Page 42 of The Dead Saint

“You.”

* * *

Sorcha heard Adrian’s voice before the tent flap parted, cold air sneaking in to curl around her shoulders. She was sitting in the warm water, arms around her knees, steam billowing up to dissipate above her head. She didn’t move, startled but not scrambling to cover her nakedness. He’d seen enough of her in the Mapmaker’s rooms—half naked under the unforgiving light of day, her tattoos telling a story only a few could understand.

For a moment—less than a second—Adrian’s face was open to her, surprise crossing his features. But it passed, and he was once again closed to her. The flap fell back behind him, cutting off the cool air and muffling the sound of men talking around a fire nearby.

Adrian didn’t speak as he crossed to his desk, moving a scroll to study the map beneath it. Parchment rustled and his leather armor creaked as he shifted from one foot to the other. He didn’t speak. He ignored her completely.

Sorcha dipped her cupped hands into the water, lifting them slowly, letting the water slip between her fingers. The sound filled the tent, echoing alongside the rustling pages—making strange music.

“Have you eaten?”

“What?” Sorcha asked, realizing a second after she spoke what he’d asked. “No. There was a woman. She said she’d have something sent over but it hasn’t come yet.”

“Toren?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Good.”

Sorcha nodded to herself. Good. A scroll was unfurled behind her, something heavy set on the table. She waited, wondering when he’d leave. Would he leave? How long could she wait? How long would the water stay hot? Already, it was barely warm. She’d put off getting out several times, hesitant to leave the warm water soothing her saddle-sore muscles and relishing the quietness of the tent. She’d been enjoying the space to not think.

“Do you plan to stay in that bucket all day?” Adrian asked, something close to humor touching his words.

She turned to find him watching her, leaning one hand on his desk.

“And if I am?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

Adrian sauntered toward her without breaking eye contact and knelt beside the tub. She stopped breathing, eyes wide as he dipped a cupped hand into the water near her thigh, letting it fall from his fingers—mirroring her gesture from before.

“It’s getting cold.”

Her heart thudded in her chest—hard against her ribs, climbing up her throat. Adrian held her gaze, eyes black with challenge.

Have you bewitched him? No. When she’d denied it earlier, she’d been so confident in the truth. But now? He looked as if one word from her mouth could change their situation in a heartbeat.

There had been men in the past, a handful of friends who had become lovers. But no one she could name in this moment. Each face, each name, vanished the moment this man dipped his hand into her bath. Adrian. The Wolf.

Monster!

Sorcha couldn’t let herself forget it.

“Don’t you have someplace to be? Checking in with your men? Sharpening your sword?” she asked, putting derision and ice in her voice, willing him to stand and walk away.

Adrian continued to hold her gaze, and tension grew between them.

A buzzing sound grew in Sorcha’s ears, rising in pitch as she clenched her jaw around whatever else she might have said. Walk away, she thought, because if you stay, I think I could change my mind about you.

“I do,” he said, standing with a creak of leather, turning away from her.

Sorcha watched him retreat from the tent, pushing the flap aside and escaping into the open air. She ran a hand up her arm, smoothing out the goose bumps, telling herself it was the cooling water that left her cold and not his departure.

* * *

Dinner arrived in the form of an invitation. Well after she was out of her cold bucket of water and dressed, Adrian opened the tent flap and asked if she would like to eat by the fire. Sorcha agreed, wanting more warmth and light, the sky over her head and the feel of the breeze on her face.

The fire at the heart of this circle of tents was unattended, Adrian’s men off doing other things within the camp or in their private tents. She’d watched how they were treated by the rest of the Horde, and it was with the utmost respect. In most areas, she’d seen several men sharing a tent, but not the ones she’d traveled with.

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