Page 37 of Bounty Hunter

“We’re almost to the mountainside. It’ll be safer to be beside it than in the forest if high winds kick up.”

She nods and pulls her cloak tighter. The chill makes myinjury ache, and I find the hitch in my stride worsening as the evening grows later.

Finally, with relief, I spot a place that might work—if we can get there. With Vera shivering hard beside me and even my own bones feeling chilled to the core, I point to a small, dark hole above us in the cliff wall. “There.”

Vera eyes the rock face we’ll have to climb uncertainly. “I don’t know.” She looks back at the fog infested forest almost longingly.

“We can’t wait much longer. The wind is picking up, and the temperature is dropping.” I have to raise my voice now to be heard, even though we stand close, as the winds howl and whip around us. I don’t wait for her to over think it. Instead, I say, “You first,” fairly pulling her to the wall and pointing out where to begin. “I’ll be right behind you.” That is, if my leg doesn’t give out. I keep the concern to myself.

She begins climbing. And soon after, I follow, guiding her to next handholds with shouted instructions as well as I can, but I begin to question my decision when we are halfway up and her foot slips. I see her waver as she looks over her shoulder at the distance we’ve climbed. My leg aches furiously now, pulsing uncomfortably with overuse and fatigue.

“Keep going!” I shout.

My fingers feel as slick as the rock looks, but that hole in the cliff wall isn’t so far now. I search for the next handhold, determined to reach safety.

Chapter 25

Vera

My numb fingers slip and scrape clumsily, looking for handholds in the freezing rock, but I bite my lip and force myself to keep going. Rupi rests somewhere beneath us in the cover of the trees, and I don’t blame her. This storm is a bad one. My arms and legs burn, my nose is running from the cold, and I’m almost positive my face is frozen into the unattractive, somewhat distressed expression I adopted at the beginning of this horrid climb. I breathe a sigh of relief once I haul my tired body into the small opening and plant myself on the edge out of sheer exhaustion, my legs still hanging over the side. I sit for a moment to ground myself, pressing my right shoulder and hip up against the rock at my side so Ikar has room to climb in. Even injured, he’s much faster than I am, but I vastly underestimated the breadth of him. When he seats himself, we find our shoulders pressed tightly together, and he hunches over a bit to avoid hitting his head on the ceiling.

Our legs hang over the edge while we look over the dreary, foggy view that spreads out before us. Dark clouds churn andhover on the tips of the deep green trees. It’s eerily beautiful. I catch a tall shadow that doesn’t quite match the rest near the edge of the trees where we were just moments ago in my peripheral, but when I shift my eyes to see what it is, there’s nothing there. Again. It’s easy enough to explain away this time. It’s probably the combination of sore muscles, freezing cold conditions, and eerie forest playing tricks on my vision. Still, I won’t deny that I’m glad Ikar is beside me, and I find I’m much more grateful for the height of our shelter than I was two minutes ago. I stare at the spot where I thought I saw the shadow for at least another minute. There’s nothing there but wet soil, grass, and trees.

Ikar turns his head to look over his shoulder and takes in the tiny space, a hint of a dismayed frown pulling at his brows. I twist a bit so I can see, too. It can’t quite be called a cave, the ceiling is so low we won’t be able to stand, and it’s very narrow. So narrow, in fact, that I’m not sure the two of us will be able to lay down to sleep in it. More like a hole in a wall than a cave. But all it takes is another quick glance at the ghostly forest to make our hole in the wall look very, very comfortable.

Ikar is the first to act, always decisive and matter-of-fact. I’m beginning to appreciate that my criminal harbors many helpful qualities. He begins moving and shifting to remove his pack and bring it in front of him. But in doing so, his arm and shoulder jostle against mine even more in the cramped space. I practically get mashed into the wall in the process as I try to press myself against my side of the rock to give him more space, but my efforts prove entirely unhelpful, and I find myself irritated by my awareness of him. Curse his broad, muscular shoulders.

He pulls out his bedroll and then we both move at the same time. I pull my legs up from their dangling position, against mychest almost, and try to gracefully turn toward the back of the cave without touching him. He seems to have the same unspoken idea, and our legs quickly tangle up awkwardly. My left shin is somehow against one of his calves, my right calf is tangled with his left thigh, and my back still pressed to the chilled rock behind me does nothing to cool the temperature of my burning face. I hear him mutter a string of grumbles and curses beneath his breath. I never thought I’d be grateful for wind-chapped cheeks, but at this moment, it’s providing a perfect cover. We untangle ourselves eventually. Then he tosses out his bedroll on the right side of our shelter and does some sort of forearm crawl forward until he settles himself onto it.

