Page 18

Scuffed at the edges, it had seen years of travel, yet the high-quality finish, stitching, and brass fastenings reeked of luxury handmade craftsmanship.

It leaned against a picnic basket nestled beside a table, both resting on a thick woven outdoor mat.

Two snug, cushioned chairs sat angled at the waves.

A few feet off, a sleek barbecue unit gleamed in the sunlight, half rugged field gear, part gourmet-grade, smoke wafting from its sealed lid like a promise.

She stepped barefoot onto the soft lakeside sand, cool and grainy, and cupped her hands to her mouth. ‘Anything biting?’

The man in the water, waist-deep and motionless, tilted his head, his hair hidden under a cap.

‘Can’t hear you.’

The rumbled rasp rippled over the air in her direction. ‘Come closer.’

She rolled her eyes and stalked forward, her steps light, cautious, but curious.

She sighed in delight when her feet hit the water, staring at the delicious sensation of waves rippling around her ankles.

‘Anytime today.’

She jolted at the rasped chiding and pushed forward through the gentle lapping surge.

The sunlight glinted across the lake, bouncing off the ripples around him.

As she neared, her breath caught in her throat.

Her blood, inexplicably, sang.

It was him.

Fokk!

The same man who leaped from nowhere to save her from a warhead.

Who’d crouched on her racer like a kinetic god. And saluted her with his damn fingers like she wasn’t going to be dreaming about that for the next century.

Also, her wolfish rescuer, who glimmered between human and spectral form when he whisked her away from the limpet explosion in the Lombardi debris field.

Now here he was, fishing without a care in the universe, with the ease of a man who owned his future, water lapping against his bare, sinewed waistline.

He wore a sleeveless vest and shorts that showed off sculpted muscles that flexed with each rhythmic cast of the rod. The hands that’d caught a missile gripped the line with practiced control.

His inked skin shimmered in the sun, glyphs of violet, black, and gold curling over his arms like living calligraphy.

A Signet-marked cap shaded his eyes.

Still, she spotted the curve of his smirk, the same smug, sensual flick of the lip that haunted her since their last encounter.

His dark amethyst hair was damp at the tips and loose around his temples.

He didn’t look back at her.

He didn’t need to.

‘You?’ she breathed, the word ragged with disbelief.

Only then did he turn, slow and deliberate, his gaze sweeping over her.

He said nothing for a long moment.

‘It can’t be you!’

After a beat, he cast out his rod, then arched a brow. ‘You seem disappointed.’

She blinked. ‘You’re Alexandr-Alexandr Levine Roman?’

His lips curled further. ‘Who else would I be?’

‘You didn’t tell me.’

‘I didn’t think it pertinent to share at the time.’

Her jaw clenched. ‘ Fokk .’

She stared at him, hands on hips, her poise thrown off-axis.

The smooth heat of him. The impossible grace. The unbothered power. The fact that he was smiling.

‘On a serious note,’ she said, glancing at him sidelong, ‘what do you prefer me to call you? Commander, Sir, Alexandr-Alexandr?’

He glanced at her then, his eyes glinting, fiery violet, gleaming.

With a voice like smooth nightfall, he said, ‘Call me Xander, Savvine Bianchi.’

She mulled the name. It was soft, dangerous, so utterly him .

‘Xander,’ she murmured, the syllables curling against her lips like a secret.

The corner of his mouth lifted. With the faintest, most private smile, like he’d just handed her a key no one else had ever held.

She narrowed her eyes. ‘OK, Xander. Nice name. How the hell are you a -?’

He focused back on his sport, reeling in, taking his time, his profile glowing against the lake’s shimmer. ‘A mostro . Naam , you can say the word. I won’t get offended if it comes from your lips. As for how, tis a long story.’

She masked her shock at his blatant chiding and folded her arms. ‘You’re fishing. Seems we have all day.’

He glanced at her sidelong, amused. ‘Grab a rod, Chief. If you want more answers, earn them.’

He twisted from her, eyes on his line, silent, a mountain of a man.

That’s when she realized he was serious.

‘As fokk ,’ he rasped.

Did he also read minds?

With a huff and still dazed, Savvine marched back up the shore and yanked one of the spare rods from the stand near his leather bag.

‘Fine,’ she muttered. ‘Let’s fish.’

Xander’s chuckle rolled at her like warm smoke.

He swiveled in the water and set his rod on a mounting pole.

He waded toward her, droplets gliding down his inked skin, sun catching along the runes etched into his chest and shoulders.

He took the rod from her, hands steady, fingers brushing hers.

‘You’re holding it like it’s a rifle.’

‘It’s got a trigger. I’m improvising.’

‘You ever fish before?’

‘Never had the luxury,’ she grumbled. ‘Do you know how many hours I have to indulge in the art of fresh-caught fish on a generational ship? None. I’m too busy wrangling traffickers, druggies, and external bomb attacks to indulge in water sports.’

