I react almost too late. I haven’t been expecting it, this kind of danger outside a treehouse at the Woodland Castle. Somehow I manage to fling myself to one side as a bullet drives into my ribcage, missing my heart by several inches. But something hot and warm rises to the surface of my skin, and it’s all I can do not to scream at the sight of it.

My own blood.

The butler shakes his head and takes aim at me again. Shit. This hurts way too much for me not to pass out. It feels like my flesh is burning too hot, like something has gone wrong, deeply wrong, like I’m about to burst into flames. This is the problem with going rogue and letting my guard down around a target.

I can’t remember anything I ever learned as Echo.

There’s another pop and I flinch, shuddering, waiting for the next bullet to lodge itself into my throat. This is the end, isn’t it? And I can’t do a single thing about it. But as the world spins around me, I turn my head to see that the butler has collapsed onto the ground, his gun lying off to the side.

A bullet has pierced him straight through the chest.

I push myself to my knees and crawl over to the butler, grabbing the gun and pressing it against his forehead. “Why are you trying to kill me?” I ask desperately. “What are the shipments to Ophidian?”

The butler doesn’t respond at first, but then his lips stretch into a wide, pained smile. He gives either a strangled laugh or a cough, I can’t tell which. But he’s trying to say something to me.

“Aberrants,” he chokes out, “are a lie...”

“What?” I find myself shaking him, terrified. “What does that mean?”

But he’s already dead.

A wave of horror crashes over me as I drop the gun and scramble back from his body. I’ve seen yet another person die in front of me, one who just put a bullet in my side, and I can’t understand why. It doesn’t matter. I’ll probably never learn the truth about any of this. No, I’m definitely going to bleed out in the forest, unless Jamie returns to the treehouse, assuming he wasn’t the one who ordered the butler to shoot me in the first place. I should have never tried to go rogue. I should have at least told someone where I was going. And now my target knows what I am, and someone in the Hart family wants me dead.

This is the end after all.

But as I keel over on the ground, I can see a shadow approaching from off to the side. A man, tall and muscular, carrying a long weapon in his gloved hands. I should get up instead of passing out. I should at least try to fight for my own life. But there’s only one person who could have shot the butler from a distance, who could have been watching over me, who would have seen what was going on and saved me in the nick of time. One operative with a sniper rifle and X-ray vision.

Alpha.

With nothing more than a glance to make sure I’m okay, he picks up the silenced gun and shoves it into his waistband. Then he bends over and rolls up my shirt slightly, pressing a folded handkerchief against my wound to stem the flow of blood. He doesn’t say anything, just briefly looks at me. I understand that he needs me to take over now. Somehow I manage to hold the handkerchief in place and crawl away from the butler without passing out.

Alpha is already retrieving a flask from his back pocket, splashing liquor over the blood on the ground. Then he lights a match and tosses it through the air, and everything goes up in flames. The dead butler, the fallen leaves, the blood with my DNA in it.

A moment later, I feel August picking me up and supporting my head against his chest, his arms warm and solid around me. He’s only ever carried me like this once before, after our first mission together, when I was in a bloodied ballgown. I can still remember the way it felt, as if I was completely safe in his arms, as if nothing could ever hurt me. Maybe this is what I’ve been waiting for my entire life. Maybe this is what I’ve wanted to feel again, even if I didn’t know it until now.

But this time, because I’m wearing a strapless shirt and shorts, his skin is touching mine everywhere. It’s the one forbidden thing we could never do, and yet he isn’t flinching away. I almost can’t believe he isn’t. I’m the one who wants to flinch away, even, because I don’t want to hurt him. I almost can’t stand to be this close to him, because I don’t want the moment to come when he releases me and I never feel the touch of him again.

But August doesn’t put me down. He doesn’t flinch away, or frown, or anything like that, even though this is the same person who’s always been incapable of physical touch. I keep waiting for a look of pain to flash across his face, but it never comes. He’s always been there for me when I needed him, hasn’t he? He must have followed me here to protect me, to keep me safe, despite the fact that we aren’t partners anymore. How much did he see with his X-ray vision this time?

I’m terrified of saying anything.

A motorcycle is parked next to an overgrown path, waiting for us. I’ve ridden on bikes before, with targets who wanted to impress me, but never with my own partner. He doesn’t ask if I’m okay to ride. He knows me well enough to understand that I’ll protest if anything hurts. I’m not much for sucking it up and doing what I don’t want to do. And I know him well enough to understand that he wouldn’t be offering me this, an unprotected motorcycle, if it wasn’t the safest way out.

He sets me down on the back of the motorcycle seat and drapes a leather jacket around me, keeping my wound hidden. After jamming a helmet onto his own head, he gathers up my blond hair and ties it into a small knot with an elastic band. Then he carefully fits another helmet onto my head and gently secures the strap underneath my chin, making sure my hair is completely obscured.

So he came prepared to save me. There’s no way he would have brought two helmets and an elastic band otherwise. It’s as if we are still partners after all, as if he never asked to be reassigned to someone else. For now, at least, Alpha is mine. He still cares about me. He’s still going to protect me. I know that I am safe with him, and I know he will take me where I need to go.

