuddle up with him and go to sleep than not touch him at all.
If we did cuddle up, there’s no way we’d get any sleep.
Hal and Ellie have all the luck.
Destiny didn’t know how to explain—she didn’t want to explain—but her only other choice was to lie, and she couldn’t do that to Ethan.
“There’s something I have to tell you. That stuff Hal was saying about mates? It applies to me too. I like you a lot, but…” She almost stopped right there, then forced herself to continue. “You’re not my mate. I looked in your eyes, and nothing happened. I asked my tiger, and she said no.”
“But…” Ethan looked both baffled and outraged. “I don’t get it. Are you banned from having relationships from anyone but your mate? Hal’s in his thirties—are you telling me he was a virgin until he met my sister a month ago?!”
“No. I mean, I don’t know, we’ve never discussed it, but I assume not. I know he’s dated other women before.” She hurried to get off the topic of her boss’s sex life. “And no, it’s not banned. I’m not a virgin either.”
“Then what’s the problem? Okay, so maybe I’m not the love of your life…” A shadow of hurt flickered across his face, making her wince. He obviously didn’t like that idea one bit. But determinedly, he went on, “So what? I’m not asking you for a lifetime commitment. I’m only saying, let’s try it out. See how it goes. You know, the way everyone who’s not a shifter does it.”
Destiny was tempted. She was incredibly tempted. Sure, they could try it out. For all she knew, she wouldn’t meet her mate for another fifty years. She might not even have a mate at all. Why not take what he was offering, and let the chips fall as they may?
But there was a great big glaring problem with that.
“Ethan, you have a mate.” The words almost choked her, but she forced them out. “The perfect woman for you. The one you’ll love more than you love your own life. And she’s not me. She can’t be me. If I were your mate, then you’d be mine, and my tiger would know.”
“No.” He was shaking his head, his expression set in absolute denial. “I don’t have a mate. I’m not a shifter.”
“All that means is that you probably won’t fall in love at first sight. But she’s out there somewhere. And when you meet her, you will fall in love. The sort of love that Hal and Ellie have. And that’ll be it for you and me.”
“No, it won’t!” Ethan forced his voice down from a shout. In a low, intense tone, he said, “We could’ve both died tonight, and then what happens to this woman I’m supposedly meeting? To hell with her. I don’t believe in her. Let’s forget about things that might happen in the future, and take what we have in front of us. That’s you, Destiny. I want you, and I want you now!”
Destiny wanted him too. She wanted him now. But her mind had leaped ahead to what would happen if she let him persuade her. It would be wonderful; she knew it. But sooner or later, he’d meet his mate. And then what? Would letting go of him be any easier six months or a year or five years down the road? What if they were married?
What if they had kids?
She felt herself pressing her fist to her chest, as if she’d been stabbed in the heart and had to stop herself from bleeding out. She sure felt like she had. But he wasn’t a shifter—he couldn’t understand the way she did. And that meant she had to make the hard decision for them both.
Her voice dropped so low that it sounded like a tiger’s growl. “Fine. You don’t understand what it means to be mates. I get it. This is all new to you. But here’s the important thing. I’m saying no, Ethan. The answer is no.”
Ethan looked like she’d kicked him in the stomach. He actually took a step backward, as if she really had. “All right. I don’t understand. But you’re saying no, so… I respect that. You ever change your mind, let me know. But I’m not going to keep hassling you when you want me to lay off.”
“Thanks. You’re a good guy. And I hope we can still be friends.” She sighed. “If it’s not too weird. And awkward. And frustrating.”
Ethan straightened up, visibly pulling himself together. Putting on a mask of unconcern, he said, “Aw, no, mudpuppy, we can still be buddies. I’ve been turned down before. I’m a big boy, I can take it.”
“Okay. Good. We’re on, jarhead.” Destiny blinked hard, forcing back the sting of oncoming tears. Making herself sound casual, she asked, “Hey, I never asked. How long are you planning to stay in Santa Martina?”
