Page 44

I fold my hands in my lap as the helicopter soars over Maine and flies along the coastline.

We land on a helipad that sits at the top of what looks more like a glass cathedral perched at the edge of the ocean than a house.

“Ma’am?” The assassin riding in the back with me jumps out first and offers me his gloved hand, his voice carried away by the wind and the noise of the helicopter’s blades.

I shout a thank you , but I doubt he hears it.

So much for my updo.

We duck our heads and race into a wide shelter at the side of the helipad. I spy an enclosed staircase off to the left before the assassin closes the door behind us and drops us into silence.

My feet are bare, as always, because it’s easier for me to levitate without shoes on. Not that I would startle this human by doing so.

I step away from him before he can take my arm. I need to avoid any human touch at all costs. It’s hard enough ignoring the barrage of their thoughts up close, and he’s removed his glove now. “Thank you, but I can find my own way.”

He gives me a nod before he opens the outer door again, and a final rush of wind annihilates what is left of my hairstyle.

Well, I tried.

Left once more in silence, I turn to the wide windows that face the helipad, watching the chopper rise into the air.

A moment later, I realize that I’m standing not on cold tiles but on wooden floorboards.

I curl my toes into them, loving the natural texture beneath my feet. It reminds me of the mountain.

Striker said I’d like the floor. I wasn’t expecting to like it quite so much already.

I pull the pins from my hair and leave them on the windowsill, allowing my crimson locks to uncurl and fall to my waist.

I suddenly inhale the scent of cedarwood, stronger than on the mountain.

My breathing pauses for a beat before it resumes.

“Not many people can do that,” I say, remaining exactly where I am.

Nobody else can do that.

Striker’s voice is rough, a growl that makes my heart thud .

The proximity of his voice tells me he has remained at the far side of the room. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

I smile at the idea that he thinks he crept up on me when what I meant was much more honest.

He made my heartbeat kick like a happy drum inside my chest.

I finally turn, the dress he gave me swishing around my legs and my hair sliding to the side as I tilt my head a little to see him.

He stands completely in the light, wearing a dark gray suit that is clearly tailored to his build. I’d heard he was using crutches for a while, but now they’re nowhere to be seen.

He looks healthy. Content.

His chest rises with an inhaled breath that stops as his gaze drops carefully to my toes, his lips rising into a faint smile when he takes in my bare feet.

He resumes breathing.

“I do,” I say, stepping toward him, answering the question within his thoughts. “Like the floor.”

“I’m glad.” His eyes crinkle at the corners. “But I’d forgotten how you can read a situation in a single glance.”

He hadn’t forgotten the fact of it, but how much it takes his breath away.

I read his next thought on the heels of the first, stepping toward him and extending my hand. “Yes, I’d like that.”

A sudden broad smile breaks across his face, and a laugh rumbles through his chest. It’s an unexpectedly contagious sound, and now I’m the one whose breath is snatched from their chest.

Have I ever heard him laugh?

He takes one look at my face, and his smile increases. “I think I should store this moment away as a treasured memory since I seem to have surprised you for some reason. I have no idea why, but I’m sure it doesn’t happen often.”

As I continue to stare at him with wide eyes, he asks, “May I take your hand?”

I bite my lip. “You already have my answer.”

He slides his hand around mine. His grip is firm and strong, remarkably even stronger than before. His thumb grazes the back of my hand, and a shiver rocks me so hard that I tremble.

His laughter fades, and for a brief, heartbreaking moment, a flicker of flame brightens his eyes, a moment of want , before he shuts it down.

He opens his fingers and carefully, slowly lowers my arm to my side so he can slide his hand away from mine again.

But… why?

I search his face. I wish I knew the answer. I wish I could read it in the shape of his lips, the light in his eyes, and the angles of his body, but he is, once again, completely closed off to me.

He takes a deep, slow breath. “Would you like to see everyone? They’re waiting in the living room, but I’ve made sure they know not to crowd you.”

I try to refocus. “That would be nice. And thank you.”

The staircase is wide enough for both of us to walk side by side with space between us.

Striker enters a security code into the door at the bottom of the steps, and I find myself in an entry room, complete with a narrow wooden table with a vase of flowers on it. They don’t look like any kind of flower I’ve seen before.

“A gift from Lucinda,” Striker says, waiting for me at the next door, which remains closed. “She’s going through a creative stage.”

“They’re lovely.”

“She’ll be glad to hear it.”

