Page 63 of Specter Bred

Graves stood twenty feet away, his entire body unnaturally still. His shoulders squared as his hands curled into fists at his sides, and his jaw clenched hard enough to pull the scarred half of his face taut.

My stomach dropped.

He took in the lack of space between us, noticing my hand still wrapped around Maeve’s wrist and the way her chest pressed against mine. His nostrils flared before his eyes lifted to her face.

He never even glanced at me. Every ounce of his attention remained fixed on Maeve, as if I’d ceased to exist the second he found us together.

Then he started toward her.

His long, deliberate strides ate up the distance between us, and neither of us needed to be told to move. We broke apart before he reached us and snapped to attention.

“Sir,” we said in unison.

“Command strictly prohibits fraternization,” Graves said, each word clipped and cold. “Fortunately for you, Archer, you and your beta boy toy already share a room. Convenient.”

He stopped in front of her.

“Makes it easy to keep your little arrangement hidden when you decide to make use of Farm Boy.”

Maeve went rigid.

Graves gave a humorless half-smile.

“Don’t look so offended. I’m giving you a warning, not asking for details,” he said with a scoff. “What you do with him behind that door stays behind that door. I don’t want to hear about it. I don’t want to see it. And I sure as hell don’t want anyone else bringing it to my attention.”

He leaned forward slightly.

“But the second you make me acknowledge it, I have to act on it. A formal reprimand, dismissal from training, and your Specter career over before it starts.”

Then he leaned back again, expression going flat.

“So if you’re going to keep using your roommate to scratch an itch, Archer, be smart enough to keep it quiet.”

His gaze flicked to me once more, colder this time.

“I’d hate for Farm Boy to cost you your place here.”

I was about to argue, but Archer stepped forward before I could.

“Sir, it’s not like that. Hayes and I were just settling an argument.”

“Were you?”

His eyes narrowed.

“Because from where I was standing, it looked less like an argument and more like a complete lack of professionalism.”

Maeve folded her hands behind her back.

“With respect, sir, appearances can be deceiving.”

A muscle jumped in Graves’s jaw.

“Can they?”

The challenge in his voice was unmistakable.

“Yes, sir,” Maeve said as she lifted her chin, locking eyes with him.