I felt good, except when I thought about Connor. Which I caught myself doing a lot, and usually at the most inconvenient times.
Starting a relationship with another CPO would be idiotic. We would never see each other. Never be in the same place. Then again, he’d understand everything about what promised to be my new life. The pressure and excitement of an assignment and the sweetness of coming home. And I would get that about his life, too.
Still, Connor had crossed a line when he’d made it personal. I didn’t know if I could trust him on that level. Never mind that I’d kissed him first. Or that I really, really wanted to again.
Speaking of people I wasn’t sure I could trust, I’d met with Brown a week ago in Xene’s office at Juno. He’d seemed glad to see me.
“I have a new assignment for you, Green, when you’re medically cleared.” He passed me a picture. “You know the Hunt brothers?”
I nodded. Who didn’t? They were twins who formed a pop band, geniously named The Hunt. At nineteen years old, they were already famous, super wealthy, and massive playboys. They grinned at me from the promotional photo with cheeky smiles and strong jawlines under carefully messy hair.
“They’re chartering a yacht to sail through the Caribbean with some friends.” He raised an eyebrow. “You do know where the Caribbean is, right?” I pulled a face, and he went on. “They looked over some resumes, and they want to hire you as their personal CPO. A routine protective detail, this time. No known threats. The Venkatesans gave you a reference.”
I smiled—that was nice of them. I picked up the photo. “Would you be my team lead?”
He sighed. “Regrettably, yes.”
“And will you be honest with me this time?”
He grunted. “No promises. You want to think about it? Celebrities aren’t easy to work with.”
I put the photo down. “You had me at chartered yacht, Chief.”
“I had a feeling. I’ll let them know.”
I fizzed with excitement thinking about it now, while holding my Airsoft gun steady. I’d leave in a few weeks for George Town, Grand Cayman, to arrange for the Hunts’ arrivals.
My ear perked at a noise to my right. The shooter, whoever he was, moved my way. I let him come. My body was relaxed; I was ready.
A few months ago, I might’ve dived and fired, hoping to get the jump on him. Now, I watched and waited, trusting that I’d make the right decision when the time came.
After a minute, the shooter stepped around the corner—right into my line of fire. I shot him once. He stepped back, a hand over his heart where the bullet hit, then pulled off his mask and smiled that gorgeous smile.
“Nice shot, Gogo.”
I was right: I knew exactly what to do.
I grabbed the sides of Connor’s vest, pulled him against me, and kissed him.
THE END
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The Scourge: Brilliant Darkness #1
Chapter One
I duck out of the storeroom and into the main cavern, stepping carefully across the uneven floor. My fingers ache from being trailed along the frigid stone walls for hours. Rubbing my hands together to generate warmth has all the effect of kindling a fire with chips of ice.
My footfalls echo in the stillness as I move down the passage toward the mouth of the cave, counting my paces as I go. The sun pours in, diluting the darkness. I can barely tell light from dark, but I know I’m almost out when I hear Eland’s voice. He never ventures in alone. He hates the caves almost as much as he fears the Scourge.
“Let’s go, Fennel,” he calls. “The celebration’s about to start, and I’m starving. There’s roasted boar and fresh bread, bean and potato stew, blackberry pie–”
I laugh. “Is your stomach all you think about?”
“No, I think about lots of other things.”
“Really? Like what?” I reach out toward his voice.
Eland’s hand, grimy from digging up vegetables and herbs in the garden, finds mine. Grimy or not, the warmth is a relief. “Like how we’ll trounce the Lofties in the competitions tomorrow.”
I can’t help smiling at his confidence. This is his first year to compete. He and the other twelve-year-old boys have talked of little else for weeks. Everyone looks forward to the Summer Solstice celebration for the feast, the dancing, and the chance to beat the Lofties—with spear and knife, if not bow and arrow. It’s a highlight of the year, so different from the solemn Winter Solstice when the Exchange takes place.
The shadows shift as we pass under the canopy of trees. I wrap my hand around Eland’s sapling-thin arm—roots and creeping weeds on the forest floor have sent me sprawling more often than I want to remember. We reach the clearing, the heart of our community, where a bonfire sizzles and sputters to life. People shout to each other as they make their way down the paths from the gardens and the water hole, their work done for the day. The luscious fragrance of gardenia winds through the air. Someone must have strung garlands as decorations.
Our home, like those of all the other Groundlings, nestles into the embrace of the towering greenheart trees circling the clearing. Eland pushes open the door of our shelter. Aloe, my foster mother and his natural mother, calls to us from inside.
“Come in here, Eland ... are you presentable? Comb your hair and be sure you clean the muck out of those fingernails. Fennel? Did you finish in the caves?”
I move to Aloe’s side, where I know her outstretched arm will be, and take her hand in mine. Her skin is weathered but warm, like the surface of the enormous clay cooking pot in the
