Page 52 of The Girl Who Should Be Dead

It’s such a sharp departure from the confidence of just a few short moments ago, and she aches to poke at it, aches to peel apart what could be causing this reaction.

“You didn’t hurt me,” she starts, guarded. “Believe me that I would tell you if you did.”

He swallows. “Good.”

That’s not it, or, rather, that’s not the whole picture.

“We practice this, we practice distance, there’s a bigger chance you can go back to your friends and I can be out of your life,” she says, and he nods. Of course he understandsthat. “I’m offering you security. Anytime you need backup, anytime there’s anything out of your league, I’ll be in your hands.”

There. A twitch on his jaw, a tightening around his eyes.

She leans back, so she can regard him a bit better, giving him space to answer, where he obviously struggles with his words.

The moment stretches on, and his phone beeps quietly in his pocket, but he doesn’t shift to pull it out.

“I’m not someone who should have a weapon,” he says, finally, his voice low.

That’s definitely not what she thought he’d say.

“You literally have a gun,” she protests, and despite the tenseness, his lips twitch up a brief moment. “And a knife, you took one from the trap.”

“There’s a little bit of a scale difference,” he starts, heated, “between a normal human gun and an actual demon.”

She shrugs, loose, and that gets a ghost of a smile.

“I’m not the College, I’m not a part of the College, I shouldn’t be…wielding anything—anyone—that could cause mass death.” There’s an inflection in his tone, something reflected onto himself.

Despite his words, this has nothing to do with her.

“Hmm,” she says, instead of anything else. “This have anything to do with how practically everyone calls you an asshole?”

That diffuses the tension, and he huffs out a sigh, rubbing his face. “Pretty much,” he says, then shakes out his hands. “Distance and disrupting their grip is one thing, causing more destruction…I shouldn’t be able to do that.”

“Okay,” she responds.

“Okay?”

“Sure, no problem, I won’t teach you that.” She shrugs again, even though her skin buzzes to find out more. No human she’s ever met turns down free power, not without substantial reasons.

But she steps back, disengages, and puzzles over what his mystery could be.

13

After a perfunctory trip to a local grocer and another quick teleport back to the small condo for actual blankets for the too large bed, Ambra gets Gurlien to help her drag the bed into the center of the room.

“Why?” he asks, after they already did all the effort. She could’ve done it with magic, but she’d have to reset more of the wards then the effort would have saved her.

“I’m gonna build that as the most secure spot,” she says, pointing. “Redo some of the wards, put alarms in the mix, concurrent circles, that sort of thing.”

He nods absentmindedly, and there’s a trace of dust on his pristine shirt, but otherwise unbothered by the physical activity.

“Feel free to read, this’ll be boring for you,” she instructs, and he raises an eyebrow.

He’s still on edge, the jittery sort of energy when someone’s jaw is too tight or their hands are a bit too active, like he hasn’t fully unwound from the conversation earlier.

She doesn’t know how to stop the tension.

“And lose a chance to see a demon put up security?” He challenges back, then bounces on his toes, too much energy. “A topic of scholarship and discussion and debate that’s been going on for centuries?”

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