Page 11 of Flint's Arrow
Despite everything, Flint felt his mouth twitch. Python and his cars. Some things never changed.
“Flint.” Cyrus paused at the door. “What Arrow did was wrong. But what you do - what you’ve built yourself into - that’s solid. Don’t let some idiot wolf make you forget that.”
“I won’t.” Flint meant it. Or at least, he wanted to mean it, and for now, that would have to be good enough.
After Cyrus left, Flint stood in his small kitchen and ate the bacon bun slowly. Through the window, he could see his greenhouse catching the morning light. The strawberries would be fine for three days. It’s not like they needed watering, because he’d done enough of that already.
His phone - his real phone, not the burner - sat on the counter where he’d left it. No new messages. No missed calls. Arrow hadn’t tried to contact him directly, which should have brought relief. Instead, Flint felt oddly hollow.
By the time you get back, he’ll be begging to kiss your feet.
Did he want that? Did he want to see the proud wolf brought low? Or did he just want Arrow to see him, really see him, as someone worth knowing?
Flint didn’t have an answer. He washed his dishes, packed a small bag with a change of clothes, and checked his rifle case one more time. He was going to London to kill a vampire - a job he’d been given because he was the best at what he did. His actionswould mean kids would be saved, and in the grand scheme of things, that was what was important.
He could survive three days and maybe, by the time he got back, Flint would know what he wanted to say to a mate who’d broken his heart before they’d barely had a chance to build anything meaningful.
Python’s Maserati - because of course it was the Maserati - pulled up exactly on time. Python didn’t believe in being subtle. Flint grabbed his bags and headed out, not bothering to lock the door. No one ever did in the Alley. The demon leaned against the hood, dark sunglasses reflecting the Montana sky.
“Ready to kill some trash?”
“Always.”
Python grinned as he grabbed Flint’s bag and popped the trunk. “That’s my boy. Now get in before Cyrus changes his mind and decides I need to give you another pep talk. I already maxed out my emotional support quota for the month and really can’t give anymore.”
Chuckling, Flint slid into the leather seat, his mind already on the job. Point, breathe, and squeeze the trigger.I can do this. I know I can.
Chapter Four
It would help if I could just find him.It was yet another night without sleep, and Arrow found himself hunched over his laptop at two in the morning, aimlessly searching through Google Maps, trying to get some indication of where Flint was. He knew, or rather he’d been informed frequently in the past week, that assassins lived private lives, and their addresses were only known to their handlers.
Arrow hadn’t missed the amount of respect his colleagues had for those who did the dirty work, and that didn’t make him feel any better for the way he’d treated Flint.If they ever found out…Yeah, Arrow would be shunned and likely fired, and that’s always assuming he didn’t just disappear with no one giving a shit or trying to find him.
I made a mistake, but I can’t fix it if I can’t find him. Cyrus has to be the key - there has to be something…
He zoomed in on the area around Cyrus’s workshop, fingers trembling slightly as he manipulated the satellite view. The workshop sat alongside the main road, and there was a bakery and some other shops on the same block. Arrow couldn’t see any obvious signs of housing - just some scattered farmhouses miles down the road.
But what about behind the workshop?Arrow’s pulse quickened, clicking his mouse and moving the cursor away from the road. There…behind the workshop, deeper into the forest, the satellite imagery showed what looked like a cluster of buildings. Old structures, maybe? Could people be living there? Arrow checked the date on the Google Maps image, but it was a few years old.
Switching to historical records, Arrow cross-referenced land deeds and property ownership. Bingo. He pointed at the screen.The entire tract of land running from the workshop back into the forest belonged to Cyrus. Company records listed it as purchased ten years ago from a defunct logging operation.
Arrow pulled up older images, the kind hobbyists uploaded to historical preservation sites. His patience paid off when he found an old, faded photograph labeled “Big Sky Lumber Settlement, 1960s.” From what Arrow could see in the grainy images there were six houses arranged around what used to be a sawmill - worker housing for the loggers who’d operated in the area.
That has to be where they are. Flint has to live in one of those houses.It all made sense when Arrow thought about it. Most handlers didn’t live anywhere near their assassins, and from the rumors Arrow heard around the agency, most assassins were loners who kept to themselves.
But Arrow remembered the way Cyrus and Python had talked about Flint and how his assassin friends would protect him, too,as if he was their friend, and part of their family.It was clear that if Cyrus had the means to provide housing for the men he looked out for…It would be on his land!
His wolf surged forward, Arrow’s hands shifting before he could stop them, claws clicking against the keyboard. He forced the change back with a shuddering breath, sweat breaking out across his forehead.
Jack’s words from earlier rattled in his skull:You look like hell, man. Whatever’s eating you, fix it before it destroys you.
Arrow hadn’t told Jack the full truth. How could he explain that he’d met his mate and promptly treated him like a piece of meat? That every hour away from Flint felt like someone was slowly peeling his skin off? That his wolf wanted to tear through theagency building just to find one small blond snake shifter and never let him go?
He’d tried doing things the right way, at least in his head. He’d texted Cyrus and had come close to begging when he asked for advice. “Work it out for yourself”wasn’t helpful.
But maybe it was. Uncaring that it was still dark out and that Arrow was expected to be at work in about four hours, he got up, dressed, flicked his fingers through his hair, and grabbed his keys.Fine then, this is me working it out.
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