I toss out my own bedroll with still-flaming cheeks and pretend like I don’t see that the material of mine covers his by at least a few inches. I crawl onto it without making any sort of eye contact and sit down pressed against the cold rock. I wrap my arms around my knees, staring out the entrance and watching fat flakes of snow fly about in howling wind. The rock shelters us from much of the storm but not all, and I shiver in my still-wet clothing.

Rupi joins us a few minutes later, snow and ice coating her fluffy feathers so thick she looks more like a flying snowball than a bird. She barely makes the opening of the cave when a large gust of wind blows her too far, and she comes to a somewhat rough landing. More of a tumble, really. I laugh a little and am promptly shot a grumpy, frazzled look as she rustles feathers partially turned to quill. I carefully scoop her up and begin brushing the snow off her before she quickly hops forward to warm herself by my neck. I cringe a little at the cold wetness, probably her revenge for my laughter, but I let her stay, and she dries quickly. She’ll be all fluff within minutes.I notice then that Ikar has been watching as he rubs the back of his leg, a small grin lifts one side of his mouth. I look away, slightly embarrassed, and decide I need to redirect his focus.

“Is it worse?” I ask, trying not to be concerned about his injury. Even if it is, I can’t risk helping him by healing it further.

He stares at the roof of the cave. “It’ll be fine.”

“You always say that.”

“It will. I’ve had worse and survived,” he says bluntly. It brings to mind the other scar I saw, and that summons the heat back to my cheeks. It feels like I’ve invaded his privacy. I’m also reminded that he lives a violent life by choice, and I shouldn’t care about his injuries.

I busy myself digging dried meat and fruit from my pack and toss him some of what I find. Meanwhile, two suns have set, leaving us in near dark besides the glow of the heavy flakes that fall outside our cave as the third sun takes its light with it. I could create light using my magic, but it’ll glow an unearthly white, and I don’t want Ikar to see it for too long. Instead, the shadows grow deeper as the already dark sky grows darker.

After we’ve eaten, Ikar insists on perfecting my grip on my sword before we finally call it a night. After I struggle to follow the example he’s mirroring with his own sword he moves closer and repositions my hand for me. I should pay attention to the change he made so he doesn’t have to correct me again tomorrow, but he’s so close, and the smell of leather and pine, and the sound of his low voice beside my ear, and his knee brushing my thigh has me struggling to breathe a little. His large hand is still over mine, and he appears to be waiting for a response to a question, but I have no idea what he asked. My cheeks redden.

“Does that make sense?” he asks, I’m pretty sure this isn’t the first time he asked.

I simply nod since I know my voice will be shaky if I speak. I’ll have to face the awkwardness of admitting I’ll need a redo on this lesson tomorrow, but I’d get a lot more out of it if he’d keep his distance. Not that that’s what I prefer right this moment. I brush a stray strand of my hair behind my ear, waiting for him to move back to his side of the cave, but my bracelet catches his eye. Instead of moving back, his finger catches the bracelet, and it sucks the air from my lungs as he lifts it from my wrist gently.

“No clasp,” he observes, “You cuffed, same as I?” I can hear the joking tone of his voice, and I see that handsome half smile on his face, but the question hits me unexpectedly. I’d never considered myself cuffed, but I can’t remove the bracelet. Something uncomfortable triggers at the realization. I look down at the purposefully nondescript and innocent-looking piece of jewelry. The higher class Tulips have a fancier style, one more fitting for their place in society. Renna’s and mine, though woven with a delicate chain, are merely an unblemished silver. He drops it, leaving my wrist tingly where his finger brushed.

“It’s a friendship bracelet.” That’s my memorized, automatic response to anyone who questions the bracelet that is constantly on my wrist, but I find it comes out a hint defensive this time.

“A friendship bracelet?” He seems genuinely curious. He’s still too close. Intoxicating.

I twist it again, trying not to sound breathless. “Yeah, me and a group of friends have them. We’re like sisters.” I feel relieved I didn’t really have to lie, but then I realize I may have said too much. I wait, a little scared to see what he says next.

“I know Originators are a close group.” He says it like it makes sense that we’d have friendship bracelets. “But all theOriginators I’ve worked with dress in white and in styles that always show their mark. Why don’t you?” He looks curious, glancing at my black cloak and the shirt that covers me from wrist to neck.

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