Page 60 of Forbidden Bonds
Zeb
Down time. It doesn’t come along often, so I’m making the most of it: beach bar, sunset on the horizon, and a cold beer in my hand. I’m back in my regular form, that is, I pass for a large beta. It’s the best form for blending. No one pays attention to betas. They’re the least fucked-up dynamic caste and are quintessentially nice.
My folks own a beach house here… Well, technically, it’s a hotel chain in Chimera’s most prestigious holiday resort, but, whatever. They don’t exactly approve of my career choice and have always hoped I’ll get into politics instead.
Not a chance. Being a zeta and all that entails is enough to fuck with anyone’s mind. A political career would screw me up completely.
Besides, I’m good at what I do. Black operations are a rush like no other, and that shit is addictive.
And I need that.
Because the rest of my life is a flat line.
Rich kid? Check.
Given everything by wealthy parents who doted on me? Check.
Needed something to break the monotony of my endless party life? Check.
A dynamic anomaly that can change forms? Also check.
Yeah, that last one is the clincher.
I take a sip of my beer and return the smile of the pretty brunette who has been trying to catch my eye.
Itismy vacation… And why not? Cohen is in custody. Broken. I just hope the information that scraped from his sick mind can help in the war.
Not holding my breath, though.
Does that make me cynical? Jaded?
Probably. That’s what happens when you spend too long playing on the dark side of military operations. You get to see how they bend the rules.
They, as in the ruling elite.
They, as in the heavy hitters like Woodrow Brock, who still runs the black ops.
My parents are wealthy, but the ruling elite, the alphas who make the policies and decisions that affect the entire Empire and all the planets and people within, that’s on a whole other level.
Maybe I could get into politics for that.
My communicator beeps. I think about ignoring it. But I make the mistake of glancing down.
Woodrow. Really? Right now? Can I not catch a break?
I put my beer down and lift it to my ear. “I’m on vacation, asshole.”
“There was a time when you called me sir,”he says dryly.
“That time was last week, when I was on an operation,” I deadpan.
He chuckles. Bastard.
“You have a meeting with Governor Brach in two days. I’ll send the details through.”
“Great,” I say, sarcasm dripping from my tone.
“You don’t fool me, Thorne. You hate vacations. Something tells me you will find your next excursion to your liking.”
