Chapter 560
The cavernous room fell silent again, save for the crackling fire. I looked at the masked man standing by the window. He was shifting his weight, ever so slightly, off his left leg.
“I need a glass of water,” I said, my voice trembling with a sudden, terrifying clarity.
The man didn’t argue. He turned and walked toward the adjoining kitchen. I watched him with bated breath. There it was. He concealed it well, masking it beneath a heavy, tactical stride — but I knew that walk. I knew the slight, dragging pull of his left boot. It was the exact limp Dallas had earned from a brutal mission during his years in the Dire Guard.
My heart hammered against my ribs. I moved to the kitchen island just as he turned around, a glass of water held in one gloved hand.
He extended it toward me.
I reached for it — but instead of taking the glass, I let my fingertips brush deliberately against his.
Even through the thick tactical fabric of his glove, the reaction was instantaneous. A faint, undeniable spark of our fractured mate-bond flared to life, sending a jolt of electricity straight through me.
The masked man recoiled violently.
The glass slipped from his grasp and shattered against the hardwood floor. Water splashed across our shoes. He stumbled backward, his chest heaving, his hand curling into a fist as though the mere touch of my skin had caused him excruciating physical pain.
I stared at the broken glass, then slowly raised my eyes to his featureless mask.
“Combat stress,” he rasped through the mechanical modulator, his voice tight and breathless. “Old shrapnel injury in the leg. My apologies, ma’am. I’ll clean this up.”
He moved to step around the puddle, but I shifted, blocking his path. The air between us thickened with the weight of a thousand unspoken truths.
“My Mate has a similar injury,” I said, my voice dropping to a quiet, deliberate whisper. I took a step closer, forcing him to look down at me. “Why did you pull away as though my touch was silver?”
Adella POV
The shattered glass from the night before had been swept away, but the fractured reality of what had happened remained. Morning sunlight poured through the bulletproof windows of the Rockies safe house, catching the dust motes drifting lazily through the air. The smell of coffee hung in the kitchen, but it did nothing to settle my racing heart. I hadn’t slept a wink.
I needed to push him out of this controlled environment. I needed him to slip.
I found him standing guard by the front door — a silent, imposing statue in tactical gear. “I need to go outside,” I announced, crossing my arms over my chest. “The cabin fever is suffocating me. I need fresh air, or I’m going to lose my mind.”
“Negative, ma’am,” his modulated voice replied instantly. “Ghost Protocol dictates you remain inside the perimeter.”
“I don’t care about the protocol,” I said, stepping into his space. “Protecting me is your job, isn’t it? Or are you afraid you can’t handle a simple walk with a pregnant woman?”