by Olivia Ash
I lift one eyebrow in surprise.
“You heard me,” she says as she reaches for her whiskey once again. “The fact is mated bonds can share. I've seen it before. Since this poly thing is important to you, it's something that will become important to him, if he chooses you.”
That's just it though.
If.
“If you had to choose,” I prod, “which side of you wins—the cousin, or the Boss?”
Harper shakes her head, holding my gaze as she tries to drive her point home. “Neither, Rory. I'm not making this choice. Jace is, and as much as you may think you don't have control in this situation, this is your choice, too.”
I pause, letting the silence once again settle over the room as I simmer on everything Harper just said.
As young as she is, I have to admit she's pretty damn smart.
“So, now that I've answered your question, do I get mine answered, too?” Harper asks, taking another swig of her whiskey.
I quirk an eyebrow. “Which one?”
“Your training.” Harper pauses, giving me a brief once-over. “What you are—or, rather what you were before you came here.”
I impulsively stiffen. “Are you sure you want to know?”
The question is as much for me as her.
Am I sure I want to tell her?
I pause, holding her gaze as I simmer on the question. In the end, I know the answer.
Yes.
What she and I have—it has the makings of true friendship. However, given what she and I are, it would be too easy for us to become enemies.
We need to trust each other—and I need to test that now, with something big, before I find myself in need of her help. Before I can really rely on her.
I need to know this is a real friendship. That everything we have is real. It's time for the final test, and if I can truly trust Harper Fairfax.
An interesting expression crosses her face as she gently smirks. It's a blend of mischievousness and curiosity. “Tell me.”
I calmly pace the length of the room, my eyes intently focused on her. “Once you know, there's no going back,” I point out, hating how dramatic it sounds even if it is the truth. “Once you know where I came from, everything changes.”
Her smirk broadens into a full grin, and she looks almost excited. Hopeful, even. “Are we really going to do this?”
I nod. “First, I want you to piece together what you know. Tell me your theories.”
It's kind of fun ordering a dragon Boss around.
Harper gets comfortable, stretching out across the couch as she bites her lip, thinking deeply. She sets her hands behind her head and looks at the ceiling. “You're polyamorous,” she starts off. “That doesn't narrow it down a ton, but it does help a little. You have advanced training that's brutal, and you know how to take a hit as well as give one. You have skill and knowledge of dragon culture that doesn't make sense for a normal human,” she adds with a brief glance toward me. “And you had access to the pits. Not many do.”
I grit my teeth at the mention of the pit Mason Greene threw me into. He left me to die a horrible death, but I refused to go quietly. The pits were where I acquired not just my magic, but my dragon and my new life. So, even though Mason was an absolute dick I enjoyed killing, I have to admit I’m still a little grateful for his sadistic attempt to murder me.
Just a little.
“I've been debating this,” Harper admits, interrupting my thoughts. “With everything I've seen and everything I know—which I admit isn't much—I have a couple of theories.”
“And they are?”
“A Vaer prisoner of war,” she starts, listing her theories off on her fingers. “American elite military. Maybe a Knight,” she adds with a suspicious sidelong glare toward me.
I try not to give away anything on my face as I wait for her to finish. “Is that all?”
“No,” she admits, the lingering smile on her face dissolving. “There’s one more, but I was hoping you would’ve stopped me by now.”
I just watch her, silently urging her to finish.
I need to know.
Her jaw tenses, and she swallows hard. “Or…”
“Or?” I ask calmly.
“A Spectre.” She freezes at the last word as if she was afraid to say it. As if that's the one theory she desperately hopes is wrong.
From her tone, it almost sounds as if even mentioning the name will speak a Spectre into being. Like we’re the bogeymen.
Well, in all fairness, that was always kind of the point. To drive fear into the hearts of even dragons.
We did it well.
I was worried about that—the fear—because this could change everything. If she fears Spectres this much, that could change the way she feels about me. It could shift our entire friendship or outright destroy it. If she can’t accept what I am, everything that I've built so far in this new life of mine is at risk.
After all, this is her dojo.
But that’s the point of doing this—even if she calls the soldiers, even if she tries to kill me, I can get out of here in one piece. It’s better to test her now than when my life truly depends on it.
Because I get the feeling that, at some point, it absolutely will.
I debate shutting down. I briefly consider stopping this before it goes any further. Hell, Zurie would have never let it get this far at all. But Zurie doesn't trust anyone, and in the end, that's going to be what destroys her.
This isn't just about confession. This isn't just a test. This is a moment of truth, a moment of change, and I have to show up for it just as much as she is.
I can go back to the way things were if I want. I can go back to lying and hiding what I am. Hiding what I was.
Or I can step into what I am now. I can shake off the shame and let myself be more than Zurie ever dreamt I could be. More than even I used to dare let myself dream.
“If you had to choose just one?” I ask quietly. “What would you choose?”
Harper leans slightly forward, her eyes fixed on me as she answers. “I would hope for elite American military,” she confesses. “But,” she adds after a pause, “I would have to say I suspect you were a Spectre.”