He shrugged. The easy flow of conversation between them had dried up, which hurt as much as everything else. “A couple weeks, a couple months. I go where they send me, when they send me. You know how it is.”
“Yeah, I remember.”
She retreated to the bathroom to brush her teeth and take her pill. She normally took them first thing in the morning, but it was almost dawn now. She swallowed it, then changed into a borrowed nightgown, hoping Ethan would be asleep or pretending to be when she got back. Sure enough, he was in the sleeping bag when she returned, his face buried in the pillow. When she turned out the lights and got under the blankets on the sofa bed, he waited ten minutes, then snuck out to the bathroom.
Destiny lay awake trying to argue with the feeling that she’d made the biggest mistake of her life. But was it so wrong not to enter into a relationship that she already knew was doomed? Sure, she’d dated men before without worrying about mates. But they’d been casual affairs: just for fun, nothing serious intended on either side. She couldn’t imagine anything she did with Ethan not getting very serious, very quickly. And then, doom.
No. She was definitely doing the right thing. Sometimes that hurt and was hard, because life could hurt and be hard.
But if Ethan wasn’t her mate, who in the world was?
After the trial at which Ellie’s courageous testimony put all the gangsters in jail, Ethan deployed. He only had time to give Ellie a quick call, and then he was gone. Destiny foolishly, pointlessly, hopelessly missed him every single day that she didn’t see his blue-green eyes. Six months later, he came back, and every single day that she did see him, she foolishly, pointlessly, hopelessly missed the relationship they didn’t have, had never had, never would have. Missed him, even though he was right there. And then he deployed again, and she missed him again. More fool her.
And so it went. For two endless years, while she watched as one by one, each of her teammates found their mates. She was happy for them, of course, and not only because they’d found love. With their mates, they also found a missing piece of themselves, had some jagged edge smoothed out or some old wound healed. And the same was true of their mates. They’d all been made whole.
What’s the piece I’m missing? Destiny sometimes wondered. How would I change, if I ever found my mate?
She asked her tiger, sometimes, but the big cat only gave her a lazy shrug. How should I know?
Every time Ethan returned to Santa Martina, tanned and tired and happy to see his sister, the pang of love and misery that stabbed through Destiny’s heart felt like it would just about kill her. After the first time, she made sure she didn’t catch his eyes until a few seconds had gone by; that one unguarded look of raw longing she’d caught the first time had nearly made her throw herself into his arms.
But where would that lead? To him meeting his true mate and realizing how trapped he was, and her pretending it didn’t break her heart when they broke up—or worse, got divorced—so he could be with the woman he really loved.
No. Being with Ethan was a fool’s game, doomed from the start, and Destiny’s mama hadn’t raised a fool. She’d enjoy his company when she got it, but only as a friend. And when the time came, she’d dance at his wedding and make herself look happy, and never let on that her heart was breaking inside. And that was that.
Until Ethan deployed again.
And didn’t come back.
Part II
Author’s note
These events occur after Protection, Inc. # 6, Soldier Snow Leopard.
Chapter 4
Ethan
Ethan had spent the last six hours in a rough and dangerous borderland that could be concealing an enemy behind every boulder or within every ravine, trudging up and down hills with an eighty-pound rucksack on his back, and he had at least another six hours to go. There had been absolutely no sign of the terrorist hideout they’d been sent to find. He was convinced that some desk-sitter back at the Pentagon had mistaken a herd of stray goats for a band of armed men. It wouldn’t be the first time. If so, it was lucky for the goats that they’d sent four Recon Marines instead of a stealth bomber.
He was hot, hungry, tired, and sure that it was all for nothing. But what bothered him was that he wasn’t enjoying himself anyway.
I used to love being a Marine, Ethan thought. What happened?
He wanted to believe that it was because he hadn’t yet gotten used to his new fire team. A recent series of accidents and ambushes had sent a lot of Marines in his unit to the hospital or worse. As a result, personnel had to be transferred in and shifted around. Ethan’s old team had been broken up, and he’d ended up on a new team that consisted of three misfits plus him. He’d hoped they were only having a rough transition, but it had been a month now and they still didn’t get along. And on a four-man team, that was one hell of a problem.