I pause at the closed door, expanding my senses to discover that the room beyond it is empty.

Striker seems to read my confusion as he opens the door, and we enter a lamp-lit area with astonishing views of the ocean.

“The entertainment area is down the next flight of stairs,” he says, gesturing to the staircase at the far right. “This is a private part of the house.”

I give him a curious look. “Do all your visitors traipse through here when they arrive?”

He shakes his head with a smile. “The helipad is for you.”

Not sure what to make of that, I glide across the wooden floor.

It has a different texture here and is covered by a soft rug farther along, while multiple couches rest around the room with cushions scattered across them, inviting me to sink into them.

There’s another door off to the left, slightly ajar, and I catch a glimpse of a bedroom behind it.

It’s quiet here. Really quiet.

I exhale carefully and allow my senses to fully expand. I don’t sense anyone else except us. No thoughts, no lurking motivations. It’s even more still and calmer than the mountain, and it’s filled with Striker’s scent.

I turn to him, my eyes wide with astonishment. “How is it so peaceful here?”

“I had a little help with that.” He gives me a mysterious smile. “Let’s go downstairs.”

As soon as he opens the door at the bottom of the next flight of stairs, the outside world rushes in, but I’m prepared for it.

Striker remains behind me as I step into another softly lit area, the quiet chatter ceasing when I appear.

Off to the right, the assassins have gathered at a large table filled with food.

They’re dressed to the nines, the men in suits and the women in evening gowns.

A little girl, who can only be Hunter and Slade’s daughter, sits in a high chair, playing with cubes of steamed vegetables. She has potato smooshed in her hair.

Cain holds a sleeping baby girl while Archer smiles beside Hunter.

Slade gives me a silent nod, his power simmering as close to the surface as it does when he’s about to go into battle. It’s who he is.

To the left, the Academy monsters have gathered on the couches, also sparkling in suits and dresses.

Ashley wears a comfortable-looking mask around her eyes, her hand clasped in Lachlan’s, while Joseph’s arm encircles Lucinda’s shoulders.

Lucinda is the first to stand, and I’m surprised to feel more nervous about seeing her than I felt about seeing Striker again tonight.

I have to admire the way she fights her natural inclination to take my hands as she steps toward me.

Unlike Striker, whose emotions have remained closed off to me since he let go of my hand, the feelings of everyone else in this room are clear to me.

“Peyton,” Lucinda says. “You look well.”

They’re all smiling at me, and I sense the peace and solidarity between them.

“You too,” I say.

“Come sit with us.” She inclines her head at an empty spot on the couch. “Striker, will you…?”

“I’ll get you a drink,” Striker says to me. “Water? Juice? Something stronger?”

“Water, please. Alcohol and Furies don’t mix.”

“That’s interesting,” Ashley says as I take a seat and keep to the far edge of the couch. “Alcohol has no effect on me. I may as well drink soda water.”

Lachlan grins beside her. “I’m with Peyton. Alcohol is a no-go for me.”

“Oh, boy, I know that .” Ashley laughs as she plants a kiss on his cheek. “You’re never drinking beer again.” She turns back to me. “He sang . All night long. Kept everyone awake. Even the kids wanted to escape to the quiet rooms.”

“Kids? Quiet rooms?” I ask.

“Here. I’ll show you. We brought photos.” Lucinda flicks through her phone before she hands it over. “That’s the Academy now.”

As I swipe through the images, I don’t recognize the place where I once lived. “May I see it for myself sometime?”

“We’d like that.” Lucinda blinks rapidly. Her emotions and all of the hope she’s feeling are completely open to me.

I remind myself not to preempt her thoughts as she struggles to contain her happiness.

She clears her throat. “Bree and Ryan wanted to be here, but they’re on an important reconnaissance mission for you-know-who. They’ll be happy to see you when you visit.”

The conversation turns from secret missions to tween-rearing to Alison’s cooking—I’m glad she’s stayed at the Academy, cooking up a storm, it seems.

Striker remains in the background, never intruding, quietly bringing me food and drinks.

As the night grows darker outside, I find a warmth growing inside my heart, empty spaces that are filling up.

By the end of the evening, I’ve arranged to visit the Academy next week, and Hunter has interjected into the conversation to demand that I come back to Saber Lane, too.

Cain and Archer are the first to leave, both bleary-eyed.

“Quinn is not sleeping well right now,” Archer says, dropping a kiss to Hunter’s cheek before Cain hands Archer their baby girl.