Page 3 of The Rising Wave

If he was carrying a heavy bucket of water, that would be even better than the meal she assumed he would be holding when she’d set up her plan.

She opened her eyes and looked over at the prisoner, and found him watching her again.

She pursed her lips, and tried to harden her heart against him.

She didn't know him, and she had planned this for a long time.

It wasn't fair.

Her life was on the line. If she hadn't been completely certain before, hearing Juni and Garmand talk to Banyon had confirmed it.

She had pegged them as Herron's men on the inside, and from the knowing way they'd spoken, she'd been right.

“What are you deciding?” The prisoner's voice was a croak, and he started to cough.

She said nothing, pushing herself to her feet and walking over to the jug with the small amount of water she had left for the day.

She poured it into the chipped wooden cup, wincing when it barely reached the halfway mark, and crouched beside him.

His arms were bruised and scraped, and there was one deep cut in his forearm which went down to the bone.

She averted her eyes, too cowardly to look carefully, and dropped to her knees, easing an arm around his bare shoulders so she could put the cup to his lips.

He glanced up at her, a quick look of surprise, before he lifted his less injured arm and grasped the cup himself, tipping it down his throat with a groan.

Even though the water had gone, he tipped it again, as if trying to find any drop of water left.

She watched his throat work, and felt despair drag her down.

She had to be hard. To think of herself.

And yet, wouldn't that mean they had won?

She sighed.

“What are you deciding?” he asked again in his raspy voice, and she glanced at him, found his eyes on her once again. He was watching her with the patience of a predator.

She eased back, heart beating a little faster, and was careful to guide his shoulders back to the ground gently.

She had been around predators her whole life.

She dusted her knees as she stood.

“Nothing,” she answered at last, refusing to articulate her quandary.

She glanced from him in his half-naked state to the bed, and felt a surge of anger at Herron and his lackeys.

The temperature down here bordered on icy, and they had stripped their prisoner almost naked.

But feeling angry about it wasn't going to solve anything, and the prisoner was as much their victim as she was. More, by the look of his injuries.

“Who are you?” His voice was still rough and scratchy.

“Ava.” She had her back to him, standing next to her bed. She pulled off the thicker of the two blankets and lay it on the ground beside him. “You?”

“Luc.” There was an edge of amusement in his voice. “What . . . are you doing?”

“Making you a bed on the floor. I can't pick you up, but maybe you can pull yourself over?”

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