My chest tightens, but I don't show anything on my face. I simply stand there watching her, and I never give anything away.
“I'm right, aren't I?” A look of concern—almost horror, but not quite—crosses her face. “You were a Spectre.”
And here it is.
The moment of truth.
Slowly, Harper gets to her feet, her gaze never leaving my face. She studies me with almost a breathless expression.
The longer the silence wears on, the more the disbelief settles into her features. She slowly walks toward me, and I impulsively prepare myself for war. My instinct is to draw my gun from the holster on my hip, to put it between her and me, to keep her at bay because a dragon Boss that knows what you are is a deadly, dangerous thing.
But I let her get close—because this is Harper.
This is my friend.
When Harper's standing right in front of me, her eyes darting back and forth between mine, she pulls me into a tight hug. She buries her face in my shoulder, her hands wrapping around my back and holding me close.
For a moment, I just stand there, letting her hold me, utterly and completely in shock. I was expecting an attack, perhaps a weapon to come out of nowhere or for her to just shift and try to eat me.
I was prepared for pretty much anything but this.
Eventually, I return the hug, holding her tightly as I confess to myself that this feels rather nice.
“So, does this mean you're not calling the guards to whisk me off to the dungeons?” I ask.
Harper laughs and lets me go. “If you were a monster once, Rory, you're not anymore,” she says. “You're my friend, and your secret is safe with me.”
I smile, and I can't deny the flurry of gratitude burning through me.
A friend—a real one
. One I can rely on and—gods forbid—trust.
I never thought I'd see the day.
Chapter Seven
As Harper and I hug each other in her living room, a flash of intuition snaps me from the moment.
Danger.
I tense, my arms impulsively tightening around Harper. It's a protective movement, something I'm not used to doing for anyone but my men.
As I listen to the intuition, to the little flare of warning, I let go of her and gently push her behind me, putting myself between the dragon Boss and the door. My attention sharpens, my eyes focused on the door handle, and I'm still not sure why.
“Rory, what—”
My eyes dart to her, and I lift my finger to my lips.
Her mouth audibly clicks as she closes it abruptly, nodding in the silence. Her eyes narrow as her attention is diverted toward the exit.
Good. At least she can listen.
Over by the door, there's the slightest scrape along the wood. Anyone else would have ignored it, but my training kicks in. Anything out of the ordinary is worthy of attention, and this little noise has mine.
Without even a breath, I steal silently toward the door, my eye on the handle as my senses kick into overdrive. I listen for any hint that someone's there, for the slightest indication that someone doesn't want to be heard or seen.
As I stare at it, the handle twitches ever so slightly.
Someone's on the other side, and they don't want us to know they're trying to get in.
I draw my gun, aiming it toward the door, toward where a head would be if they were kneeling and trying to pick the lock. My left hand hovers over the knob, and I prepare for whatever is about to happen.
In a dojo, nothing like this should ever happen.
This should be a safe place. A refuge. The embassy should be a place of peace, where nothing can get in or out without Jace knowing.
And he would never let anyone in that would hurt me or Harper.
Behind me, I hear the click of metal.
A gun.
I instinctively pivot, caught between the person trying to get in and the sound of a gun being drawn—only to find Harper lifting a handgun toward the exit. Her eyes narrow as she trains her attention down the barrel, and she nods once at me to signal that she’s ready.
I smirk, impressed. I hadn’t even seen a gun under her clothes—they must be specially designed to hide weapons.
Harper is a dragon Boss, after all. She must have all sorts of humans and dragons alike trying to kill her. Like me, she always has to be prepared.
Tensed and ready for a battle, I throw open the door. There, kneeling, is a woman with dark hair and bright green eyes, her pistol raised and aimed at my face.
Irena.
The moment our eyes meet, we both relax, the barrels of our handguns lowering toward the ground.
I shake my head. “Irena, we talked about this. You don't have to sneak around here.”
My sister stands and holsters her gun, her shoulders tense as she glances between me and Harper without answering.
I step aside to let my sister in, and only then do I catch the expression on Harper's face. Her frown has become a scowl, and there’s a clear recognition in her eye.
It’s almost as if they've met before.
Even as Irena and I stow our weapons, Harper doesn’t lower hers.
“Harper,” Irena says with a slight nod toward the Boss. Her tone is dry and humorless, without a hint of welcome or joy. She's still standing in the hallway with the door open, as if she can't decide whether or not she wants to come in.
“Well, isn't this a small world?” Harper says with a hint of humor in her voice that isn't apparent on her face.
These two have history, and that can't be good.
“You two know each other?” I ask, glancing between them.
“You could say that,” Irena says matter-of-factly.
“She was sent to kill me once,” Harper answers, gun still raised. “Two years ago, is it?”
“Three,” Irena corrects.
“Huh.” Harper smirks, her eyes narrowing. “Time flies.”
I groan, pinching the bridge of my nose.
“That's why I'm here actually,” Irena admits as she takes a step into the room and closes the door behind her.
