Page 5 of Flint's Arrow
Family. The word settled into Flint’s bones, his snake basking in the truth of it. Against all odds, he did have a family - a strange and wonderful collection of assassins and their mates who’d included Flint without a second thought and respected who he was.
“I still think the glitter bomb is a solid plan,” Pax murmured. “Just saying.”
Flint laughed again, the sound easier this time. “I’ll keep it in mind.”
They sat in comfortable silence for a while, surrounded by the smell of strawberries and soil. Outside the greenhouse, Flint could hear the distant sounds of the Alley - someone hammering, country music drifting from what was probably his own house, the low rumble of conversation. The Alley was his safe place - his home.
“Can I ask you something?” Flint said eventually.
“Always.”
“When you first met Storm, did you know right away? That he was your mate?”
Pax was quiet for a moment. “Yeah. I mean, I was kind of tied up and terrified at the time, but yeah. I knew. The magic in my blood recognized him, even before I knew it was possible for me to have one.” He tilted his head. “Why?”
“Because I knew too. The second I smelled Arrow, my snake went crazy. And I thought…” Flint’s voice caught. “I thought maybe this was it, you know? My person. The one the Fates chose for me. But then he opened his mouth, and everything he said just...proved that I was wrong. That maybe my snake made a mistake, or the Fates did, or…”
“Stop.” Pax sat up, turning to face Flint directly. “The Fates didn’t make a mistake, and neither did your snake. Arrow’s your mate - that’s real. But that doesn’t mean he gets a free pass to treat you like garbage. Mates are supposed to cherish each other and protect each other. Storm would walk through fire for me, and I know you’d do the same for Arrow if he’d just…if he’d justseeyou.”
Flint sighed. Pax was right because he would. “What if he never does?”
“Then he’s an idiot, and you move on.” Pax’s jaw set stubbornly. “I know the mating bond hurts like hell when it’s not fulfilled. But you know what hurts worse? Being with someone who makes you feel small. You’re not small, Flint. You’re a fucking assassin. You’re deadly, smart, and you have excellent taste in overalls.”
Flint glanced down at his dirt-stained gingham. “These old things?”
“They’re very cottage-core chic. Storm said so.”
“Storm doesn’t know what cottage-core means.”
“Exactly. Which is why I get to decide.” Pax grinned, then sobered. “Seriously, though. You don’t owe Arrow anything. If he wants a chance with you, he needs to earn it. And that means groveling. Like, epic levels of groveling. Flowers. Chocolates. Maybe a billboard.”
“A billboard?”
“‘I’m Sorry I Was a Giant Asshole, Please Forgive Me, Love Arrow.’ Right on the highway where everyone can see it.”
Flint snorted. “That seems a bit excessive.”
“So was telling you to wear assless pants. Even I know a person has to be comfortable when they’re off killing someone.” Pax stood, brushing the dirt off his jeans. “Come on. Let’s go inside. Gwen’s been trying new donut recipes, and sent a box over with Storm when he went running earlier. We can eat them all before he wakes up.”
“That’s mean.”
“He ate half my donuts last week. This is justice.” Pax held out his hand. “Plus, you need sugar. Crying burns calories, and donuts are a perfect calorie boost.”
Flint took the offered hand and let Pax pull him to his feet. His chest still ached, and his snake was still restless. But Pax was right. He wasn’t alone. He had family - people who cared for him in their own way. If Arrow didn’t find a way to fit in, then…Flint didn’t want to even think about how his life would look if that happened…or didn’t happen as the case might be.Focus on the donuts,he told himself firmly as he followed Pax out of the greenhouse.
Chapter Two
Arrow slammed the phone down on his desk hard enough that the plastic casing cracked. The sixth call in as many hours and still nothing. No one at the agency would give him Flint’s address. Not the records department, not his supervisor, not even Jenkins from IT, who owed him three favors.
“Personnel files are confidential,” they all said. “File a formal request through channels.”
Like he had time for bureaucratic bullshit when every nerve in his body screamed to find his mate.
His wolf snarled, pacing restlessly beneath his skin.Mate. Need mate. Find him.
Arrow scrubbed his hands over his face. His loft had felt wrong. Too empty. Too quiet. The expensive furniture and designer artwork that usually made him feel successful now mocked him. What good was any of it without Flint here?
Not Flint - who would give anyone so sweet a harsh name like that? He’s Pretty Boy. The twink from the bar.
