Page 63 of Flint's Arrow
“Better than okay.” Flint’s voice carried a smile. “That was...wow.”
Arrow propped himself up enough to see his mate’s face. Flint looked thoroughly debauched - his hair a mess across the pillows, his lips still swollen, and his cheeks and chest still carrying a rosy glow.I did that to my fierce assassin.That was something else that was never going to get old.
“I’m glad.” Arrow kissed him softly. “You deserve wow. You deserve everything.”
“So do you.” Flint cupped his face. “I know you still struggle with that idea sometimes, believing you deserve good things, but you do.”
Arrow closed his eyes, leaning into the touch. Flint was right. Ten years of performing, of building an image instead of a life, had left scars deeper than any physical wound. Some days, Arrow still caught himself planning what to say or wear to impress people who didn’t matter.
But then he’d remember where he was. He’d see Flint in the greenhouse or sunning himself on a rock. He’d remember the way Calvin and Levi laughed with him, not at him. How Cyrus and Python had defended him in their own way, and how he was accepted at the grill evenings like everyone else. His new family wanted him, not the polished façade he used to show everyone.
“I’m learning,” Arrow said quietly. “You’re teaching me.”
“We’re teaching each other.” Flint kissed him. “Now come on. We should clean up before we make a mess of these sheets.”
Arrow reluctantly pulled out, earning a small sound of protest from his mate. He padded to the bathroom, wet a washcloth with warm water, and returned to clean them both. Flint watched him with soft eyes, accepting the care without protest.
When they were both clean enough, Arrow disposed of the washcloth and crawled back into bed. Flint immediately curled into his side, head on Arrow’s chest, one leg thrown over his thighs.
“Your strawberries are probably warm now,” Arrow said.
“I don’t care.” Flint yawned. “I’m too comfortable to move.”
Arrow smiled, running his fingers through Flint’s hair. Through the window, the city lights glittered, but they felt distant. Separate from this moment, this bed, this person in his arms.
“What are you thinking?” Flint asked sleepily.
“That I never want to go back to who I was.” Arrow kept his voice quiet. “Before you, I was so fucking empty. I filled my life with expensive things and impressive titles, but none of it mattered.”
Flint propped himself up on one elbow, suddenly more awake. “And now?”
“Now I have purpose.” Arrow met those huge eyes. “I have you, and the crew, and a life that actually means something. Even if all I do is write, whittle, and help you on jobs, I’m happier than I’ve ever been.”
“You’re more than that.” Flint’s expression turned fierce. “You’re brilliant with strategy. You read people better than anyone I’ve met. And you’re brave as hell for walking away from everything you knew, especially for an unknown future at the time.”
Arrow’s throat tightened. “I walked toward something better, or at least the hope of it.”
“Yeah.” Flint settled back down, pressing a kiss to Arrow’s chest. “You walked toward home.”
Home. The word resonated through Arrow’s bones. Not his sterile loft in the city or his childhood pack’s territory in Wyoming. Home was a small house in Assassin’s Alley, next to a greenhouse full of strawberries and a tiny blond sniper who’d given him a second chance.
“I love you,” Arrow said again, needing Flint to hear it.
“I love you too.” Flint’s breathing was evening out, sleep pulling at him. “Even when you burn the eggs.”
Arrow laughed softly. “I’m getting better at cooking.”
“Marginally.” But Flint’s voice held affection, not criticism. “Don’t worry. I like taking care of you.”
“And I like taking care of you, too.” Arrow kissed the top of his head. “Get some sleep. We’ve got an early flight.”
“Mm.” Flint was already drifting. “I can’t wait to get home.”
Arrow held him as his breathing deepened, became the steady rhythm of sleep. Through their bond, he felt Flint’s contentment, his sense of safety. His wolf settled, satisfied that their mate was protected and cherished.
Tomorrow they’d fly back to Montana and back to their real life. But tonight, in the quiet hotel room, Arrow held his mate and marveled at how drastically his life had changed. How much better it had become.
He’d thought success meant climbing the corporate ladder, impressing his disinterested family, and collecting expensive things. But real success was loving someone who loved him back, being part of something bigger than himself, and yes, having the courage to become who he was meant to be instead of who he thought he should be.
