Alessia Stocklin and Ezra Withers are polar opposites, but they can certainly agree on one thing: their mutual hate for each other.
He's an Alpha deadset on killing every rogue he comes across, while she's a vigilante - known as Nightshade - intent...
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The subdued, far-off rustling of calculated clinks and clanks nudged me awake the following morning. Stretching my body upright, my eyes slowly pressed open. Blinking, I was surprised by the lack of light. The room was immersed in darkness. Plagued with early morning confusion, I felt around the space surrounding me.
Empty.
"Ezra?" my morning voice croaked as my back leaned into the headboard.
After the tiresome events of yesterday's planning, I once again tried to reach out to Apollo through the mind link. Our connection was met with the familiar chimes of static. My disposition was not as sad as it usually would have been at the unmet connection. If everything went according to plan, the pattern of Apollo's static correspondence would soon come to an end.
However, I knew the build-up to Apollo's safe return would leave me in an anxious state of waiting, which I was I had planned to spend that interlude of time sleeping. It was a decision I had made when my mouth was stuffed with hot, cheesy pizza, and the electric buzz of anticipation for today's operation pulsated through the stifled conference room.
It was a bolt of excitement I could observe but not take part in. Of course, I was excited and hopeful at the prospect of reuniting with my older brother, but I was going to be sitting on the bench for the entire operation. While I helped iron out the details of the operation, I would only get glimpses and retellings of how everything went down. I would not be at the helm of the action.
That was when I decided I would preoccupy my waiting time with sleep. I knew from the multiple bags under my eyes that I needed the additional sleep. But, just as things did not go according to my plan yesterday, Ezra seemed to have a knack for disrupting my course of action.
After the plan had been solidified, I was ready to close my eyes and welcome sleep with open arms. However, Ezra had a different idea.
I had been going to see Greg on and off ever since the black veins appeared on my skin. There was only so much poking and prodding Greg could do to me before he had to spend his time elsewhere, deep in research.
As a result, I had not visited his office for a few days. Earlier in the week, my migraine — which started to edge its way back into the base of my skull — kept me out of sight for many of the days, which meant Greg had not seen what had become of the mark on my neck.
Even after twenty-four hours had passed since the mark etched into my skin, the flesh around the site was still puffy and bright red. I wasn't able to touch the mark without flinching back in pain. Ezra informed me such a reaction was not normal — or, at least it was not normal to him — which meant before calling it a night, I had to make an impromptu visit to Greg.
Upon entering Greg's office, he congratulated us on the completion of our mate bond. He almost let the word Luna slip out of his mouth, but he stopped mid-word when he saw the frosty glare I sent in his direction. Greg did not continue throwing pleasantries our way for very long before he was up close and a person with my mark.
