"You should stop wasting my time, Executor. We both know you didn't come here to commiserate over drinks." Shepard leaned closer, salt and spice hot on her breath, and bit off the words. "I'm right here, Vakarian. Why don't you just ask me."

Garrus didn't move. Her expression burned with a fierce light—the same expression he remembered from battle. Flashes of her face mixed in his mind's eye with the hurricane echoes of rapid fire, tactics and strategies spiraling out of control amidst a wild whirlwind of dominant instincts, fear, and total exhilaration.

He wanted to extinguish the servile responsibility that had marked his last six years. For a moment of pure longing, he wanted to return to the Normandy and the hunt for Saren – he wanted the thrill of throwing in his lot with a Spectre in defiance of all orders, the adrenalin rush of the chase, the ecstatic agony of victory, the knowledge that they'd brought the Council to their knees and had the world at their feet.

But time had left its mark on both of them. When he spoke, it was through his teeth.

"Tell me where you were the night Sha'ira died."

Scorpion Honey
coming soon