Page 9 of Creatures that Breathe

“Cross,” he says curtly.

“What?”

“My name. Cross.” He points, as if overcoming a language barrier, toddler style. “Cross. Leni.”

My name doesn’t normally sound like that, like it’s swimming in syllables, like only a master linguist could do it justice.

“Cross.” I smile. Progress. Finally.

He stiffens again, bites his lip. I think he’s going to have me call him Mr. Blackguard until his terse, “Now. What are you?”

Didn’t I just swerve this one? “Again, I’d love to answer, but only after my favor.”

Instead of the expected rebuke, he nods, a short curl spilling into his forehead. “You have my word. Now tell me how they’ve tracked me, and what they want.”

“No.” I mimic his serious I-kill-people voice as best I can. Dominance and darkness. “My favor first. Then I share.”

It’s gratifying to see the slight flare of his nostrils. “My life is at stake.”

“Maybe mine is too.”

He nails me with a look. “Is it?”

“In a sense.”

He seems to consider it, as if my confession actually affects him. How lowly are the males in my life that it stirs a flutter in my chest?

Ignore.

“On my honor, you have your favor.” The silky rumble drifts over my skin. “The followers first, then the favor and we’ll part with you admitting what you are.”

“What honor?” I ask, not thinking. “The honor of the Kingsguard? The same Kingsguard that offed the king? I don’t want—”

Again he moves whip fast, eating the space between us, toe to toe, body arching over mine, crowding. The back of my thighs collide against the hard edge of the table. Power ripples off him in sheeting waves, lifting goosebumps from my skin.

I offer no resistance as he plants his palms on either side of me, bracketing me in place. There’s only the barest cushion of space between his wrists and my temples.

“What could you possibly know about me?” he snarls. “Of my promises? Of my past? Nothing. Nothing of the lengths I will endure to see my enemy’s slain. Now allow me to present you with a deal you cannot refuse. Speak or submit all of your loved ones to my brutal hand.”

I try to reply. Fail. There’s green in his eyes, buried next to the obsidian, like dark vines clinging to steel.

I didn’t imagine it like this.

That I could be challenged fiercely and not entirely fear what’s to come.

“I’m sorry,” I say, not sounding it at all, as I stare up at him. “Really, I am, but your threats don’t work on me. This …” I wave a hand in the inches between our chest. “This doesn’t scare me. There will be death if you do not agree to my terms. No amount of posturing will change my mind.”

He offers no comment, but his pupils expand and a trickle of warm, dry air splashes onto my cheek, makes me want to close my eyes and fall backward into bed, makes me want to relax and dream.

Black shadows turn Cross’s whisper into mist. His words, spoken right against my ear are nearly too low to hear. “You never saw me. You’ve heard of the Kingsguard but don’t dare speak the name, for they have rotted and become beasts who kill without remorse. You fear us, and you don’t dare approach. Last you learned, the dreaded Blackguard were in Cairo, spreading blood and chaos.”

I fight to keep my eyes open, nearly moan as I say, “No.”

More heat strokes me. A third, flickering bulb goes dark, filaments imploding in a tiny burst of flame. “You never saw me,” Cross repeats. “You’ve—”

I choke on a laugh, struggling to sound stern when I’m so relaxed. “I did not come this far for parlor tricks. Come on, Cross. I can count your eyelashes. I saw you.”

Disbelief wipes years off his face. He mutters something, but it’s lost in the inches from his mouth to mine. His stare grazes my necklaces, a mismatched set from Heathrow. A last resort, strung on in a particular order. Pendants. L N and I.

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