Page 14 of Flint's Arrow
“When he’s done,” Python continued, “when his plane lands back in Bozeman,thenI’ll let him know you’re here. That you couldn’t control yourself enough to wait three days.”
“Three days?” Arrow’s wolf howled at the thought.
“Seventy-two hours,” Cyrus confirmed. “Give or take.”
“I can’t…” The mating pull twisted Arrow’s insides. “The bond…”
“Is your problem to manage.” Cyrus’s expression held zero sympathy. “Not Flint’s. You created this mess. You live with the consequences.”
“So what?” Arrow looked between them. “You’re actually going to lock me in that sawmill?”
“Unless you want to leave voluntarily.” Storm cracked his knuckles. “But if you do, and we catch you back here before Flint returns? We won’t be so friendly next time.”
Arrow’s wolf wanted to fight. Wanted to rage and claw and force them to understand how much being apart from Flint was hurting him. But looking at the circle of Flint’s friends - the people who’d comforted him, supported him, and protected him from the mate who’d failed him - Arrow realized he didn’t have a leg to stand on. He already knew his wolf wouldn’t let him leave the place where Flint’s scent was the strongest.
“The sawmill,” he said quietly. “I’ll wait.”
“Smart choice.” Pax’s grin turned wicked. “Come on, puppy. Let’s get you settled. And don’t worry - I promise the fire ant curse only lasts a few hours, although I do have a few others…”
“Pax, maybe leave off the curses until after the bakery opens,” Storm suggested.
“He’s the idiot who woke us up before Gwen’s even got her ovens hot. What am I meant to do while I wait?”
Chapter Five
The plane touched down in Bozeman with a thud that Flint felt in his bones. Seventy-two hours of hell, but he’d got the job done - the vampire wouldn’t be trafficking any more shifter children, and apparently a number of them had been found and were now safe, all thanks to what he’d done. But everything that could’ve gone wrong had.
The ward drop that should’ve happened Thursday night? Delayed until Friday because some pencil pusher at the London office couldn’t read a calendar. Flint had spent an extra twenty-four hours in position on a rooftop across from the hotel, lying flat on damp shingles while London drizzle soaked through his jacket. His snake hated the cold. Hated it with a passion that made Flint’s human side equally miserable.
When the wards finally dropped, and Flint made his shot - clean through the penthouse window, right between the vampire’s eyes as he sat at his desk counting money from his latest sale - the escape had been textbook. Easy, even. Flint was good at disappearing.
The safe house, though. That had been a different story.
Flint shouldered his duffel bag and shuffled down the narrow airplane aisle, his legs stiff from the long flight. The safe house was supposed to be clean, stocked with food, a place to decompress after a kill. Instead, he’d walked into a disaster zone.
There were pizza boxes on the counter, someone’s dirty socks were on the couch, and the bathroom looked like a crime scene. Flint had ended up sleeping on the floor with his jacket as a pillow because the bed sheets were questionable, and he couldn’t find any clean ones. A few hours that could only be considered a nap, and he was ready to go home.
That didn’t work out as intended either. Flint took a private plane because it was the only way he could carry his rifle with him, while agency contacts kept him away from customs. But when he called, using his burner phone, to ask the pilot to fly a day early, he’d been told the agency’s private plane was already in use. Some executive was flying to Paris for a “consultation,” which Flint knew was code for “someone more important than you needs it.”
So Flint had waited and even cleaned the safe house himself because leaving it dirty would’ve reflected poorly on him, even though it wasn’t his mess. He ordered takeout, which upset his stomach - and that was saying something because his snake side could eat anything. But most of all, he tried not to think about Arrow.
He failed spectacularly at the not thinking about Arrow part.Joys of meeting a mate, ho, ho.
The terminal at Bozeman was blessedly quiet, just a handful of travelers shuffling toward baggage claim. Flint bypassed it. His carry-on duffel and rifle case already had the right tickets on them, in case anyone stopped him, courtesy of the pilot.
All he had to do was get from the plane parking area to the parking lot where Python was supposed to pick him up.And that’s easy. All I need to do is look for the flashiest car in the lot,Flint sighed as he hurried through the terminal.
Pulling out his phone as he walked, Flint’s thumb hovered over the power button. He wasn’t expecting any messages, although Pax and Wren often included him in a group chat. But they’d know, the same as he did, that his private phone was always kept off during a job.
That was standard procedure to ensure he didn’t get distracted and left no connections that could be traced. But now, standingin the fluorescent-lit terminal with the smell of airport coffee making his stomach growl, he powered it on.
To his surprise, the screen lit up and notifications flooded in. There were twelve missed calls and fifteen text messages, all from Pax and Wren.
What the hell?
Flint stopped walking, letting other passengers flow around him as he stared at his phone. His heart kicked up a notch, and a heavy pit developed in his gut. The sort of feeling reserved for when something went wrong on a job, such as when a target moved unexpectedly or backup didn’t show.
He opened the first message. It was from Pax, sent the day before:“I am allowed to curse him, right?”