“To finish the job?” Harper asks, her finger hovering over the trigger. She’s surprisingly calm despite facing her assassin for the second time.
The Fairfax dragon looks like she's ready to spring, and at any moment, this entire room could erupt in blood and bullets.
“Only if I have to,” Irena answers. “I came to make sure Rory was safe with you here. It seems like you and I need to have a little talk, Boss.” Irena doesn’t mask the sarcasm in her voice, and I frown at the direction this conversation is quickly heading.
A tense moment of silence follows, and I have to confess I have no idea what’s about to happen.
I hate that—the not knowing. I usually do everything in my power to retain—or at least regain—control.
I don’t know if either of the women in the room is about to start a torrent of bullets, or if I’m going to have to hurt one of them to get them to stop.
To her credit, Harper laughs. It's big and full and hardy and real, and for the first time since the doorknob rattled, she seems a little bit more at ease.
She lowers her weapon and rolls out her shoulders, as if she finally feels safe letting out the tension she’s been holding there since I first told her to be wary. “You have some serious balls, girl. You want some whiskey?”
Irena frowns, a hint of confusion on her face as the Boss walks calmly toward the whiskey cabinet and pours another glass out of the decanter.
I let out a slow breath of relief. For the moment, at least, it seems like no one’s about to die.
Probably.
“Do you have a drinking problem I need to know about?” I ask Harper, feigning disappointment as I lean against the nearest wall.
The Fairfax Boss shakes her head and chuckles. “It's just been one hell of a week.”
Harper lifts her glass off the table and examines it for a moment while she waits for Irena’s answer. When Irena doesn’t say anything, Harper swirls the brown liquid around in the crystal glass and throws it all back in one fell swoop. She grimaces as the whiskey burns down her throat, and the glass makes an audible clink as she sets it back down.
Irena’s hand tightens into a fist, and I know her well enough to see the warning signs of a fight about to break out.
I glare at my sister. “Irena, if you try to kill her—”
“Will you be quiet?” Irena snaps, narrowing her eyes as she glares at me. She tilts her head slightly, and I know that look.
I'm trying to help you, it says.
Ah.
Now, it all makes sense.
On her previous mission, when she tried and failed to kill Harper, Irena’s cover was blown. And now that it’s apparent Irena is my sister, it’s a short leap to connect the dots and say I’m one, too.
I shake my head, nodding to the Boss and rolling my eyes. She already knows, the look says.
For once, someone knowing our secret isn’t a horrible disaster.
I have to confess, that’s a nice change of pace.
Irena's eyebrows shoot up her forehead. An incredulous fury crosses her face. “You actually told a Boss that you’re—”
She cuts herself off and can't even finish the sentence. Instead, she rubs her face in frustration and paces in a slow circle, like she can't believe I would be so stupid.
But this is my world, and Irena isn't comfortable here yet. She doesn't understand that it can be safe. That we can trust people, at least some of them.
She will. I know it in my bones. It's just a matter of time and faith, neither of which come easy to a Spectre.
“Consider yourself forgiven, Irena,” Harper says, leaning her shoulder against the wall as she pours herself another glass of whiskey. “Co
nsidering what we learned about you when you came to kill me, I figure you were acting on orders and don’t have some lifelong vendetta against us. Besides,” Harper adds with the smirk, “I kicked your ass once, and I can do it again.”
The Boss winks at Irena, who practically growls in irritation.
I grin broadly. “Low blow, Harper.”
The Fairfax Boss shrugs.
Irena shakes her head, still furious. “Well, if you two are such great friends, I assume you told Rory about everyone after her,” she snaps, not enjoying this in the least. “Or do the Fairfax dragons prefer to keep their secrets?”
“Everyone keeps secrets,” Harper calmly says as she takes another sip of whiskey.
Irena scoffs. “The secrets you keep tell me everything I need to know about your ethics, and Rory isn’t safe here if you haven’t told her the truth.”
“And what truth might that be?” Harper asks, her eyes glinting with a deadly focus as she studies Irena’s face.
I tense, my gaze flitting between the two of them, not quite sure what to make of this—or where Irena’s going with it.
“The facts,” Irena snaps. “The kidnapping attempts. The blackmailing. The bounties. The Spectres. The Knights. The other families. How everyone wants her. Some dead, some alive.”
“And how do you know?” I ask wryly, crossing my arms. “This is the first you’ve told me of it, you damn hypocrite.”
“One of my contacts is active again,” Irena says simply. “Communications expert—and I’ve only just reconnected with him, thank you very much,” she adds with a snippy glance toward me.
Oh, nice.
I suspect that man will come in handy down the road.
“That's good,” Harper says with a nod. “I’m impressed, Irena. Rory needs allies like you, considering all that’s coming her way.”
I tilt my head in suspicion. “What do you mean?”
Harper pauses, and her gaze slowly drifts toward me. Only, she's not looking at me—she’s looking through me. At something else.
It's like she can see clear into my soul.
My skin crawls ever so slightly, and the whole thing feels a little… well, vulnerable. Violating, even. Something in her expression makes me feel bare, and not in the fun way.
