Page 105 of The Vampire's Storm

Dick.

Brooklyn fussed with the belts and Ben helped—lucky he was a mated male—and after looking at him one more time, she pulled out her phone and began scrolling.

Who was she messaging?

At least those sad damn eyes of hers were not on him. Logan was ready to throw himself out of the fucking helicopter.

When this war was over, he’d return to Seattle, to The Institute, and never see her again.

If she lived through this operation.

A cold dread sliced through him as the reality of that possibility struck him. She was human. One bullet in the right place and she’d be dead. Who knows what the serum would do to her if they accidentally shot her?

His eyes roamed over her body, from her raven waves to her stupidly little feet wrapped in a pair of white Nikes. Then back up.

She was staring at him. This time, though, she looked mad. Her eyes darted back to her phone and for the rest of the flight, she refused to gaze his way again.

It was for the best.

Even if the urge to pull her into his arms and tell the Moretti’s this was the worst idea ever and he was not letting Brooklyn put herself in harm’s way.

What did he care?

She was human.

A former BioZen scientist.

The worst kind.

BROOKLYN COULDN’T BELIEVE she was doing this. She wasn’t experienced with a gun, but it might make her feel better to have one. Even if the four warriors around her were covered in weapons.

One of them looked, yet again, like he wanted to kill her.

What the hell had she done to upset Logan this time? He was being cold as ice, and she’d heard his rude snort during the meeting.

Asshole.

Right now, she needed his support, as Ari had said, and he was back to his games again. After telling her that he liked her.

Talk about whiplash.

Well, she was a thirty-five-year-old woman. She’s met enough men in her life who wanted her one minute, then as soon as they felt something ran for the hills.

No bloody thanks.

Plus, this operation was important. She could feel the fear and exhilaration running through her. Partly she was excited that finally she was doing something worthy.

To save someone.

This was the amends she was after; she was sure of it. Brad had died because of her. There was no way to pretend he hadn’t.

Brooklyn had been a stupid, curious child and had run off with his life-saving nose spray and then hid it. If it had been beside his bed, as it should’ve been, he would have lived.

It wasn’t more complicated than that.

Afterward, she would head home to see her mom and dad. Perhaps having saved the Moretti princesses—as part of the team—she could finally look them in the eye knowing she had repented. She’d gone over and over in her mind if she would tell them what she had done.

Yes.