Page 66 of King Among the Dead

No, she thought. But that wasn’t true. She didn’t want to lie to him, even if the truth wasn’t anything he wanted to hear. “I’m afraid that this is too easy. All these targets. I think they’re low-hanging fruit. I think Castor is setting a trap for you, and I’m afraid you’re going to walk right into it.”

The way his expression shifted, she thought slapping him would have been kinder. He put his back to her, and braced his hands on his hips, head bowed.

“I’m sorry, but I’m worried,” she said. Now that it was out there, she saw no sense in walking it back.

He turned his head a fraction, just far enough to reveal the flash of one eye. “You think we should stop.” Said like an accusation.

“I think we should be careful.”

He held still a long moment. Then he turned to face her, his chin tucked, head tilted, so he was looking up at her through his lashes, in that way that hollowed his already-thin face and gave him the sharpened look of a predator.

A look she could usually read well: either he was driven by the thrill of the hunt, or he was in his intense, post-hunt phase, when he wanted to smoke, and drink, and fuck until he came back to himself. But neither of those things was true now, and she had the sense his crackling, barely-contained energy was directed at her, now.

She wasn’t afraid, though. Never that.

She met his stare, was braced and ready, his hands tightened to fists when he said, “You doubt me.”

“I’m worried about you.”

He stalked toward her, slowly, his hips shifting side to side, all his speed and strength tangible in the lazy way he moved. “If you don’t want to come with me,” he said, voice silken, andawfulas he drew up in front of her. “You can stay behind.” It sounded like an accusation. It sounded like itpainedhim.

“Beck.” She reached toward his face, wanting to soften him, to bring him back; he was racing toward the brink, and if he was doing that now, during a random afternoon’s training, how much worse would the fall be after the next hunt?

But he tipped his head, just far enough to avoid her touch.

She froze, hand hovering in the air. And then her fingers closed. And she pulled her hand back. And then she did something she hadn’t ever done with him: she got angry.

It boiled up in her gut, a hot flush that left her cheeks burning, and her lungs working. “I’m not afraid,” she said –snapped. His face smoothed, and his head kicked back, nostrils flaring, eyes widening. It was too late to dial it back, though, and she wasn’t sure she would have even if she could. “I’m not scared of the work, Beck, and you know it. YouknowI’m not.

“But you’re obsessive – even more so than usual. I will help you kill every last person who ever even met Tony Castor if that’s what you need to do. But you’re getting reckless. He’s going to notice what you’re doing, if he hasn’t already. And you’re strong, and fast, and smart – you areamazing. But you can’t fight an army. And that’s what he has: an army.

“You want to kill him. I get that. But what happens if you get yourself killed? What will I do? What will I do without you…” Her chest squeezed on the last – it was hard to breathe – and she realized that she was starting to hyperventilate…and that she was crying. Hot tears slipped down her cheeks, and she brushed them angrily away, but it was too late; he had to have seen them. Seen her weakness.

She started to turn away, trying desperately to get her emotions under control. How could a lecture be effective if you started blubbering at the end?

But he caught her arm – tight, but not painful. When she started to twist free, like he’d just taught her, she froze, watching his face – watching the hurt flash through his eyes.

They stared at one another.

Rose wet her lips, and sniffed, swallowed. Tried to compose herself. Her voice came out full of cracks, though. “I am afraid. I’m afraid I’m going to lose you, and I can’t – Beck, I can’t…”

She closed her eyes to stem the flow of tears, and his arms went around her. They were both sweaty, their clothes clinging to sticky skin, overheated, a little disgusting, but it didn’t matter. When he pulled her in close, she pressed her face into his chest. He stroked the crown of her head, slipped his fingers through her ponytail, and cupped the back of her neck. “It’s alright.” His voice sounded unsteady, too. As did the breath that he heaved out, the heat of it rushing past her ear. “Oh, Rosie. I’m sorry. I don’t…”

She let herself choke on the tears a minute. Let them come, hot, and cleansing down her face. Breathed in the smell of clean sweat, and of him, and reminded herself that nothing had happened yet. He was still here, still strong, still sheltering.

It was only that, the more familiar she became with violence, the more readily she dealt it, the more aware she became of how very human he was. He was flesh and blood, and it would be so easy for him to get hurt; for it to be his eyes the light drained from, in the dark rooms where they crept. The predator could become the prey, and she didn’t want to contemplate a world without him.

~*~

Anthony Castor might have prized loyalty, but he didn’t expect it – especially not from low-level dealers and knee-breakers. Beck pressed all of them for information which they weren’t able to give; they began defiant, and ended up begging.

But one night, a dealer offered something up. A location. An address. A date. Something big was happening: a new batch of dealers was being promoted, and they were meeting at a warehouse –thewarehouse, if the way Beck’s eyes flashed was anything to do by.

“He can’t help it,” he said, later, when he was wiping his knife clean in the deep shadow of a building. His eyes and the flash of the blade were all that was visible. “He has to show off. It intimidates everyone properly, and makes him feel like a God.” He snorted humorlessly. “A God with angels to command.”

Back at the house, Beck had his usual whiskey and cigarette in front of the computer in the study. Punched in the address and pulled up satellite images of the warehouse. “I can’t believe he’s using the same warehouse,” he murmured, absently.

Rose had dozed off, and woke with a start when Kay came in. It was daylight, she realized – or close to, a rain-streaked silver morning. Kay was already mostly done with a cigarette and a glance at Beck revealed a full ashtray of butts at his elbow.

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