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“Zaq. I can’t.”
I was tempted to remind her that she’d gone rogue, that as far as we knew, her own alpha had put out a hit on her. Where the fuck did she think she’d go?
But her entire world had been knocked off its foundation. Being a slayer wasn’t just a job, it was who she was. She needed time to adjust to the changes.
I could be patient. For Ridley Crawford, I’d do just about anything—except let her go.
“We’ll take it slow.” I caressed her hips. “Get to know each other.”
Her mouth quirked wryly. “If we live long enough.”
I couldn’t help it. I laughed. “That’s what I like about you. You’re such an optimist.”
She chuckled. “That’s me, little Miss Sunshine. It’s my superpower.”
I laughed harder. We leaned into each other, laughing.
When our laughter died down, I pulled her into a hug. “I love you, Ridley Crawford.”
She drew a shuddering inhale. “Oh, Zaq.” Her arms curved around me, hovering over my back like a dragonfly’s wings.
I caught my breath.
And when her arms tightened around me, it felt like a gift.
33
RIDLEY
I’m used to waiting. A slayer learns to exercise patience, or they don’t make it past their first op.
That doesn’t mean I like waiting. In fact, waiting is on my Top Ten List of Least Favorite Things to Do. No, make that Top Five.
Right now, waiting was torture. I wanted to be out in the city, gathering intel. I wanted to know who, exactly, was willing to pay 500 grand to eliminate me and Zaq.
And then I wanted to kick their ass.
But we needed Xavier’s intel; and to be honest, I wasn’t up to kicking ass right now.
So I paced the living room while Zaq watched from one of the couches, his long arms spread along the back, seemingly relaxed, which kinda made me hate him.
I stopped and did some easy pivots at the waist, letting my arms swing loosely around my torso. Testing how much the hole in my side could take, and considering our next step, although that depended on what Xavier found out.
What I didn’t do was think about what Zaq had said about us being mates.
Well, okay, I did. In fact, I conducted an argument with myself in my head. Telling myself all the reasons it wouldn’t work, why I couldn’t let myself love him.
All I did was make my brain hurt.
Around the time I started my tenth circuit around the loft, Zaq rose from the couch. “Why don’t we shoot some pool?”
I considered that, then said, “What I’d really like is a switchblade. Or maybe a couple.”
“Come with me.” He crossed to a beautiful, honey-colored mid-century cabinet with metal legs that stuck out at angles like an old-style TV antenna and opened the doors. “Take your pick.”
I stared at the array of daggers, stilettos and switchblades like other women would a case full of jewels. I literally salivated.
I swallowed, licked my lips. “I can have anything I want?”