When August climbs onto the motorcycle in front of me, I instinctively latch my arm around his waist. Because his shirt is slightly raised, my forearm ends up nestled against his bare abdomen.

It feels like my skin is on fire.

He pauses, but doesn’t move my arm. I still can’t believe that I’m actually touching him like this, skin on skin, and he isn’t saying or doing anything to indicate he can’t bear it. All these years, I’ve stayed away from my partner because I didn’t want to inadvertently hurt him. That would have been the worst thing imaginable.

So when did things change?

It’s all I can do not to pass out as the motorcycle drives down the overgrown path and into the city, taking turn after turn through the streets, doubling back along our route to make sure we aren’t being followed. For a while I manage to cling to consciousness without sliding off the seat. But finally, just as I find myself losing grip, we stop outside a townhouse.

August gathers me in his arms and carries me indoors, where he sets me down in a bathtub. I huddle there, shivering, afraid to remove the handkerchief from my side. I watch numbly as he pulls open a cabinet and retrieves a pair of pliers. I’m so out of it that I don’t even realize why he needs it at first.

But then I remember the bullet still in my side.

Oh, shit.

He climbs into the bathtub and kneels down beside me, jeans and all, glancing at me with his eyebrows raised. We did our medical training together, so we both know this is the part where the foreign object inside my body needs to come out. I force myself to move the handkerchief away, trying not to wince at the sharp pain.

But then the pliers dig into my flesh, gripping onto the bullet and extracting it from my side, and it’s so much more agony than I ever expected. I have to bite down on my tongue, hard, to keep myself from screaming at the top of my lungs. But at least I’m doing something right today, even if a strangled cry does escape my lips for a split second.

There’s a clink on the bathroom counter as August sets down the bullet and bloodied pliers. Then he opens a first aid kit and sews up the wound in my side, his fingers brushing against my skin with enough care that it almost makes me cry. If only the pain wasn’t overwhelming everything else entirely, making even his touch seem like a vague sensation in my mind.

“Okay?” August asks me when he’s finished.

I should say that I’m okay, that I’m not lightheaded and dizzy and on the verge of passing out at all. But I can only shake my head miserably, unable to keep myself together anymore. My strapless shirt is soaked through with blood, and my frayed shorts feel way too tight. What was I thinking, going after a target on my own like that?

I deserve this.

Horrifyingly, tears start to form in my eyes, brimming over onto my face. I turn my head away, trying not to break down completely. I can’t do this in front of Alpha. Not again. It’s just going to push him even farther away than he already is.

But instead of leaving, he reaches over and turns on the shower. His hands moving steadily, he pulls off my strapless shirt and undoes the button on my frayed shorts, glancing at me every now and then to make sure I’m okay with it. It’s not sexual, or romantic, or anything like that, even though it’s a little tempting to think about this turning into something else. I’m in too much pain to even consider it right now.

Instead, August lifts me up and braces my body against the wall, waiting for me to step out of my shorts. I have to lean on him to keep from slipping in the bathtub, but eventually I’m down to just my bra and panties. I went to the Woodland Castle prepared to go at least part of the way with Jamie, so they’re black and lacy. I don’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed that they’re not sheer underneath the water. It probably doesn’t matter either way. I mean, August has X-ray vision. This can’t be anything he hasn’t seen before.

And then, unbelievably, he just holds me in the shower for the longest time, the water hot and soothing, the blood washing away from my skin. This is the hug I’ve always wanted, even though it’s coming far too late to remedy all those missions where I had to kill without it. It’s enough, though, that I can almost pretend none of it ever happened. Reese and the safe house. Jamie and the treehouse. The butler and the silenced gun.

But I can only pretend for so long.

I find myself crying into August’s shirt, my tears disappearing into the shower, my body clinging to his with blind desperation. I cry for who knows how long, the water turning from hot to warm to room temperature again. But eventually, I realize that our bodies are aligned closely together, that my hands have slipped underneath the back of his shirt. I’ve never let myself notice it before. How achingly handsome August is. How right it feels to be around him. How endearing his disheveled hair is. How incredible his skin feels against mine.

Without thinking, I spread my fingers across his back, wanting to feel even more of him. But I brush against something hard and ridged instead.

His scars.

Alpha flinches away from me, a flash of pain crossing his face.

No, no. This is the last thing I wanted to happen. My worst nightmare is finally coming true, the fear I’ve held onto for so long resurfacing after all this time. August just saved my life and removed a bullet from my side and held me as I wept in the shower. And how did I repay him?

By touching him where it hurts the most.

His dark eyes emotionless, Alpha turns away from me and steps out of the shower, reaching for a clean towel. He sets it on the counter, next to the bullet, and then walks out of the bathroom without looking back.

I sink down into the bathtub, feeling as if the best dream I’ve ever had is slipping away from me. I desperately want to follow Alpha, to run my fingers through his drenched hair, to call him August and not have him react as if I’ve stabbed him in the heart. But I can’t, because whatever moment just happened between us is gone, and there’s nothing at all to let me know if I’ll ever get it back again.

It’s all I can do not to scream.