Page 8
Chapter 8
L ila
I know something’s wrong the moment Simpson appears at my door without Hargen. My handler’s absence sets off alarm bells louder than any facility siren.
“Security assessment, Ms. Ross.” Her voice is coldly professional, as always. “The new security head has requested your presence.”
“Has he?” I keep my tone flat, uninterested, while my mind races through possibilities. “And where’s Mr. Cole?”
“Occupied with other duties.” She doesn’t meet my eyes. “Mr. Reeve insisted this assessment be conducted without handler supervision.”
“Really?” I cock my head. This is interesting. And potentially dangerous.
She doesn’t respond, simply turning to leave the room. I follow her through corridors I’ve memorized, noting the subtle changes in security protocols since Reeve’s arrival three days ago. New camera angles. Different guard rotations. Small adjustments that speak volumes about his approach.
Simpson leads me to a small conference room rather than the extraction chamber. Another deviation from routine. My skin prickles with awareness, magic stirring beneath the surface despite the dampening fields.
Allard Reeve stands as we enter, his posture military-straight yet somehow fluid, grace mingling with power.
“Thank you, Simpson. That will be all.” He nods at the woman.
She hesitates, glancing between us. “Sir, protocol requires staff presence during all asset interviews.”
“I’m well aware of protocol.” His voice carries the easy authority of someone accustomed to command. “Security assessment falls under my purview, and I’ve determined this interview requires privacy. You’re dismissed.”
After she leaves, silence stretches between us. I remain standing, refusing the chair he gestures toward. The small act of defiance feels necessary, grounding.
“Please sit, Ms. Ross.” His tone softens, barely perceptible but there.
“I prefer standing.” I cross my arms, studying him openly now that we’re alone. “Being confined makes one appreciate the choice to stand or sit.”
Something flickers across his face. He nods once and moves to the other side of the table, maintaining distance that feels deliberate rather than cautious.
“Then we’ll both stand.” He leans against the wall, casual in a way that doesn’t match the rigid Syndicate standard.
My pulse quickens. Here alone with him, I notice details I missed before. The way his eyes shift color in the light—emerald darkening to forest when he tilts his head. The controlled way he breathes, like someone constantly monitoring his own reactions. Movement that speaks of experience wrapped in a body that appears barely past thirty.
“I have questions about your containment protocols,” he begins.
“I imagine you do.”
He raises an eyebrow at my tone but continues. “Your file indicates three escape attempts in your first year. None since.”
I shrug, the motion deliberately casual. “I learned the odds.”
“Or you found a different strategy.” His gaze sharpens, watching for my reaction. His eyes move over me in a way that feels like a physical touch.
Heat floods my body, not from fear but something more troubling. Something unfamiliar—forgotten, perhaps—coils low in my belly, unexpected and unwelcome. I try not to blink in surprise. How long since I’ve felt this? The warmth of desire for someone was burned out of me years ago.
Or so I thought.
“Survival is its own strategy, Mr. Reeve.” I move to the window, reinforced glass offering the illusion of connection to the outside world. “You adapt, or you break. I chose adaptation.”
“Your extraction sessions suggest otherwise.”
I turn sharply. “Been studying my file, have you?”
“Thoroughly.” He pushes away from the wall, moving closer. Not threatening, but intense. “Your resistance patterns are… inconsistent. Calculated.”
“Perhaps your scientists don’t understand seers as well as they think.” I keep my face blank.
His expression doesn’t change. “Perhaps not. Tell me about the visions they pull from you.”
“You’ve seen the reports.”
“I want to hear it from you.”
I laugh, the sound harsh in the small room. “Why? So you can find more efficient ways to extract them? Better restraints, perhaps? Stronger serum?”
“So I can understand what they’re looking for.” He steps closer, voice dropping. “What has Creed so fixated on Craven territory?”
A strange question from a security chief. Not one I expected.
“Dragon politics don’t interest me,” I lie, watching him carefully. “I’m just the tool they use to spy on their enemies.”
“We both know that’s not true.” Another step closer. Close enough that I catch his scent—earth and smoke with something wild beneath. Dragon, no doubt. The beast he keeps restrained. “You see more than they realize, don’t you, Lila?” he asks, surprising me.
