Page 68 of Creatures that Breathe

“Excellent example.”

I cock my hip, arch an eyebrow. Peak procrastination. It’s a sickness and I can’t stop. “And how do I win?”

“There is no losing, pyro. We both gain an increased sense of understanding.”

Bright twittering lights go off in my head. Information? Yes! What’s the curse? Who killed the king if you didn’t? Am I the only one who knows your name?

Do you have a type?

Is it blue hair, zero commitment, traitors to the crown?

I could write a book: Secrets of the Lost Blackguard. The Condition of the Spymaster. How to Master the Curse-Life Balance.

My hearts racing, questions percolating on my tongue when I see The Flaw. Question for question.

He’s willing to answer if I do. My palms sweat. “So, you’re curious about me, huh?”

“Is that your first question?”

“No.” I sit on the bed, drying my hands on the gray linen comforter. “I don’t have any questions. I want clothing.” Projecting confidence, I lean back on my hands and cross my legs. “I answer a question and you take something off. That’s the game.”

The less I know, the better. A safer path. No chance to admire, no place for affection.

The better off we’ll both be. Guilt will drown me, he said.

And the more I get to know him, the less certain I am about what must be done. Fear of losing my drive prickles at the back of my mind like an unwelcome guest. Each new detail about the Blackguard worsens my already tangled feelings. It’s time to stop pulling at that thread.

Cross considers my offer and my resolve and nods. “Fine. But you have to stay on your side of the room.” He points at the bed.

“Why?”

“Because I’m riled right now, and barely holding on and if you get close to me—” He cuts himself off. “Do you want clothes or questions?”

I want to know exactly what happens when I get close to him. But it doesn’t matter. “Clothes.”

“Alright.” A swallow works down his throat. “We’ll start easy. How did you find me?”

“Are these all going to be repeats? I told you, I looked. It wasn’t that hard.” I nod at his chest. “Shirt.”

“I decide,” he grits, reaching for a single black boot. “And that’s not the whole answer. Complete honesty.”

“It’s the only answer I’ve got. People love to gossip, and you and your team of murderers, oh, they make excellent fodder. They love to discuss how far you’ve fallen, what despots you’ve become, how they’ll punish you if you ever dare return.”

“Punishment.” He makes it sound as farfetched as a Giant uprising.

I lift a shoulder and let it drop. “There were other whispers too, like who’s the best in bed? Lev or Rune.”

“Neither.”

I furrow my brow at him. “What? You know from experience?”

On his cheeks, two punches of delicious red appear. “Lev’s hairy all over and Rune has a belt clip for his phone.”

Note to self: make Cross jealous and defensive at every available opportunity. “As I was saying, I’ve heard it all. Sightings, local unrest, killings. I made my own assumptions for the rest. You likely weren’t doubling back to blown locations, but you stick to creature heavy cities. I knew you had tattoos that were distinct, so staying somewhere cold would help hide them.”

“Impressive.”

I give a violent shake of my head. “Not really. The guards considered me a vapid twit, too stupid to do anything other than sit still and look pretty. They all but handed you over on a platter.”

---