Semper Mine (Sons of War #1)(10)

By the astonished look on Katya’s face, her brother has never put his foot down before.

I’ll admit, as childish as it sounds, the fact she wants nothing to do with me provokes the side of me that wants to show her why she’s wrong. Again. I’m not sure how this girl gets under my skin, but she does.

“I need long-sleeved shirts,” Katya says, peering with dissatisfaction into her bag.

What is with her? I’m ready to write her and her shirts off as crazy when Brianna responds.

“Something wrong with short sleeves? Fat arms or a few scars you don’t want anyone to see?” she laughs.

Katya’s face is red. I’m thinking there’s some knowledge between the two about the shirts. I can’t begin to guess what it is, or why I have a feeling Katya and Brianna are going to be at each other’s throats this week.

The awkward silence that falls is interrupted by Mr. Khavalov.

“It is with my deepest gratitude that I thank you all,” he says in his thick accent. “Mikael meant the world to Petr, Katya and me. That you all have come so far to honor him, honors us, too. We are here to honor Mikael and use his legacy to help children who have lost a parent. He was a noble man, and this is a noble cause.”

It’s truly an incredible thing they’ve done here. It makes me view Katya in a little better light, knowing that her general hatred towards me stems from love for her brothers. I respect her loyalty, even if her anger leaves me wishing for a new partner for the week.

“I think I speak for everyone here when I say it’s an honor to be here today, Mr. Khavalov,” I respond. “Mikael would be proud, and this is a touching way to remember him and help others.”

Mr. Khavalov smiles. “I like you, Captain Mathis.” He chuckles. “Come! Brianna will show you all the grounds.”

We all gather our bags and trail the sexy brunette out of the welcome center. She leads us around the small but modern campsite, explaining everything. While the log structures and stone walkways are quaint, the camp has modern amenities like private showers, air conditioned dorms with high quality beds and wardrobes, and a mess hall that I immediately wish I’d had at any point in my career. There’s an immense obstacle course, swimming pools, horse stables, and other activities, in addition to the camp sitting on a lake with pristine paddleboats loosely corralled by a rope near a new dock.

It’s clear the Khavalovs put a great deal of money into the camp, another sign of how serious they are about honoring Mikael.

Each set of partners is assigned a dorm, where we’ll stay with the kids on our team. We’re given an hour to set up then instructions to go to the reception center for some team building exercises.

I go to my truck to grab my gear and return to the barracks I’ve been assigned with Katya. Each entrance to a barracks is decorated by a flag in a different color. We’re the blue team.

Walking around the interior, she’s got her arms crossed and is peering into corners.

I’m not even going to ask. I go to the back, where there’s a break room stocked with healthy snacks and water, a laundry room and a second room for the counselors with two bunk beds and two sets of dressers. We have our own bathroom while the kids have a larger, community one they share with the others.

I’m not sure how the two of us are going to sleep in the same room. She seems like the kind who might try to kill me in my sleep. Might be a good thing I rarely sleep.

“Any preference as to which rack you want, ma’am?” I call.

“No.”

I claim one side of the room. It takes me ten minutes to make my bed, position everything in drawers, and stow the rest out of sight, ensuring an aesthetically pleasing room.

“You don’t have to do that,” she says from the doorway.

I glance at her. “Do what?”

“That.” She’s pointing at the corners of my bed, which are crisp and tight. “You can relax.”

“Discipline stems from routine,” I reply automatically.

“Right. They don’t let you jarheads think, do they?” She sighs and walks in, gazing around, unimpressed with our comfortable quarters. “You allergic to peppermint?”

“No.”

“Okay, good.” Katya goes to the corner and pulls a dark glass bottle from her large purse. Pinching the top of the dropper-lid, she deposits a few drops of something into the corner.

“What is that?” I ask.

“Peppermint oil. Keeps spiders away.”

No sleeping bag or halfway decent shoes, but she remembers bug repellant? I don’t think this woman has an ounce of sense.

This isn’t going to work. I watch her deposit oil into each corner then under the window, unable to find a polite way to tell her that her priorities suck.

When she’s done, she faces me. The tension between us isn’t normal. She doesn’t look at me; she glares. There’s always fire burning in the depths of her gaze, and she’s tense. There’s a tiny part of me that wants to say something to help her.

The rest … well, I’m not sure what to do. I can’t remember anything ever feeling so awkward. Unaccustomed to dealing with civilians, I have a feeling my preferred way of handling her won’t go over well.

“This is gonna be a long week,” she voices what I’m thinking. “It’s not too late to go back to Iraq. You won’t be stuck with me.”