My name in his mouth sends an electric current down my spine. In all the time I’ve been here, only Hargen has addressed me this way. The others treat me like I’m not sentient. And as for Creed… he knows I’m human, with feelings. He just doesn’t care.
“Why are you really here?” I ask abruptly, surprising myself with my own audacity.
He considers me for a long moment, eyes measuring something I can’t name. “To assess security protocols.”
I raise an eyebrow, skeptical. “You don’t act like the others.”
“Oh?” His expression reveals nothing.
“The others don’t ask questions like yours.” I keep my distance, still wary despite the pull I feel toward him. “They don’t care what I think.”
“Different methods,” he says simply. “Same goal.”
But there’s something in his eyes. A flash of… what? Regret? Determination? It’s gone before I can define it.
“I need to understand what’s happening with the Cravens,” he says, shifting topics. “Your visions are the best source we have.”
I’ve played this game long enough to know when to give something to get something. “Energy fluctuations. Power shifts. The Heartstone responding to something awakening.”
He goes very still, giving away more than he likely intends. “What kind of power?”
I hesitate, weighing risks. “Not dragon magic. Something else. Something that burns differently.”
His eyes sharpen with interest. No… recognition. “Fire?”
My heart stutters. He knows something. “Yes.”
“Not dragon fire,” he presses, voice dropping low.
“No.”
The intensity of his gaze pins me in place. “What kind, then?”
I take a step back, my hip bumping against the conference table. “Why do you care so much? You’re security, not research.”
He moves forward, closing the distance between us again. “Security requires understanding what we’re protecting against.”
“And what exactly are you protecting?” I challenge, my breath catching as he draws nearer.
“That depends on what you tell me.”
We’re too close now. The heat from his body radiates against mine, his scent filling my senses… It’s almost overwhelming, and my skin tingles. I press my palms against the cold surface of the table behind me, grounding myself against the pull I feel toward him.
His eyes drop to my mouth for just a second, pupils dilating. A muscle in his jaw tightens. I gnaw on the inside of my cheek to stop myself from licking my lips.
What the hell is wrong with you, Lila?
There’s no way I should be feeling this insane pull toward this man.
“What are you not telling Creed?” he asks, voice roughened.
I don’t mean to move toward him. My body betrays me, swaying slightly forward as if pulled by an invisible thread. His hand reaches out, not quite touching my arm, hovering in the space between us.
The air crackles with something beyond magic—something raw and dangerous.
“I—” My voice fails as his fingers brush my wrist, leaving a trail of fire across my skin.
The door slides open without warning.
Hargen stands on the threshold, his tall frame filling the doorway. His face freezes for a split second before smoothing into careful neutrality, but not before I catch the flash of alarm in his dark eyes as they move between us, noting our proximity. The silver ring on his left hand catches the light as his fingers tense against the doorframe.
Reeve steps back immediately, putting appropriate distance between us, but the damage is done. Hargen has seen enough to know this wasn’t a standard security assessment.
“Sir.” Hargen’s deep voice is perfectly controlled, betraying nothing. “Creed has requested your presence in Operations. Immediately.”
Reeve clears his throat, professional mask sliding into place so smoothly it’s hard to believe this is the same man whose stare was just burning into me. “Of course.”
His eyes meet mine one last time, filled with something unreadable.
“We’ll continue this assessment later, Ms. Ross.” His voice reverts to the cold authority of a Syndicate operative, but the lingering heat in his gaze contradicts his tone.
As Hargen escorts me back to my quarters, his familiar presence at my side, the silence between us feels weighted with unasked questions. My wrist still burns where Reeve’s fingers touched me, the sensation refusing to fade.
“Did he get what he wanted?” Hargen finally asks.
What does he mean by that?
I glance at him, searching his face for judgment. “Information about my visions? Not really.”
Hargen’s eyes meet mine briefly, knowing and concerned. “Be careful, Lila. New elements are always unpredictable.”
I nod, not trusting myself to speak further. My body still hums with awareness, with the strange pull I felt toward the man.
Allard Reeve is not what he seems.
And that makes him either the most dangerous person in this facility—or something else completely.