Page 46 of Reckless
“Enough.” His voice cuts through my own, commanding and quiet. “That’s enough.”
“What? You can’t handle hearing the truth?”
He grabs my arm, his grip callous like his next words. “I saidenough. We’re leaving.”
With that, I’m fumbling for my pack before being pulled behind him down the narrow staircase. As we reach the bottom, I’m being roughly swaddled in my scarf, batting away the prince’s swift hands as he wraps the fabric around my face and hair. As soon as his feet hit the creaky floor, he tosses a coin at the grumbling man behind the counter, not sparing him another glance before tugging me beyond the run-down inn.
I blink in the blinding light of the rising sun, stumbling slightly as he steers me through the sea of people. The streets are flooded with merchants, drowning in mayhem. The Enforcer weaves us through the crowd, his eyes flicking from face to face above the bandanna covering the lower half of his own. I envy his ability to disguise himself so easily, what with his lack of identifiable hair.
I wiggle my wrist in his grip, testing my many options to break his hold.
“Don’t even think about it,” he murmurs, not slowing his stride.
I roll my eyes at his back. He’s increasingly insufferable.
He turns us down a tight alleyway, pausing long enough to throw a glance at me over his shoulder. “You holding up back there?”
“You ask as though you’d stop if I weren’t.”
“You truly know me so well,” he croons, pulling me down another bustling street. After several sharp turns, I’m slowing behind him, struggling to keep pace with his long strides. My leg burns, the dull pain growing into something far more demanding.
He must hear my panting, feel my dragging feet, because he slips into a shaded side street and slows to a stop. “Out of shape, Gray?”
I glare at him before directing my gaze to the gash across my leg. “Yes, my pace has nothing to do with the fact that I’m actively bleeding out.”
“Oh, don’t be dramatic.” His words are light, but his gaze is anything but as it travels down my body, finally landing on my thigh. And then he’s suddenly crouching before me, hands braced on my leg. I can do nothing but blink at the bent head of messy black hair beneath me. He fiddles with the bandage peeking through the ripped pants atop it, fingers skimming my skin. “Are you really bleeding out on me, or just too stubborn to admit you need a break?”
“Maybe,” I grit out through a false smile, “I need a breakbecauseI’m bleeding out. Which is because of you.”
He’s distracted by my now-exposed wound, offering me an amused “Hmm.” I wince when he dabs at the hot blood trailing down my leg in red rivulets. His touch is so gentle, so disguised with something akin to care. I swallow when his hands roam the sides of my thigh, silently reminding myself why I’m injured in the first place. Why I’m running in the first place. Why I’m so broken in the first place.
Then his hands slide from my skin to tug at the bottom of his shirt,leaving me frustratingly cold in the shade. He rips a piece of cloth with ease before tugging my leg toward him to rest atop his own from where he kneels. I find myself committing the sight to memory with a smug smile.
I feel anything but Ordinary with the prince on his knees before me.
“Hold still,” he murmurs. “You’re swaying like a drunk.”
I frown at the ebony hair tumbling over his brow. “You stole one of my legs.”
“Yes, a leg. Not your balance.”
I shake my head at the wall I’ve planted a hand against. “You’re insufferable.”
I catch the corner of his smirk as he ties off the new makeshift bandage and gently lifts my leg onto the ground. He stands, towering over me so suddenly that I find myself taking an unsure step back against the grimy wall.
“Better?” he asks, noting my skittishness with the softening of his gaze.
“Fine,” I manage. “I’ll make the trek to my doom, don’t worry.”
His eyes roam over me, scrutinizing with a sense of uncertainty. “Then we best be on our way.”
CHAPTER 18Kitt
F resh air feels foreign to me.
Standing beside the cracked window, I breathe in the cool unfamiliarity beginning to blow into the stuffy study. The grounds sprawled beneath me are blanketed in a vibrant bed of grass, glowing in the cascading sunlight.
I don’t stand here often. Don’t open the curtains long enough to be perceived by the gossiping staff. But it’s warranted after my meals.
