Page 7 of The Gathering
“Everything has a weakness,” Sinrik said.
“And I’m equipped to find it,” Bishop added.
“How?” Noctis wondered.
“His biology is a self-optimizing system,” Quantum explained. “His blood is a hyper-adaptive construct, integrating foreign genetic and energetic data on contact. Once assimilated, his neural network deciphers its function, strengths, and vulnerabilities—allowing him to counteract, nullify, or weaponize it.”
“What he said,” Bishop muttered. “I just need to touch one.”
“That still doesn’t give us enough boots on the ground for this extraction,” 8-Bit reminded.
“We have several hundred of those Vicki’s,” Bacon reminded.
Bullet’s single laugh split the air like a gunshot. “I wouldn’t trust them to extract their fingers from their asses.”
“I have two hundred Riftborn,” Sinrik said. “They can locate all of them.”
“What the hell’s a Riftborn?” Hurricane demanded.
He met his gaze. “They’re upgraded soldiers. I believe some of your team met them.”
“How soon can you mobilize them?” Bishop asked, tone dark as ever.
“Immediately,” Sinrik said.
The air charged with thick urgency as the weight of what was coming pressed down.
Bishop stood. “Nidev can put together a team that excels in strategic extraction.” His gaze turned to Sinrik. “You and I will discuss other critical particulars.”
The Spiral Begins
“Bishop!”
Ffffuck.
Bishop’s legs became twin slaves to the desperate whisper of his wife behind him.
He turned, finding her hurrying toward him with intuition oozing from her gaze. Worried. For who?
Of course she knew. But she didn’t know exactlywhat. Yet.
Her deep red sweater turned her all-knowing gaze the color of amethyst. There was no hiding the jealous wrath that brewed up plans for Sinrik. He didn’t know what the fuck happened between them and wasn’t about to fucking learn it through her. He’d learn it through that master of cock-sucking mayhem bitch.
His blood braced for impact with the lock of their gazes, every ounce of his evolving hungers ready to devour what wouldalwaysbe his.
She wrapped him in a tight hug. “Where are you going?” she breathed into his chest.
His hands roamed over her back, collecting all the delicate details that added another layer of steel to his gut. His cock. His fury.
She pulled back, searching his eyes with her troubled ones. “I know you’re going to talk to Sinrik,” she whispered.“And I know you’re angry at him, I can feel it.” Her brows furrowed more. “I wanted to talk to you about him.”
Her worry brought an unholy bat rage. It gnawed at the hinge in his mind and there was nothing in his gifts that could handle it. Part of him—the blackest part—said don’t fight it, suck it down, embrace it. And what was left of his sane side just stood there. A useless dumb-fuck, feeling the burn.
“We’ll talk after,” he forced, going in for a taste because it was the only thing that grounded him. The sight, taste and feel of her.
She stopped him with a headshake. “No, I need to tell you… things,” she said with a quick glance back before hitting him with a look that curdled his fucking blood.
Guilt.
