he extended his right hand, reaching for her. “I like that.”
Before his fingers could brush her face, Tariq’s hand clamped around his wrist, halting any forward progress. Then he curled his unoccupied arm around Cami’s waist and pulled her away from the elite, tucking her against his side.
“Whatever you think is going to happen, let me make myself perfectly clear.” Tariq’s deep, rumbling voice carried for half the atrium to hear him. “Cami is mine. Touch her again, and I’ll rip your fucking arm off and beat you to death with it.”
Cami had just wanted to help her friend, not start some violent, testosterone-fueled pissing match. “Tariq, stop. He’s not worth it.” She shifted her gaze to Parsons, who hadn’t moved. “Neither of them are.”
“We read the report,” Parsons said, speaking for the first time since the confrontation began. “If you are who you say, then you’re a scroll without exempt status. We have the right to claim you as our chosen.”
“You may have the right,” Tariq responded as he pushed Cami behind him, “but not the ability. I dare you to try, though.”
Tension hung thick in the air as Tariq and Becks sized each other up like a predator assessing his prey. If they were placing bets, Cami would put her money on Tariq. Bias aside, he had at least three inches and forty pounds on the lieutenant, not to mention a set of razor-sharp fangs.
“Stop!” Pushing against Tariq’s back, Cami finally broke free of his grip and insinuated herself between him and Becks. “Just stop it!” Knowing she fought a losing battle, she allowed Tariq to pull her back to his chest. She wouldn’t cower behind him and let him fight her battles anymore, though. “I am Camille Brighton,” she told Becks, “but whatever your file says, it’s wrong. I’m not a scroll.” Technically speaking, it wasn’t a lie. “So let’s just bring the intensity down a peg, and everyone can walk away.”
“If you’re not a scroll,” Parsons argued, “prove it. Let us see your face.”
“Take the hat off,” Becks demanded. He reached for her again, but stopped when Tariq growled. “Show us.”
“Watch how you speak to her, ’leet.” Bringing Cami with him, Tariq took a step back, creating more distance between her and Becks. “She has nothing to prove to you or anyone else.”
For the love of everything holy and some things not, all the male posturing was going to make her brain bleed. At any moment, she half expected them both to drop their pants and whip out a measuring tape.
“Enough.” Scarlett’s wrist unit beeped twice, and she held it up with a devious grin. “General Whitmore is on his way. You boys better run along.”
“Nice.” Amused by the woman’s tenacity, Cami couldn’t hold in her giggles. “You tattled.”
“I am a grown woman. I didn’t tattle.” Sticking her nose in the air, Scarlett sniffed haughtily. “I reported.”
It seemed curious that Scarlett would have a direct line to General Whitmore, and even more suspicious that he’d drop everything to come when she called. An errant, wholly inappropriate idea flittered into her head, making her giggle even harder. Cami had to wonder if Scarlett was the woman who’d been keeping the general “indisposed.”
Becks and Parsons exchanged nods. “This isn’t over.” Becks straightened and smoothed a hand down the front of his uniform jacket. “You can’t hide forever.”
Since she hadn’t been hiding at all, his words made no sense. Still, however illogical his statement, she understood his implied meaning. Tariq had been paranoid about her wandering the station alone before. Now, she might be lucky to get five minutes of privacy in the bathroom.
Extracting herself from Tariq’s arms, she hurried over to hug her friend. “Are you okay? They didn’t hurt you, did they?”
Instead of answering the questions, Scarlett grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her. “What the hell were you
Before his fingers could brush her face, Tariq’s hand clamped around his wrist, halting any forward progress. Then he curled his unoccupied arm around Cami’s waist and pulled her away from the elite, tucking her against his side.
“Whatever you think is going to happen, let me make myself perfectly clear.” Tariq’s deep, rumbling voice carried for half the atrium to hear him. “Cami is mine. Touch her again, and I’ll rip your fucking arm off and beat you to death with it.”
Cami had just wanted to help her friend, not start some violent, testosterone-fueled pissing match. “Tariq, stop. He’s not worth it.” She shifted her gaze to Parsons, who hadn’t moved. “Neither of them are.”
“We read the report,” Parsons said, speaking for the first time since the confrontation began. “If you are who you say, then you’re a scroll without exempt status. We have the right to claim you as our chosen.”
“You may have the right,” Tariq responded as he pushed Cami behind him, “but not the ability. I dare you to try, though.”
Tension hung thick in the air as Tariq and Becks sized each other up like a predator assessing his prey. If they were placing bets, Cami would put her money on Tariq. Bias aside, he had at least three inches and forty pounds on the lieutenant, not to mention a set of razor-sharp fangs.
“Stop!” Pushing against Tariq’s back, Cami finally broke free of his grip and insinuated herself between him and Becks. “Just stop it!” Knowing she fought a losing battle, she allowed Tariq to pull her back to his chest. She wouldn’t cower behind him and let him fight her battles anymore, though. “I am Camille Brighton,” she told Becks, “but whatever your file says, it’s wrong. I’m not a scroll.” Technically speaking, it wasn’t a lie. “So let’s just bring the intensity down a peg, and everyone can walk away.”
“If you’re not a scroll,” Parsons argued, “prove it. Let us see your face.”
“Take the hat off,” Becks demanded. He reached for her again, but stopped when Tariq growled. “Show us.”
“Watch how you speak to her, ’leet.” Bringing Cami with him, Tariq took a step back, creating more distance between her and Becks. “She has nothing to prove to you or anyone else.”
For the love of everything holy and some things not, all the male posturing was going to make her brain bleed. At any moment, she half expected them both to drop their pants and whip out a measuring tape.
“Enough.” Scarlett’s wrist unit beeped twice, and she held it up with a devious grin. “General Whitmore is on his way. You boys better run along.”
“Nice.” Amused by the woman’s tenacity, Cami couldn’t hold in her giggles. “You tattled.”
“I am a grown woman. I didn’t tattle.” Sticking her nose in the air, Scarlett sniffed haughtily. “I reported.”
It seemed curious that Scarlett would have a direct line to General Whitmore, and even more suspicious that he’d drop everything to come when she called. An errant, wholly inappropriate idea flittered into her head, making her giggle even harder. Cami had to wonder if Scarlett was the woman who’d been keeping the general “indisposed.”
Becks and Parsons exchanged nods. “This isn’t over.” Becks straightened and smoothed a hand down the front of his uniform jacket. “You can’t hide forever.”
Since she hadn’t been hiding at all, his words made no sense. Still, however illogical his statement, she understood his implied meaning. Tariq had been paranoid about her wandering the station alone before. Now, she might be lucky to get five minutes of privacy in the bathroom.
Extracting herself from Tariq’s arms, she hurried over to hug her friend. “Are you okay? They didn’t hurt you, did they?”
Instead of answering the questions, Scarlett grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her. “What the hell were you
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