The General

Chapter 38.

​The morning sun was a cruel, bright blade cutting through the gap in Briar’s curtains, but it wasn't the light that jarred her awake. It was the heavy, rhythmic thud of the front door downstairs and a voice that carried the authority of a man who owned the house.

​"Where's Briar?"

​Archer.

​Briar’s heart leapt into her throat, performing a frantic cadence against her ribs. Beside her, the mattress shifted. Victor was waking up, his large, tattooed frame radiating a drowsy, dangerous heat. He started to roll toward her, his arm reaching out to pull her back into the cocoon of the sheets.

​"What?" he rumbled lowly, his voice thick with sleep and the deep, gravelly register that usually made her knees weak.

​Then came the sound of boots on the stairs. Heavy. Fast. Archer was coming up.

​"Stay down and be quiet!" Briar hissed, her voice a panicked stage whisper.

​Before Victor could fully process the directive, she shoved him. Hard. It was like trying to move a mountain of solid muscle, but the surprise of the attack sent him rolling off the edge of the bed. He hit the hardwood floor with a muffled thud and a low, guttural grunt of protest.

​"Stay there," she breathed, scrambling to pull the duvet up to her chin, her eyes wide as she stared at the bedroom door.

​The door swung open without a knock. Archer stood in the threshold, looking windblown and caffeinated. His eyes swept the room, landing on Briar, who was sitting bolt upright, clutching the sheets to her neck like a shield. Her hair was a bird's nest of blonde tangles, and her face was flushed a tell-tale, guilty pink.

​Archer’s gaze dropped to the floor- mercifully on the opposite side of the bed from where Victor was currently crouched, and then he quickly looked at the ceiling, his ears turning a vivid shade of magenta.

​"Briar, if you're going to do... that... at least lock your door first," he hissed, his voice tight with brotherly mortification. "What if the General walked in? Or Mom?"

​Briar’s jaw dropped. He thought... he thought she was alone.

​"Oh my god, Archer, I wasn't doing that!" she hissed back, the lie tasting like copper on her tongue. The irony was a physical weight; the General had walked in, and he was currently inches away from Archer’s boots, likely staring at the underside of her nightstand. "What do you want? Why are you in my room?"

​"I wanted to know if you wanted to go shopping for the Gala with me," Archer said, still pointedly studying the crown molding. "I just got the memo. All off-duty military personnel are allowed to come as special guests since it's the hundredth anniversary. Mallory says I need a haircut, and I figured you’d need something that isn't... well, whatever you were wearing last night."

​The mention of the "off-duty military" being invited sent a jolt of adrenaline through her. If Victor was going, the Gala was no longer a chore- it was a battlefield.

​"Yes, sure, whatever," Briar said, her voice rising in pitch as she heard a soft, rhythmic scratching sound from the floor. She realized it was Victor’s fingernails against the wood- a silent, taunting reminder of his presence. "I'll be ready in twenty minutes. Just get out!"

​"Fine," Archer said, finally lowering his gaze but keeping it strictly on the door handle. "Twenty minutes. And Briar?"

​"Yes?" she snapped.

​"You totally were doing that. Lock your door next time. It’s a shared house."

​"Get out, Archer!" Briar screamed, grabbing her spare pillow and launching it with everything she had. It hit the door with a satisfying thud just as he pulled it shut, his retreating laughter echoing down the hallway.

​The silence that followed was deafening.

​Slowly, a large, calloused hand appeared on the edge of the mattress, followed by a shock of messy black hair and a pair of piercing blue eyes that were dancing with unadulterated devilry. Victor rose from the floor like a dark specter, completely unashamed. He was bare-chested, the morning light catching the jagged, dark purple bite mark on his shoulder- the "brand" Briar had left the night before.

​"Doing that, were you?" Victor rumbled, a slow, predatory smirk spreading across his face.

​"Shut up," Briar groaned, falling back against the headboard and covering her face with her hands. "He thinks I’m a deviant. He’s never going to let me live this down."

​Victor crawled back onto the bed, his weight making the springs groan. He loomed over her, pinning her wrists to the pillow. The humor in his eyes shifted, darkening into that possessive, heavy intensity that had dominated their night.

​"Let him think it," Victor murmured, his lips grazing the shell of her ear. "It keeps him from looking for the real 'breach' in the room."

​He glanced at his shoulder, his thumb tracing the bruised skin where her teeth had sunk in. ​

"Going for a haircut, is he?" Victor rumbled, his voice dropping into that low, authoritative vibration. "If I’m to be a 'special guest' at this Gala, I suppose I’ll need to ensure my Dress Blues are stage-ready. I imagine the Captain will be doing the same. It’s a formal affair, after all. Medals, ribbons... the full weight of the service."

​The thought of Victor in his full military dress- the crisp midnight blue, the gold buttons, the sharp lines of a General’s rank, made Briar’s mouth go dry. If he was intimidating in a charcoal suit, he would be absolutely devastating in his formal blues.

​"You're going?" she whispered, her heart starting to race again as his heat enveloped her. "In uniform?"

​"It's the hundredth anniversary, Briar," Victor murmured, his lips grazing her jawline. "The town wants to honor the military. I think it’s only fair I show up to represent. Besides, I want everyone- especially the 'stable' choices, to see exactly what kind of man is standing in your orbit. Let them see the stars on the shoulders. Let them wonder why the General is so focused on the baker."

​He leaned down, his mouth catching hers in a brief, punishingly deep kiss that tasted of ownership and secrets. It was a promise of the tension to come- a silent war that would be fought in the middle of a crowded ballroom.

​"Twenty minutes," he rasped, finally releasing her wrists. "Go. Let Archer take you into town. Let him think he’s protecting you."

​Victor watched her scramble out of bed, his gaze tracking the line of her back as she grabbed her robe. As Briar hurried into the bathroom, she caught her reflection in the mirror- eyes bright, lips swollen, and the adrenaline of the 'breach' still hummed in her blood.

​She had twenty minutes to turn back into the quiet daughter of Lower Falls, but as she stepped into the shower, she could only think of the Gala. It wasn't just a party anymore. With Archer and Victor both appearing in their Dress Blues, it was going to be a display of power- and she was the only one who knew that the most dangerous man in the room was carrying her mark under his uniform.