Page 274 of Immune

“You seem very committed to that plan.”

“It’s a classic,” he tells me with a shrug, and my mouth twitches despite the cold crawling gradually up my spine.

Then Ewan steps closer, not crowding me, just close enough for his smoke and clove scent to wrap around mine. The bond hums low and angry under my ribs.

“We open it together,” he decides. “No one gets between us.”

“Unless I stab them.”

“Unless you stab them,” he agrees easily, just as he hands me the knife I tucked under his pillow.

My fingers close around the hilt. I should feel steadier with it in my hand, but I don’t, because the door feels too thin now. The room is too warm. My scent is too loose under my skin, wild honey and rain slipping through the useless blockers that have clearly decided now is a perfectly acceptable time to retire.

Ewan notices. Of course he notices.

His jaw flexes once, then he reaches past me and unlocks the door. He doesn’t open it wide, just enough for me to see the man on the other side. He’s broad but not huge, with a shaved head and a jacket that doesn’t quite match the security-issued uniform the guards have been wearing. Not a guard, then. Or not an official one.

That’s just great. Love unofficial men. They have the fucking worst hobbies.

His eyes move past Ewan instantly. Not my face, either. His gaze goes directly to my throat. My covered bite. Then lower, as if he’s checking the rest of me is still firmly attached and available to cart off to wherever he wants me.

Ewan shifts slightly. Not in front of me, but next to me, a spot all four Alphas have taken a liking to these days.

“Name,” Ewan demands.

The man blinks. “What?”

“You knocked. You gave orders. You know where we are,” Ewan says, his voice light, which somehow makes it thatbit deadlier. “So let’s start with your name before we all stop pretending like this isn’t creepy.”

The man’s mouth tightens. “I don’t think there’s any need for that.”

“See,” I say blandly. “That makes me think there’s a big, fat, whopping need for it.”

His eyes dart to mine, irritated now.

Good.

I like irritated better than I like excited. Excited gets people stabbed.

“Medical,” he says again, like he has a level of authority that will make me obey. Joke’s on him. I was never taught how to obey shit. “Now.”

“Who sent you again?” Ewan presses.

“Hale.”

“Huh. That’s funny,” Ewan says. “Because you said commander’s orders before, and now you’re saying Hale, but you’re still not giving us your name. That’s a whole lotta fog for a single corridor.”

The man’s nostrils flare. He smells like sweat. Like metal and lies. Or maybe that’s just my paranoia putting on a little jazz number with a fancy hat and gloves and expecting applause.

The bond tightens. Ewan feels my body go colder. His hand brushes the back of mine, not holding, just checking.

I answer by shifting my knife against my palm.

The man looks down. He sees it and his expression changes. There. That little flash right there. It’s not surprise. That shit is calculation.

“Fine,” he says. “You want to make this difficult, make it difficult. I’m not the one who’ll answer for refusing medical clearance.”

He turns and walks, not far, just enough that he expects us to follow.