Page 33 of Reckless
Humoring her, I nod slightly, lips twitching beneath my bandanna.
She takes a step toward me, never lowering her weapon. “We go back to the cellar. We fight. I win.”
Before I’ve even finished scoffing, she’s suddenly closed the distance between us. As if to remind me of her threat, I feel the cool tip of a blade pressed roughly against my throat.
“Iwin,” she continues, deceptively calm, “and you let me go.”
I stare down at her, at the face swallowed in shadow.
“And if you win”—she swallows, adjusting her grip on the dagger still digging into my skin—“I’ll… I’ll go quietly back to Ilya.”
Silence hums. The moon bears down on us, leaning in to hear my answer. I clear my throat. “Am I allowed to speak now, or will you be stabbing me?” I bow my head closer to her, ignoring the sting of a blade at my throat. “I know how good you are at that.”
She sighs through her nose. “You are welcome to speak so long as it’s to accept my offer.”
“I hadn’t realized you were in any position to negotiate,” I say coolly.
“You should be thankful I’m evenbothering.”
“And why is that?” I murmur, ripping the bandanna from my face. “Why not slit my throat?”
I can hardly see her face, but I hear the suppressed rage in her voice. “Careful what you wish for.”
I inch dangerously close. “You can’t do it, can you?”
“You of all people should know better than to underestimate me,” she breathes.
“So do it, Gray.”
A flash of steel flies toward my stomach, leaving my neck bare besides the thin line of blood beginning to bloom there. She sends the blade arcing upward, intending to slip it between my ribs and pierce the heart that once beat for her.
Only, she’s already done that. Already mutilated whatever part of me wasn’t yet a monster. Now here I stand, a mosaic of a man—all sharp edges and shattered pieces.
I catch her wrist, anticipating this exact move. She sucks in a breath when I twist her arm outward, giving me room to step in against herbody. “Oh, come on,” I breathe against her ear, “your heart wasn’t in that.”
Steel sings against its sheath, hissing in the silence.
And once again I’m staring down the length of a blade, its point angled up beneath my jaw.
She hasn’t held that dagger since she buried it in the king’s neck. I should have known she would pull it from the sheath at my side, its familiar swirling handle now back in her palm. All it took was a distraction and the flick of thieving fingers.
Her chest heaves, brushing mine with each heavy breath. “Don’t think for a second,” she whispers, “that I won’t be the death of you.”
She’s dangerous with this dagger in hand. I’ve seen what she can do with it, had it held against my throat enough times to memorize the thickness of the blade slicing into my skin. At my throat is the very weapon that sliced through my father’s, held there by his murderer. Held there byher.
I smile slightly. “I doubt there is any more damage you can do to me.”
I can feel the heat of her gaze boring into mine, though I can only make out shadowy features in the moonlight. And I’m thankful for it. Thankful for the blessing that is being unable to behold her.
Because when darkness hides those blazing blue eyes, I can pretend that she is nothing to me. Just a shadowy figure that feels like her, smells like her, talks like her. Just a stranger in this strange place that I will never see again.
But the moment the sun comes up, shedding light on my dark reality, I can no longer pretend. Can no longer steal what I want when duty has me bound by a leash, dragging me back to my destiny.
But here, she is no one.
Here, I am nothing.
Here, we are forgotten.
