Page 83 of Creatures that Breathe

He mutters something in Danish as he peers back at me. No green in his eyes.

We veer down a bustling street, cutting between bicyclists braving snow slush. Swift movements guide me around the block until I’m overlooking the water. As if he knows it grounds me, wraps me in a protective fireproof blanket

The surface is calm, a shade darker than the gray sky. Beyond the ships docked, ducks bob in between patches of ice, beaks nestled into the curve of their wings. Behind us, steam rises from manholes and the distinct scents of sauteed garlic and roasted meat claw at the air.

Cold, it must be, without the curl of a Blackguard’s strength encasing you.

We have no destination, but we don’t wander. Don’t linger.

We’re in a hurry to go nowhere.

He’s relentless. Overbearing to the point that I don’t know if he’s trying to keep me safe or avoiding a spare second for us to see eye to eye and admit the truth. Once I disclose what I know, we’ll return to the same impossible situation. No reason not to return me to the palace.

It gnaws at me in small, jagged bites.

It’s more than a sufficient reason for me to let go of his hand. To bolt down a sketchy side street and take off.

I squeeze his hand tighter, tug him to slow. “We need to stop, please. My feet are killing me.”

His eyes flicker with concern and he cuts across the stone walk to help me sit on a wooden post, bulking ship’s ropes gathered at the base.

Slowly, his fingers work into the hood of my sweatshirt. Clothes procured by Lev. Zero style. A dingy gray sweat set, scratchy on my skin from overwashing.

The shoes are worse. Boots a size too small, and tied as loose as they are, they still rub blisters into my bones.

Cross tucks his fingers into my hair, delicately arranging it before pulling the dark hood up higher. “Keep this tucked,” he says, head bowed over mine. “It’s practically a calling card.”

“I can dye it.”

“No. I like the blue. It’s been in my head for a week now, this color. This shade. I could spot it across the entire continent.” His gaze shifts between mine almost desperately, as if waiting for me to blush or recoil.

He only spurs me forward. “You’re right. I don’t want to change it.”

“Good.” He keeps his voice low, slicing under the swash of city life. “I can hide anyone. Even blue.”

I believe him. “Shouldn’t we be in the woods or something?” I ask, stretching my toes. “Wearing full camo? Hiding properly?”

“Hiding implies somebody is seeking. Our intention is to go unnoticed, which is easier to achieve in a crowd.”

“Alright, but shouldn’t we at least wear black?”

That gets me a smile. “Suspicious. Better to wear exactly what everyone else does. Be one of many. A face in the crowd.”

“A face with blue hair,” I correct.

He pulls the scarf across my mouth and nose, lips twitching with amusement.

“What about a wig?” I ask.

“Don’t you dare change your hair now.” He wears a faint, teasing smile. “You’ve already marked my towels as yours. Unless those blue stains were someone else’s.”

“A hazard of style. Besides, I thought you wanted to share.” I lean into him. “I thought a spy should leave no hint behind, even in his home.”

Obsidian and steel eyes flash bright. “Do you have to use my own words against me? I’ve never had to defend my past self before.”

“Then maybe you ought to stop saying illogical things, like you can’t have a knickknack because you eavesdrop professionally.”

He can’t contain his grin. “Please, use the formal Shadow Daddy when you speak about my job.”

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