Page 32 of Bounty Hunter

I remember all the energetic zeal I’d had at eighteen, leaving my aunt’s home of comfort and wealth with nothing but the small amount of money my parents left to me. That’s when I got caught up in the trouble with that first contract with the Class A criminal where I almost died. Obviously, things haven’t improved too much. I scoff as I look down at the pants that will hardly stay up, the boots that are a size or two too large with laces so worn I’ve had to attach other pieces of string to keep them tied up. I’ve intentionally dressed in men’s clothing as a matter of self-preservation, and that part, I still don’t mind. My whole goal in life is to not be noticed. But their condition has deteriorated, and I’ve been so focused on saving every bit of money, I haven’t been willing to replace anything. I’d neverreally cared before, but I feel a twinge of something I can only label as self-consciousness for the first time in a long time.

“You see how that’s gone.” I laugh a little like it’s a joke and then quickly redirect the conversation. I shouldn’t have said that last sarcastic part. I really don’t want a placating, obligatory compliment. I hurry to ask him something instead. “Tell me about your family.” It sort of comes out commanding, so I add, “If you want,” after a long second. Why do I have to be so awkward?

He gives me a sideways glance with a bit of a smile at my attempt at normal conversation, but I see a flicker of grief in his eyes. “My mother died eight years ago, my father five. I’m an only child.”

A sudden fountain of questions begins pouring into my mind now that I’ve allowed myself to ask him something. But by now, we’re climbing up a rather steep incline, and with his taller build and stronger arms, he’s able to more quickly pull himself ahead while I slip and fall to my knees again and again in my overlarge boots—I couldn’t ask questions if I tried. He reaches the top as I’m scrambling up behind him and offers a hand as soon as I’m within distance. I stare at it for a moment. Two days ago, I would have lobbed a big spit in it rather than take it, but after a slight hesitation, I place my small hand in his larger palm, and he easily helps me to the top.Look at us, getting along.I brush the dirt and forest debris from my clothes, even though it does no good. I’m filthy as an armored pig.

We continue on, navigating through darkening forest. Shadows lengthen, and I begin to think I’m seeing things in my peripheral. When we’d left the Black Canyon, I’d thought for sure I saw shadowed forms when we’d made camp, but nothing showed itself. Just now, I’m sure I caught a glimpse of tall shadows not just from the suns going down, but from tallfigures in the forest. But when I turn my head to look, there’s nothing there. Again.

“You see something?” Ikar asks, craning his neck to search where my eyes have lingered.

“Thought so. There’s nothing, though.” I shrug. But suddenly, I find I’m grateful for Ikar’s steady, capable presence at my side all the same.

We find a place to make camp, and I begin to build a fire while Ikar rolls up his sleeves again and prepares a small, wild turkey to be cooked.

“This one about begged to be caught.” He glances up at me beneath his brows as he works, “Trailed us for two miles this evening.”

I paste an innocent expression that consists of wide eyes and a gentle shrug, but inside I’m a thread’s width from cursing my friendly forest animals. They’re going to give me away, and I feel horrible about eating them. My stomach growls loudly, oblivious to my guilt.

He shakes his head and mumbles, “Never seen anything like it.”

We sleep soon after. Doesn’t take me long to drift off anymore, with the long days of walking and climbing. Apparently, I’m more tired than I thought since I keep seeing things that aren’t there. I drift for awhile in light sleep before I wake and lay there, wondering how late it is and seeing that Ikar still sits before the glowing embers of our fire. He has pulled something from his pack that looks like a round, flat badge of some sort, but I don’t ask about it. I’m supposed to be asleep, and I shouldn’t care anyway.

His shoulders are hunched forward, his forearms on his knees, and he holds it between his hands. Turning it between his fingers in a habitual, familiar motion as he gazes,unseeing, into the fire, lost in thoughts so intense I’m not sure I want to know what they are. I can’t tug my gaze away, even though I feel like I’m infringing on a moment too personal. He’s always so guarded and emotionally blocked off. All business, all the time. Smirking and leading and trying to order me around, and quiet when he’s not. But if I didn’t know him and I’d happened upon this scene, I’d think he held the weight of the world on his shoulders. I study his face, wondering at the emotion so openly displayed there. I struggle to define it. Sorrow, worry… maybe even guilt? Because of his assortment of violent crimes, probably. I shouldn’t feel so bad for him. He’s still a Class A criminal. Just apparently a very respectful, kind, and good one. I sigh in disgust.How confusing.My guilt finally wins over my curiosity and forces my gaze away, but it’s awhile until I calm the questions in my thoughts so I can sleep.

