Page 84 of Eternal
“Isn’t that what good partners do?”
He smiled before replying, “No, good partners don’t let their partner bleed at all.”
I shifted in the chair, testing my strength, then slowly pushed myself up, pain flared briefly, but I ignored it. Walking toward him, I leaned against the table’s edge, watching him work, my arms crossed over my chest.
“It was a small cut,” I muttered, shifting my weight despite the ache. “I’ve fought with worse.”
His hands came down on the table on either side of me, caging me in as he leaned close, the scent of gun oil mixed with something undeniably his.Warmth.His breath brushed my cheek, and for a fleeting moment, his nose nearly grazed mine, his gaze locked on mine, dark and searching, his frustration bleeding into something else entirely, something that made my pulse pound in my throat.
“You’re going to stop hiding things from me,” he said coldly, his voice like steel. “If you’re bleeding out, you tell me. If you’re hurt, you tell me. No more of this bullshit. Understood?”
I swallowed hard, refusing to back down even as the heat of his body pressed against mine, his gaze flicked downward, lingering on my lips, and my chest tightened.
The faintest twitch of a smirk tugged at his mouth.
“Okay, soldier,” I whispered.
He leaned in closer, the barest whisper of distance between us, and I swore I felt him inhale sharply, as if committing the moment to memory. “Don’t call me that,” he said, it felt tender, almost a rasp, the words brushing against my skin, his head tilted slightly, and for a moment, I thought he might close the space between us.
Instead, his mouth twitched again, then he abruptly pushed off the table, he turned away, grabbing the rag and gun with a sharp exhale. “I was never a soldier,” he muttered, his tone laced with quiet disdain.
I straightened, watching him retreat.
I caught the bag of stolen experimental weapons and the prototype box; whatever the hell was in it.
It was over.
It was done, the chaos, the blood, the screaming rush of adrenaline, it was all over now.
What came after was always the same, the crash, the dull ache creeping into my limbs, the way my mind couldn’t quite let go yet, still searching for threats in the corners of the room.
Damir was already at the table again, cleaning his gun like nothing had happened.
I eased into the seat beside him, biting back the wince when my side flared up, I pulled my gun from its holster, it needed cleaning, and I needed the distraction.
The motions were automatic, pulling it apart, wiping it down, checking for damage.
“I kept the finger, and the phone locked there, didn’t touch them.”
I quickly nodded, not replying much.
“Does it hurt?” His voice was low, worried almost.
I glanced at him, but his focus stayed on his gun, the question felt strange, coming from him. Not unwelcome…strange.
“When I move too quickly,” I said, keeping my voice steady, my fingers hesitated for a fraction of a second before continuing to wipe the barrel. “Nothing I can’t handle.”
He made this sound in his throat, a little grunt that could’ve meant anything.
“You should’ve stayed down longer,” he said after a beat, his tone flat but not exactly harsh.
I snorted softly. “And miss another thrilling team-bonding moment like this?”
His lips twitched, barely, but I saw it, that almost-smirk that disappeared as quickly as it came. “I knew you liked our team-bonding activities,” he said, his voice dry. “Besides, it’s been a whole five minutes, and you still haven’t glared at me like I was your enemy. I was starting to worry.”
“That’s funny because I was just starting to hate you again,” I muttered, my gaze dropping back to my gun.
He let out this quiet laugh, not even a real laugh, more of a soft exhale, like he couldn’t believe I’d said that, like I’d amused him despite himself.
