Chapter 22

Deacon had no idea how long he’d sat against the tree and looked down over the valley. He’d moved the traps hours ago and then just started wandering with no destination in mind. He couldn’t shift, there was no way he could control his animal right now. His animal only wanted one thing and she was petite, with silky red hair and freckles sprinkled across her nose. She also tasted better than Deacon could have ever dreamed she did. Licking his lips, he confirmed he could still taste her. He looked beside him and wondered if he rubbed dirt on his tongue would her taste last through that?

Kissing her had been the most idiotic thing he’d done in his life. He frowned, okay, in his life since becoming an adult, there were a few sketchy moments when he was a teen. Not only had he kissed her and tried to consume her for a few short moments, but he’d also then confessed he’d known about their status to each other and that he had no plans to take it further.

He should have hidden the ax and all the guns before he’d walked away. How long did it take for women to calm down? He had no idea. The women from the group he grew up around were fiery-tempered, surely all females weren’t like that. Of course, the only female he’d been around in the last few years was his team leader, Wynter and she checked exactly zero boxes on the female checklist, so that wasn’t helpful at all. He rolled his eyes; that wasn’t right, she was definitely female, but her mannerism was, well, he had no idea what, she scared the hell out of him and any other man near her.

He looked at his pack and wished he had Calum’s number. Cal always had answers to problems. Sometimes his answers were like puzzles, but there was a solution somewhere in it, and right now even a puzzle to take his mind off how fucked up he’d left things with Gia would be good. The phone in his pack rang and he dove on to get it. Calum always had perfect timing, it had to be him.

“Hello.”

“Deacon.”

He sat forward, not Calum but Wynter. “Yeah.”

“Could shit get any more fucked up?”

He nodded, though doubted they were thinking about the same thing.

“Calum just told me everyone made it out without issues but let me just say I am getting so sick of this shit, and if I find…”

“Boss?”

“Nothing. Just pissed off. Okay, so the reason I was talking to Jesse is Nox is out.” She chortled, “what are the odds that I’d pick one of mine that was related to one of his.” She laughed. “Siblings should never work together. I should know, if I had to work with my sister, I’d probably slice her into pieces.”

Deacon didn’t know what to say to that.

“I’m trying to decide who to send back. Do you have any input?”

Pulling his leg up, he leaned on his knee. “Me?”

“No, the other Deacon I’m talking to. I know you guys get antsy when you get downtime, but focus. I don’t want to be shuffling my team around every other week. It’s a pain in the ass.”

“I guess any of the others on the team are fine.”

“You guess? Did I catch you having a nap? You’re usually a lot more assertive with your words.”

Deacon sighed, “Sorry, my head is a mess right now.” He winced as soon as he said it. Of all the people to say that to, Wynter was probably the one you’d never want to.

“That is not what I want to hear. I want to hear, I’m solid boss, I’m good to go, boss—what the hell is going on?” He heard muffled voices and wondered who she was talking to. “Who are you partnered with? They told me somewhere…”

“Giana Marin.”

She snorted, “Nox’s sister. Is she as kiss ass as her brother? Don’t get me wrong he’s solid when he’s on point, but off-mission he’s annoying as shit.”

Getting up, he leaned his forehead against the tree, stick with answering what she asks. “She is definitely not a kiss ass, boss, exact opposite.”

“Ha. I like her already. You two should get along great then, what’s the problem.”

The facts. The facts. He chanted in his head. “We, uh, get along.”

“Shit on a stick, Deacon you’re not sleeping with her, are you?” She whistled out a breath, “I’m not your mama, I don’t care who you stick it in, but you have to work together…”

“She’s my mate.” He blurted out when he felt he should defend Gia.

“Aw, ain’t that nice.” The sarcasm was heavy. “So, you’re all mated up and shit, great, there shouldn’t be a problem then.”

Deacon blew out a breath, not even knowing how to or what to say to her. This was Wynter, she was as compassionate as a rattler.

“You keep sighing like that, kid and I’m going to think you’re blowing in my ear—and I don’t like you that much.” She chuckled, “should I be checking clans from the team and try to match up some more members for Jesse? Because you know I’m all about that happily ever after shit.”

