“What?”

“You’re a first lieutenant, correct? And I’m your captain? That means you’re one of my men now, and you belong to me. Your discipline belongs to me, and you disobeyed a direct order. Now drop and give me twenty.”

I stared at him. I mean, really stared, my mouth open and my face a mask of incredulity. “But—”

“I believe,” Ash said coldly, “that the words you are looking for are, ‘Yes, sir.’ And it’s thirty pushups now, for your ongoing disobedience.”

Still staring at him with my pride stinging, I dropped to my knees and asked testily, “Is this what you wanted?”

He looked down at where I knelt in front of him. “Yes,” he answered, voice still cold. “It is what I want. Now do as you’re told.”

Fuck you, I wanted to spit at him, but I knew better. In a battle of wills with Ash, I’d lose, and I wouldn’t have a leg to stand on if I decided to complain about it later. Ash’s reputation as a stellar soldier aside, I knew what a dumbass I’d look like if I went and fussed that my captain made me do thirty pushups I didn’t want to do.

So I lowered myself to my hands, flattened out my body, and did my first pushup. As I came up, I felt the rubber tread of a boot through my ACU coat, digging cruelly into my back.

“You didn’t say, ‘Yes, sir,’” Ash said softly. “It’s fifty now.”

I wanted to kill him. I wanted to get to my feet and punch him until my knuckles bled. I wanted to wrap my hands around his neck and strangle the motherfucker. Which didn’t explain away the sharp lust wrapped around the base of my spine, the erection that hardened more every time I pushed myself up and felt that boot pressing into my back.

“I still haven’t heard it, Lieutenant.”

“Yes, sir,” I said through gritted teeth.

“Better. All the way to the floor, now. If you can’t do it on your own, I’ll have you kiss the floor each time you go down.”

I endeavored to do better, but I was only on number twenty-four and my arms were shaking. I was in fantastic shape—that wasn’t the issue—the issue was his boot on my back and however many pounds of angry Colchester he was leaning on it. I struggled down and then up again, knowing that Ash wouldn’t be happy with my effort.

“Oh, no,” Ash tutted. “Looks like we do need to kiss the floor.”

I swore ferociously. “I’m not kissing the floor,” I growled.

The boot left my back, and then Ash was squatting in front of me. “How about my boot then?” he said. “Go ahead. Kiss it, and then we’ll both know you’re performing your discipline properly.”

“I hate you,” I said with a quiet fierceness. “I hate you so fucking much.” But I’d already lost, and we both knew it. I’d always lose when it came to Colchester, because when it came to Colchester, I’d always want to lose.

So I lowered myself down and kissed his boot.

It smelled like leather and pine needles and just the tiniest whiff of dust from the dry yard outside. The suede felt unexpectedly soft against my lips, softer than Colchester’s own lips had felt against mine three years ago. I heard him exhale slowly, heard the pounding of my pulse in my ears.

And for a quiet moment, there was no war. No Carpathia. No Morgan and no tense history between us. For a moment, I even forgot to hate myself.

For a quiet moment, with my lips on Colchester’s boot, there was only peace. There wasn’t the shame or the stinging pride, there wasn’t the resistance—only simple, unfiltered existence. I was almost dizzy with it. I was dizzy with it, my breath changing and my blood moving differently and had life always been this detailed before? This vibrant? Every molecule singing its own peculiar song so loudly I could almost hear the walls speak and the floor shout?

“Embry,” I heard Ash say. “Embry, come back. Embry.”

I felt fingers under my chin and I was being guided up to my knees. “Little prince,” Ash murmured. “Where did you go?”

I blinked at him. I didn’t understand the question, and he seemed to see that.

“You were hovering there with your lips on my boot for a solid minute or two,” he explained, his lips quirking into a smile.

“I was?”

He was kneeling too, close enough that I could see the facets in those cut glass eyes. “I didn’t mind,” he said, still smiling. “You looked good down there.”

I could smell more than his boot now, I could smell him—smoke and fire and sharp leather—real leather—not the kind on his boots but the kind belts are made of. And whips.

My hands were shaking. I scrambled to my feet, wiping at my mouth and trying to put as much distance between him and me as I could without actually fleeing his office.

He watched me, amused. “Are you okay?”

I was not okay.

“Can I finish my pushups another time? Sir?”

The amusement evaporated, and he shook his head after a moment. “You’ve done enough, Lieutenant. Consider your disciplinary obligations satisfied.” He didn’t apologize.

And I found I didn’t want him to.

15

Embry

before

“Go or I’m pushing you down there!” Colchester shouted at Dag. In the background, the now-familiar click boom of a tripwire explosive thudded through the hallway, nearly knocking us off our feet.

“Check in,” I said into the radio, even though my ears were ringing too much to hear if they answered back. Ash was still shouting at Dag, barely fazed by the explosion; there were more shouts coming from down the hall.