"I'm a psycho at the bottom of the pack, and you're a warrior built to kill. Isn't it a weird mix?"
He shrugs, a wicked grin plastered to his face.
"I think it's the perfect mix."
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*Completed *
Klepto is a werewolf, an...
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The Guard - North American Headquarters Maryland, Present day Ezra POV
"And you're absolutely sure that it was him?"
Here I sit hours later, in my commanding officer's overly organized office.
Everything is neatly stacked and prepped, and whenever I'm here I can't seem to relax. It feels too stiff, too perfect. It gives me the creeps to be honest. Not that I am a slob by any means, but neat freak doesn't come close either.
"Positive. What, you don't trust me?" I calmly ask, trying to cover up the irritation I hold at his questioning.
His name is Onyx, and he's not the nicest guy.
He is the only lycan commanding officer working for the Guard in our region, and that goes to his head sometimes. Onyx has loads pride to spare.
His firm set, sandy brows are always rigidly set in a nearly permanent scowl. As per usual, his piercing, black eyes narrow at me over his expansive desk while he taps his shoe under the desk.
"I trust you, but you know full well that the Red Alpha hasn't been spotted in over two years. Seeing his sidekick is massive news. It's hardly believable," He sighs, itching his bald head, "but I do believe you."
I lean back into my chair, sucking in a deep breath and trying to relax a bit and failing miserably. I can't help but be on edge.
As thankful as I am that Onyx gives me the time of day, he's hardly gracious as far as this situation goes.
Even just one little word from me asking if my team could investigate was shot down immediately as I knew it would be. He reacted as if I was some raging lunatic to even suggest such a thing.
"We have some trackers following the trail that the albino nuisance left behind, apparently he landed somewhere in Virginia near a college town. Nothing's set in stone yet. We're having our best people follow up. No need to get your panties in a twist." He continues, observing my clear unease with a smirk brimming with smugness.
His twitchy fingers straighten a ballpoint pen beside his sleek laptop. Everything has to be tweaked to his liking or he can't function properly.
Truth is that I can't accept that I hadn't even been considered for the mission. I knew I could be shot down, but a little part of me had been hopeful that now was my chance. I thought I would be trusted with something bigger by now.
It's the Council's choice, and I have to be okay with that. Let's just say it's easier said than done.
My hard work never gets the recognition it deserves despite me being in the top of my class for the past 52 years. Any mission I'm assigned is accomplished with flying colors, and no complaints.