“… and that’s how the ruby necklace of the Lady of the Kingdom of Albania got into the watermelon,” Merlin concluded. His voice was getting hoarse. Maybe it was finally wearing out. But he took a drink of water, cleared his throat, and went on, “As for how I got involved, my great-grandfather once spent some time as a gardener in a nunnery…”
Merlin Merrick had been talking nonstop for what felt like the entire six hours. Ethan thought he’d started talking to try to break the ice, continued out of boredom, and was now well into seeing how long he could go before someone told him to shut up. To be fair, Ethan had initially tried to help out with the ice-breaking, then had gotten distracted by thoughts of Destiny and fallen silent, and, once he realized that Merlin had been carrying on by himself for quite some time, had stayed silent to see how long he could go before he either gave up or was shut up.
Yeah. This team definitely had a problem. And Ethan was forced to conclude that he was part of it.
Pete Valdez interrupted Merlin in the middle of a sentence. “Is it even physically possible for you to shut the fuck up?”
“Is it even physically possible for any of you guys to have an actual conversation, like normal people?” Merlin retorted.
If Ethan didn’t like being part of the problem, then he had to be the solution. He broke in. “Good idea. I’m starting it.” He took a split second to consider topics, then settled on sports. What Marine didn’t like sports? And, to be safe, he didn’t start with Merlin. “Pete, what’s your favorite sport?”
Obligingly, Pete asked, “To play or to watch?”
“To play.”
“Does it have to be a team sport, or does anything count?”
“Anything counts,” Ethan replied.
“Boxing,” Pete said. Ethan was unsurprised. Pete was a good-looking guy, but he also looked like he’d had his nose broken a time or two, and his big knuckles were flecked with little white scars. “What about you, Ethan?”
Ethan almost said baseball, which was certainly the sport he was best at, or used to be, anyway. But it had too many bad associations to be his favorite, and it had been years since he’d played. “Basketball.”
Grinning, Pete said, “I’d love to see you go up against Shaq, short stuff.”
“Right back at you, munchkin,” Ethan retorted. He and Pete were both six feet tall exactly.
Unexpectedly, Ransom Pierce spoke up. “Muggsey Bogues was five foot three, and he played in the NBA for fourteen seasons. So there’s hope for you yet.”
Ethan was relieved that nobody argued, as it wasn’t as if they could check with Google. But Pete and Merlin either already knew about Muggsey Bogues, or had figured out that Ransom apparently had Google beamed directly into his head. He not only knew as much as a college professor, but with his lanky frame and angular face, he also looked the part.
Looks could be deceiving. Ransom was the deadliest sniper Ethan had ever known.
“My grand-uncle was only five foot two, but he set a world record for—” Merlin began.
Sensing yet another unlikely story that would fray Pete’s temper, Ethan cut him off. “Never mind your uncle, what’s your favorite sport to play?”
Merlin shot him a look from his bright blue eyes like Ethan was an idiot for not already knowing. “Gymnastics.”
Once he’d said it, Ethan did feel like an idiot. Whenever they had down time near a tree or an abandoned building with sturdy girders, Merlin would start swinging on them like an acrobat. When they’d asked him about it, he’d first claimed to have been a gymnast in high school, then to have been an Olympic gymnast, then to have been the star of a series of Latvian movies about a superhero whose power was agility, and finally to have been raised in a circus. At that point everyone stopped asking.
“Of course it is,” Pete muttered. “You were raised by chimpanzees.”
Before Pete and Merlin could start in on each other again, Ethan said, “Ransom? What about you?”
Pete glanced at Ransom’s rangy frame and said, “Marathons, right?”
Merlin nodded, for once in agreement with Pete. “Yeah, that’s a runner’s build. Long-distance, not sprints.”
