Page 44 of Reckless
She stills beneath my touch. I take my time prepping her thigh for the bandage, swallowing as I gently push the thin pant leg higher. I quietly thank the Plague when she finally speaks, giving me something to focus on other than my current task.
Her voice is surprisingly soft, and I’m not sure whether to be alarmed or at ease. “You didn’t know who you killed that night?”
I bite back my bitter laugh. “I didn’t even know I would be killing anyone that night. Didn’t know my fate was starting so soon.”
“Don’t be cryptic,” she murmurs. “Not when it comes to this.”
I sigh and slowly begin wrapping the bandage around her thigh. “I was fourteen. Right in the midst of my… training with the king. I’d grown up knowing exactly what my future would look like, but that didn’t mean there would ever come a time when I was ready to face it.” She flinches when I tighten the bandage. “When I woke up that day, I didn’t know I’d be killing a defenseless man in cold blood. Didn’t know my father would threaten to do the same to me if I didn’t go through with it.”
“He didn’t…” She swallows, taking a deep breath. I doubt the agony on her face has much to do with the wound I’ve now finished wrapping. “He didn’t tell you why you were killing him?”
I offer her a slight shake of my head. “For the first three years of mymissions, I was given no information on who I was killing. He’d call it blind obedience. Told me that the Enforcer didn’t need to know anything more. That the king’s commands are never to be questioned.”
Her eyes flick between mine, burning like a blue flame. “You could have been killing innocent people. Youdidkill innocent people.” Chest heaving, she turns away from me, scoffing as she stares at the wall. “And to what? Test your allegiance, your willingness to blindly follow orders?”
My eyes never stray from her. “I think you know that’s exactly why.”
She shakes her head like I knew she would. “It’s a shock no one’s thanking me for what I did.”
I stare at her, something constricting in my chest that might just be my heart. The thought of thanking her for driving a sword throughmy father’s chest may be the cruelest thing I’ve ever considered. And yet, each scar scattering my body sings with the memory of cold hands and hot anger. Each one of my many masks a reminder of the man who molded them.
Maybe I should be thanking her.
I don’t remember loving him when he was alive. But now? Does death divulge deep-rooted devotion? I can’t seem to differentiate grief out of love and guilt out of the lack thereof.
She bites the inside of her cheek against a wince as she beings unrolling her pant leg. “I suppose I should thank you.”
I study her, silence stretching between us. When she says nothing more, I raise my brows at her. “I’m waiting.”
“Don’t get too excited. I said Ishouldthank you.”
I harrumph in a way that suggests I might have found that humorous, while she lifts her lips in a way that suggests she might be smiling. When she struggles to her feet, I follow, holding her stare from where she stands before me.
“Turn around,” she orders.
“Excuse me?”
“Turn around. I want to change.” She waves her hands at me, signaling for me to obey.
“I don’t know,” I sigh, crossing my arms as I lean against the wall, “how do I know you won’t jump out the window when my back is turned?”
She grabs the borrowed, damp shirt with a scowl. “The only thing I’m considering doing when your back is turned, is shoving a dagger into it.”
“You’re not helping your case—”
The pack hits me square in the stomach before I catch it. “Just turn around,” she huffs, eyes flashing with challenge.
I take my time turning to stare blankly at the wall ahead. She doesn’t bother making conversation, leaving me to listen to the rustling of clothes before they hit the floor. And now that I’ve had a taste of her lips, it’s difficult not to crave them, especially when I know I shouldn’t. So this certainly isn’t helping.
“Can I turn around now?” I ask with a sigh when the bed creaks behind me.
“Shh, I’m trying to sleep.”
I spin to see her sprawled atop the quilt, the stolen gray shirt swallowing her whole. With arms and legs stretched wide, she attempts to take up as much of the bed as possible. The sight is so unexpected that I nearly choke on a laugh. “What is—”
“Sorry,” she says, her eyes closed and lips crooked. “There’s no more room on the bed.”
“I can see that,” I respond dryly.