Deacon shook his head, “no, boss. Whoever you pick should be just fine to work with the team.”

“Oh well then.” She mumbled something, “just to be on the safe side I’m going to send Konner, there are so few of his left the chances of him finding his sweetheart is next to fucking never, and you would have to be working underwater for that to happen.”

Deacon nodded, “Sounds good, boss.”

“I’m not a complete heartless bitch, so I’m going to ask you once, kid, do you want to stay on the team with your fated mate? Because you need to spell it out for me, some guys just can’t handle working with their women, so if you’re one of those tell me now.”

Deacon blew out a breath again, then cringed because he knew she’d hear. This was his way to end any possibility with Giana. If he didn’t have to see her all the time, he wouldn’t end up ruining her life. It was the perfect solution. The only flaw with that plan was now that he’d seen her again five years later, the thought of not seeing her made him want to kill—everything.

“Are you still there?”

“Yeah.” He took a deep breath to tell her he wanted off the team. “I’m okay staying on the team.” Came out of his mouth instead.

“You are so full of shit. It’s a good thing I like you.” She chortled. “Get it sorted out with her, kid, I don’t need reports of you fucking up and mis stepping—again.”

“Okay, boss.”

“We’re solid?”

“Solid.” He lied to her again.

“Go spray your territory or something.” She hung up.

Deacon dropped to his knees and looked down at the phone. What the hell happened? The connection from his brain to his mouth was broken. Perfect. He needed that like he needed to shoot his own foot. He winced, no, he’d done that when trying to learn how to use a gun five years ago. Shit. Fuck.

Lifting his head, he looked around. By the time he got back, it was going to be dark. If he was lucky, Gia would not be waiting for him with a gun in her hand. Filing the paperwork that he was shot by his mate with his own sidearm would look really bad in this file. Of course, any superiors reading it would laugh their assess off—and then he’d be a joke again.

The cabin was almost dark. He could see the glow from the stove, but no other lamps were lit. Opening the porch as quietly as he could, he kept his eyes on the door, waiting for it to fly open and a small angry woman to be waiting for him. When that didn’t happen, he went inside almost in slow motion so he wouldn’t wake her. He paused and looked across the darkened room to see her form in his bed. He slowed his breathing and listened; she was sleeping. Not fake sleeping either, she was out like a light. He turned to go back out and saw the plate on the table. Going over he leaned down and inhaled. Fish? She’d made fish for dinner? He shook his head, no, she caught and made fish for dinner. Shit. Picking up the plate, he moved back toward the door, there was no way he was adding more insult to pushing her away when she’d caught and cooked him dinner. He was eating every bit of it.

Stepping back into the porch, he closed the door in slow motion. Pulling the lighter out of his pocket, he turned to light the candle on the table. Reaching for it, he realized the table wasn’t where it should be. Did she rearrange the porch? Flicking the lighter, he held it up. The porch was a write-off. He turned, searching for the candle, and found it laying on the floor. Setting the plate on the chair, he bent down and picked it up. What was that smell? Lighting it, he held it over where the table should be. The table was tipped over, and between it and the other chair was his ax sticking out of the wood floor.

Getting up, he moved over and looked at the ax. He couldn’t help the smirk on his face. She’d chopped the bat in half—and left it there with the ax sticking out of the floor. He lifted the candle and moved it around. One arm was split off his chair. What kind of person chased a bat around with an ax?

He stood up and held his hand against his forehead. He was so grateful he took his time coming back, at least long enough for her to get it out of her system. With an ax. Turning, he looked at the door, then shook his head again. She was something.

Lifting the plate, he sat down in the chair and set the candle on the floor. He was eating what she’d made and then cleaning this up—then locking his ax in the small shed outside. He nodded as he put the first bite in his mouth, never letting her use the ax again. The fish was good. Damn. I’m an idiot. What the hell am I doing? Wynter gave me an out and instead I just volunteered for torture for the rest of my life. He glanced at the bat, “you got off lucky, bud.”