Phantom links our fingers, pulling us closer. Then he pulls a piece of folded paper out of the pocket of his fatigues, flicks it open and holds it up.
It is a floorplan of the cabin, as well as the estate outside.
Now I am embarrassed about the plans that I’ve drawn for missions. Perhaps, Phantom also has a future career in architecture. Yet there is an index of items marked onto the plan.
I purse my lips. “What is this? It looks like you’re turning our cozy cabin in the woods into a fortress. Are all these places that you’ve marked booby traps? Is this what you’ve been working on this week? Why we haven’t seen much of you?”
Phantom nods. His gaze is steady.
My throat becomes suddenly dry. “You’re preparing for a siege. Are you this scared of the Krakens?”
Phantom drops the plan.
Then he clenches his fist at shoulder height, signaling that he is instead,prepared.
“What for?”
Phantom’s expression becomes grim, before he mouths: Revenge.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Blue Valley Woods
Iprowl at Joker’s shoulder through the shadows of the Blue Valley Woods.
Tall, skeletal oaks rise through the mist. Frost coats their thin limbs.
My boots crunch on the snow, which now lies thickly on the forest floor. I wrap my woolen coat more tightly around myself against the freezing white, which is driving from the bruised twilight sky.
My cheeks are bitten by the cold.
I offered to join Joker on his evening patrol because Bird excitedly told me that Phantom was taking him on adate.
Phantom signed that he was, in fact,training the Omega on knife skillsthis evening.
Either way, Bird needs to improve his fighting skills, and the two of them deserve to spend time alone bonding.
I prefer to nuzzle and treasure Bird in a nest than fight him. I want an Omega, who I can treat like I always wished someone would treatme,with gentleness and care.
On the other hand, Phantom is used to drilling and instructing people. He handles Bird tenderly most of the time but becomes stricter when he trains him.
Phantom doesn’t have the memories of Bird lying in a coma, while desperately attempting to save his life with his pheromones and knowing that he would likely still die. He didn’t nurse him back to health like a bird with broken wings.
He didn’t spend weeks suffering torture, while plotting how to escape. He didn’t lose control of his powers because Bird’s life was threatened and then barely survived on the run with him.
Bird is more precious than my own life.
He is my weakness, and I will never be ashamed of that.
I glance at Joker.
He is dressed in a long, olive-green jacket that camouflages against the trees. His honey blond hair is trapped by its upturned collar.
He is unusually quiet this evening. His shoulders are stiff with tension.
An ominous sensation settles on me like there is something unsafe in the quiet dark, and Joker knows it.
Is something going down tonight?