Ransom gave a shrug, neither confirming nor denying, and made no reply. Aggravated, Ethan almost said something—why the hell would your favorite sport be a secret?—before remembering that he was trying to avoid arguments, not start them himself.
He shut his mouth with a snap. Fine. Let Ransom be Ransom, with all the sudden silences and weird secrets that entailed. However frustrating he could be, he had a sixth sense for danger like none Ethan had ever encountered before. On his very first day on the team, he’d saved God knew how many lives by stopping their entire convoy, then calmly pointing out an IED trigger in the road that no one else had spotted, including the bomb-sniffing dog.
Ethan just wished Ransom was a little less of a riddle wrapped inside an enigma. Why was he so cool in the face of danger, but went pale and made an excuse to get away whenever he encountered any one of an array of random things? Ethan had been mentally keeping a list of the latter, in the hope of figuring out what made him tick, but had been less than successful at figuring out what dice, flickering fluorescent lights, and the book Carrie had in common. And, apparently, his favorite sport. Whatever that was.
Only then did Ethan remember his intention to get his team to have a normal conversation. But a Marine is nothing if not persistent. “Pete, what’s your favorite sport to watch? Other than boxing.”
“Baseball. I love going to ball games with—” He broke off. After an awkward pause, he said, “What about you? Other than basketball?”
“Soccer,” Ethan replied, though what he wanted to say, or rather scream to the heavens, was “Why is everything a secret with all of you?!” Instead, he said, “Merlin? What’s your favorite sport to watch? Other than gymnastics?”
With a gleam in his eyes that made Ethan instantly regret asking, Merlin said, “Buzkashi!”
“What the hell is that?” Pete demanded.
“It’s like polo, but instead of a ball, you use a dead goat.”
“Yeah, right,” said Ethan.
“It’s the national sport of Afghanistan,” Ransom said. “There’s a similar sport in Argentina, but instead of a dead goat, they use a live duck in a basket.”
“Ever seen it?” Merlin asked hopefully.
In a tone designed to discourage further discussion, Ransom said, “I don’t watc
h sports.”
And that was the end of that. Ethan tried to decide if he’d managed a full five minutes of normal conversation, then decided that except for his brief exchanges with Pete, none of it had actually been normal.
And even Pete, his ability to talk normally about sports aside, had some definite oddities. In some ways, he was like a lot of Marines, a regular guy who liked being outdoors and working with his hands. But he wouldn’t talk about his past or his personal life, in a way that went way beyond private and into flat-out strange. He refused to reveal his hometown, he wouldn’t say if he’d ever had another job, and once when Merlin had decided to kill time by polling them on whether they wanted to have kids, Pete had given him a look so murderous that even Merlin had shut up in a hurry.
He was fiercely protective of his team, though, whether he got along with them or not. And he was absolutely fearless in combat. Maybe too fearless. Ethan once had to physically drag him away when they’d gotten the order to retreat, and afterward Pete had given him a blank look and said he hadn’t heard the order.
“He’s a berserker,” Ransom had said.
“I didn’t go berserk,” Pete had said, scowling at him. “I couldn’t hear the command over the gunfire, that’s all.”
It had been loud, but everyone else had heard it. Something got into Pete when he fought, something even Ethan couldn’t help finding a little scary. He’d looked up “berserker” afterward, and found that they were Viking warriors who were said to be possessed by bear spirits and went into combat without armor, relying on the sheer force of their battle rage to protect them.
Pete didn’t look like a Viking, or at least not like Ethan imagined Vikings, as huge white guys with blue eyes and long blond hair. He looked as strong as he was, but he wasn’t enormous, and his buzz cut and skin and expressive eyes were brown. Still, Ethan had wondered ever since if Ransom had been on to something.
At least Merlin, though as brave as any man Ethan had ever met, didn’t make him wonder if he’d have to drag him from a fight. He sometimes creatively interpreted orders, but not in the heat of battle. And even when arguing, he never got angry. Normally Ethan would have appreciated having someone friendly on the team. He did appreciate it. Merlin just took it to extremes.