He huffed. ‘You’re plucky to try it, then.’

She glanced up.

His eyes locked with hers for a beat, smoky, amused, and with a glint of respect dancing with the indigo heat.

Emotion, hell, pure need, twisted in a delicious swirl in her gut.

He stepped in close behind her, wrapping one hand over hers on the rod, the other adjusting her elbow. ‘Relax. Let it flow with the shoulder. Feel it like a rhythm.’

His scent hit her: bergamot, musk, smoke, pine, and salt.

A charge of energy danced along her nerves like a live current.

Lit by how his chest aligned flush to her spine, his waist settling against the curve of her lower back. Also, by the thick, sinewed plane of his thighs pressed against the backs of hers.

The contact was unspoken and unacknowledged, but it detonated a myriad of sensations inside her. Her skin came alive, every inch of it sparking. Her breath hitched. Her pulse skipped and thundered.

For a moment, she couldn’t hear anything but the blood in her ears.

She swallowed hard, fighting not to arch into him, to lean her head back into the crook of his neck. Her whole body pulsed with want, raw, aching, immediate.

Just as sinuously, he stepped away.

The air cooled. Her senses returned.

He didn’t say a word, but his eyes met hers from the side, glinting with that maddening knowing like he felt every inch of her reaction.

‘Now cast.’

She obeyed his husky, sultry rasp.

The line arced in a rippling ribbon and splashed into the lake with a splash.

She gave a huff. ‘Look at that. Didn’t even knock your hat off.’

‘That’s because I’m used to dodging flak,’ he said, mouth curling.

She didn’t trust herself to answer.

Moments passed. Quiet rippled between them. Birds chirped. Waves lapped around their thighs and waists.

All of a sudden, her rod jerked.

She jolted, reeling her catch in. ‘Oh! I’ve caught something!’

‘Keep it steady. Let it run, then pull.’

She fumbled, kept reeling, tugged, and then, with an awkward but triumphant splash, a sleek silver trout arced out of the water, wriggling like a miracle.

Savvine whistled and spun to Xander, grinning. ‘Ha! I did it!’

Xander reached for the slithering fish and cut the line, tossing her catch into a hover cool box by his side.

‘Impressive, belleza .’

She danced in the shallows, pole still in hand, her laughter bubbling out unfiltered.

Xander glanced at her, one brow lifted, the corner of his mouth curling with undeniable amusement. His eyes roved her face, lit, alive, and flushed with joy.

‘Not bad for a first timer,’ he said, voice softer now.

She blushed before she could stop it and grinned back. ‘I’m a natural.’

‘That you are.’

She dropped the trout into the waiting ice bucket, reset the line, and cast again. Her movements were smoother and more organic this time.

The lake shimmered like glass.

Still, the question burned.

‘So,’ she said, not looking at him, ‘how did you do it?’

‘Do what?’

‘Vacuum. Missile. No helmet. You caught and threw a warhead like a toy and didn’t implode. I want answers, Xander Roman.’

He muttered something under his breath that sounded like ‘ of course you do ’, then flicked his line out again.

With a sigh, he chose to share after a moment. ‘‘We’re made of and regenerate nucleic-powered, aetheric shifting cells in the bloodstream.’

She turned to gape at him. ‘We who?’

‘My strong guard. My hermanos and I got caught in an unexplained nuclear accident, if you can believe it. We all have similar powers that differ here and there.’

Her soul lurched, and she shook her head, trying to get her thoughts around his admission. ‘You’re all walking supermen who shift into transcendent wolves?’

His jaw tensed at her arched brow, disbelieving tone.

‘We’re more than a teen’s comic book impression of super humans.

We’re lethal killers who can flit between mortal and spectral form.

We can stalk through walls, burn through minds, freeze blood mid-vein, and tear through a whole platoon before they clock that we are there. ’

He leaned closer, his voice a dangerous murmur against Savvine’s ear. ‘And that’s just me on a calm day.’

She blinked, stunned by the sheer magnitude of what he signified, what he was. While also aware that he was a spectral weapon wrapped in charm, and somehow, impossibly, still human.

She deflected the arc of lust that went through her as she stared into his eyes.

Her brows lifted. ‘So you’re enhanced.’

‘You say that like it’s a dirty word.’

‘It is, if you use it to be smug.’

‘I wasn’t being arrogant; I was just sharing my reality.’

‘You can say whatever you want, I still caught a self-satisfied smirk.’

His lips twitched. ‘Don’t start a war of words with me, Chief Bianchi, you won’t win.’

She narrowed her eyes, enjoying the banter. ‘I’ll rip you apart before you know it. I’m a fierce Italian woman who learned the art of sass from my Nonna Carmelinda. So tell me more.’

He gave her a long, slow look.

Then he arched one perfect brow, cool and brooding as ever, and said nothing.

Savvine huffed, intrigued, her mind freakin’ blown. ‘You will soon enough.’