Indy hesitated.
With another squeeze, Arden released Indy’s fingers and curled her hands around her tea. She wasn’t hungry or thirsty—in fact, she was pretty sure her stomach would rebel—but she forced herself to take a sip. Gah. As always, Indy had piled the sugar in. But Arden wanted to reassure Indy that she was doing okay.
“Go.”
Her friend let out a breath. “Fine. By the way, I found your sketchbook slipped under the door.” She pointed to the table. “I put it over there for you.”
Arden felt a flash of something in her chest. The sketchbook she’d left in Dom’s quarters. “Thanks.”
After another hug, Indy left. In silence, Arden finished the tea and managed a couple bites of the toast. Her gaze moved back to her sketchbook. He’d returned it. Probably known she’d feel the need to draw, to release the horrors she’d seen. Damn him for seeing her so clearly.
She wanted to be okay. She wanted to be like her squad mates and shake off what she’d seen. God, the squad soldiers went out there every day and saw horrible things. Terrible, nightmarish things. And they had to fight and kill.
Her stomach turned over. She felt like the walls were closing in on her.
She needed air.
She needed to get out of there.
Arden jumped to her feet, then snatched up her sketchbook and pencil case, and a soft black blanket off the back of her armchair. She slipped on some shoes and rushed out of her quarters. She started off down one corridor, then realized abruptly she was heading to one of the concealed exits to outdoors. No. She made a one-hundred-and-eighty-degree turn. She’d made that mistake once and she wouldn’t do it again.
Not only had she risked her own life, she’d risked Dom and Levi’s. Forced Dom—a man who’d already killed too much—to take a life again.
She charged through corridors, avoiding anyone who wanted to talk. Eventually, she found herself in the corridor leading to the Garden. After a short ride on the automatic train, she stepped through the doorway into the big, open bowl that had been cut into the top of the escarpment above the Enclave.
As she breathed in the lush scent of flowers and green grass, her racing pulse calmed. It was dark, but the retractable roof was open, and above her, stars twinkled in the vast expanse of space. She caught a glimpse of the round orb of the rising moon.
Looking up, she pulled in some deep, calming breaths. She kicked her shoes off and walked onto the grass, feeling her toes sink into it. Right here, right now, it was easy to imagine that the invasion had never happened. That adults and children had never died.
That her family hadn’t been lost.
Arden wandered deeper into the trees. On one side of the Garden were the neat rows of thriving vegetable plants that helped feed the Enclave. The other side was for recreation, and a safe place for the residents to get some sunshine during the day. Trees were scattered through the thick grass, and there was a large children’s play area, and several picnic tables.
A strange noise caught her ear and she frowned. Thwap. Thwap. Darn, she’d wanted the place to herself.
She circled a tree and her steps faltered.
Dom. He’d showered and was wearing dark pants, and a white, button-down shirt that glowed like a beacon in the darkness. The other berserkers usually dressed like bikers—jeans and T-shirts. But Dom always wore pants and crisp shirts. She liked it. A lot.
She watched him lift an arm and throw something. The moonlight glinted off the knife as it flew through the air, embedding itself firmly in the trunk of a tree.
He lifted his arm and took aim again.
Arden drank him in. The fluid way his body moved as he tossed the knife. His skills were evident.
She didn’t think she’d made a sound, but suddenly, his head whipped around. His gaze moved to her face.
“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked.
She shook her head.
“Me, neither.”
She tilted her head. “But you told me you’d seen this all before. You told me that it’s all you know. Death, dying, killing…”
He strode over to the tree that was his target, and this time, his movements were jerky. He yanked the knives out.
He still felt it. Her lips firmed. He wasn’t indifferent to the suffering. Everything he saw still hurt him.
Dom Santora was a fraud.
He was just as haunted by his demons as she was, and he used them like a shield to keep people at bay.
He turned back to her and his gaze dropped to her sketchbook. “Are you going to draw?”
She nodded. She didn’t let herself think, and suddenly the words were tumbling out of her mouth. “Will you pose for me?”
He stilled. She was sure he was going to say no.
“You owe me,” she said. “For being an asshole this morning.”
“People have called me far worse.” He looked at the grass, his voice lowering to a whisper. “I am sorry I hurt you.”
Arden suspected that Dom hadn’t apologized to many people before. She laid out her blanket. “You can lie on that.”
Then she pulled back a few meters and dropped down onto the grass, tucking her skirt beneath her. She flicked open her sketchbook.
Dom set his knives down, then knelt on the blanket.
“Take your shirt off,” she ordered.
He glanced over at her. In the shadows, the stark lines of his face were even more severe. He looked darker and more dangerous than usual.
His hands lifted and he unbuttoned his shirt. Yes. Arden fought back a little smile. With each inch of bronze skin he uncovered, desire unfurled in her.
The shocking warmth of the sensation started to melt away the ice the mission had left inside her.
Dom dropped his shirt on the grass, then he lay back on the blanket. He propped himself up on one elbow.
He was gorgeous. A dark knight at rest. All that lean muscle was delectable, and she studied the dark ink on his hip.