Chapter 23

Vera

We rise early and continue our journey, and I admit that I’m proud for surviving my third night on my own as a true bounty hunter. My criminal didn’t kill me yet. That’s good. That emotional wall is back up around him, tall and thick as ever. His blue eyes are guarded but friendly enough. The longer we walk, the more my cheer fades, though, because I realized just hours ago that my magic, or me, or both, seems to be evenmoredrawn to this man than on the first and second days. What does that say about me? Of course I’m drawn to a criminal. Typical. Doesn’t matter if he’s been on his best behavior these last few days to attempt to persuade me to uncuff him. I justknowthat’s why he’s been nice to me. There’s no other explanation. I definitely can’t trust him, and I need to distance myself to stay safe.

I don’t have the best track record in the judgement or magical departments, and here is a prime example ofwhy. Magic has caused a lot of trouble for me in my life, mostly because, as a Tulip, my magic is broken, weak, however you want to describe it. It’s notenough. And on top of that, we’rehated. But this time, I will make the right choice. I wind the unruly magic tendrils up as tight as the braid I’m currently weaving my messy hair into and glare at Ikar’s very muscular back for good measure, effectively returning him to his place as my enemy. A Tulip killer, probably. Something is off with my magic, that is certain.

How did he take the lead again today without me noticing anyway? I blow a dirty strand of loose hair, that I apparently missed when rebraiding my hair this morning, from my face in exasperation. I assume it has something to do with the way magic is weakening, I don’t have enough experience to figure out why these strange things happen, the only other person I’d felt this draw toward was an ex-boyfriend, Drade, from my teen years. It hadn’t ended well. No one who isn’t a king can return the bridge that my magic begs to create, even though I’ve been told it’s not strong enough anyway. I’ve never felt that my magic is weak, but I’ll trust Tatania on this one. I plan to someday marry aregularman, which is why I’d had to break things off with Drade. He had become the fae king through challenge, and I couldnevermarry a king, as it would entailbridging. Even low kings can bridge. I shiver, glad that I’ll never be part of such a dangerous connection.

I’m taken from my thoughts when I hear Rupi’s happy chirp as she glides through the air and settles on my shoulder, shuffling her wings and side-stepping until she gets comfortable. She still isn’t acting quite normal. Not once when Ikar has gotten close to her has she quilled up. I mean, she let him pet her yesterday three times, and that’s just not like her. She’s showing no symptoms of being sick, so I’ve reluctantly let her have her freedom today, but I watch her closely.

“Enjoy your morning fly?” I whisper, as I reach a finger up to stroke hersmall head.

Ikar glances at the two of us, and I see what looks like a flash of humor in his eyes. I know he thinks Rupi is a ridiculous pet.

“Do you have an animal?” I ask, truly curious. They say that people often choose animals that match their personality.

A wistful look touches his eyes. “Two. A hawk and a wolf-beast dog mix.”

I instinctively place a protective hand over Rupi’s soft back, hawks being one of her greatest predators—just as Ikar is to me.

“Fitting,” I say, saucily.

He grins proudly.

I continue with spite in my voice, “Both powerful, violent, murderous types like their owner.”

At that, he scowls, but it’s more of an irritated-looking smolder, which annoys me because I like it.

For a moment, I feel a pang of regret over what I said, that bit of camaraderie I’d felt between us yesterday having lent itself to today, and I’ve just squashed it. Then I rememberagainthat I don’t need comfortable companionship with a criminal. I shouldn’t have cared about his shoulder pains, or his family, or had friendly conversations with him over the past two days. Nor should I be enjoying his ornery, handsome scowls. I raise my chin, unwilling to take it back. Ikar is not my friend. He ismycriminal, whoIarrested and who has committed horrendous crimes to have a reward so large attached to his name. I’d do well to start remembering it.

We continue walking the rest of the day, mostly in silence after that. I’ve only pulled the map out three times so far today, and as far as I can tell, we make good time, I think. Since I stubbornly won’t allow Ikar to look at the map again, I can’t know for sure, but to offer the map would be an invitationfor him to step closer to look at it ‘cause I’m certainly not letting him have it. I certainly don’t want him stepping closer, either.

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