Page 16 of Flint's Arrow
“Believe it.” Python steered him toward the exit with a hand on his shoulder. “Arrow made his choices. Now he gets to live with them. And if locking him in a sawmill for three days makes him realize he can’t just bulldoze his way into your life? Then good. He needed the time to realize how badly he fucked up.”
The automatic doors slid open, and cold Montana air hit Flint’s face, clean and bright after London’s perpetual dampness. Python’s current obsession - his sleek black Maserati - sat at the curb, looking wildly out of place next to the pickup trucks and SUVs, just like Flint had thought it would.
“Get in,” Python said. “We’ll swing by the sawmill, let lover boy out, and then you can decide what you want to do with him.”
Flint slid into the passenger seat. The interior smelled like expensive leather and Python’s cologne. His duffel and rifle case landed in the back seat with a quiet thud.
“What did you tell him?” Flint asked as Python pulled away from the curb.
“About what?”
“About me and where I was.”
Python merged onto the highway, the Maserati purring like a satisfied cat as he pressed his foot against the accelerator. “Just the basics - that you were working, needed to focus, and that he didn’t get to interrupt your job just because his wolf couldn’t handle you two being apart.”
Flint stared out the window. The mountains loomed in the distance, snow-capped and familiar. So different from London.
“He did ask about the job you were on,” Python continued. “After we told him he was staying in the sawmill. He wanted to know what you were doing.”
Probably trying to work out how long he had to escape.“What did you say?”
“The truth. That you were tracking a vampire who traffics shifter kids. That you needed every ounce of focus to make the shot count.” Python glanced over. “I’ve got to admit, when we said that, he looked like someone had punched him.”
Good. Flint’s snake hissed with satisfaction. Arrow needed to understand what Flint actually did. Needed to get it through his thick skull that Flint wasn’t just a pretty face in tight jeans, that there were times when children’s lives depended on his skill.
But underneath the satisfaction, Flint couldn’t deny the guilt he was feeling either. Arrow had been locked up for three daysbecause of him, because he’d sent that blank piece of paper and refused to engage.
No.Flint’s jaw tightened.Arrow’s locked up because he treated me like trash. Because he never even asked my name before demanding I bend over for him.
“You’re thinking too hard,” Python said. “I can hear it from here.”
“I don’t know what I’m supposed to say to him.”
“How about ‘go fuck yourself’? That’s always a solid opener.” Python’s grin flashed white in the darkness. “Or you could let Pax curse him after all. He’s got at least a dozen ideas I had to veto.”
Despite everything, Flint felt his lips twitch. “What kind of ideas?”
“Well, there was the fire ant sensation. That was Pax’s favorite. Then Wren suggested making his clothes shrink every time he got aroused, which - given the mating pull - would’ve left him naked pretty quickly. But then he was naked already, because he’d been in his wolf form when he snuck into our little alley, and Devon objected because he’d loaned Arrow something to wear.”
Python drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “Storm wanted to force him to wear earphones with recordings of you talking, just to torture him, but Devon vetoed that as too cruel, and Levi pointed out we didn’t have any recordings of your voice.”
Flint shook his head as he sighed. “Devon’s right. That is too cruel, so I’m glad no one has ever thought to record me.”
“Storm’s a crocodile. Cruelty is kind of their thing.” Python took the turn toward the dirt road that led to the back of Cyrus’s property. The road narrowed, trees pressing in on both sides.“Seriously, Flint. You don’t owe Arrow anything right now. Not forgiveness, not a conversation, not a goddamn thing. He shows up, he grovels, andmaybeyou listen. That’s how this works.”
Flint’s phone buzzed. Another text from Pax:“We’re at the sawmill. Arrow shifted, and he’d been howling for the last hour. It’s PATHETIC.”
Wren:“Should we let him out now or wait for you?”
“They’re all there?” Flint asked.
“Everyone except Cyrus. He’s working on something in the shop. Storm, Devon, Levi, Calvin, Wren, and Pax - a whole welcome committee.” Python’s voice turned serious. “No one’s letting Arrow near you unless you want him near you. He will not hurt you again. Clear?”
Flint nodded. His throat felt tight. The sawmill came into view, a hulking shadow against the night sky. Lights blazed from inside, and Flint could see figures moving around. Storm’s bulk was unmistakable, and Pax’s glowing wings left trails of light as he zipped back and forth.
Python parked next to Devon’s truck. “Ready?”
No. Flint wasn’t ready. His snake was coiled tight in his chest, uncertain whether to strike or flee. Arrow was in there. Arrow, who smelled like home and safety and everything Flint wanted. Arrow, who’d called him a pretty boy-toy and assumed he was only good for cooking and sex.
