Page 27 of Light Locked
“I’m fine,” she said sarcastically, challenging his indifference as she passed him. She’d barely taken two steps when she felt him grab it and rip it free.
She shouted in pain, gripping her head as she spun toward him. He held what was left of the branch in his hand, hair danglingfrom it.
“Got it,” he said with a smirk.
Clea gripped the broken branch still in her hand and swung it at him. He snatched her arm and flipped her over, her back landing flat against the grass and brush. The landing sent a jolt through her, and he remained crouched over her, one hand poised in the grass next to her head. She saw his full and genuine smile for the first time. Multiple dimples under the now dark stubble of his face and two rows of wicked white teeth gave the smile a wolfish glow. Pleased and wicked, it more than alluded to the fact that he was shamelessly amused, even delighted that she’d tried to hit him.
“Feel better now?” he purred, narrowing those silver eyes that burned in the shade of his coal black hair.
“You’re a monster,” she whispered with restraint, nearly holding her breath at their closeness. The vibration of the landing sent uncomfortable quivers through her as she tried to salvage what she could of her pride.
“Am I?” he replied breathily, as if he’d been waiting for the compliment. He closed the space between them as if he had every intention of suffocating her further.
“You could take a perfectly good person”—she hoisted herself up and he backed away—“and make them as angry and bitter as you are. I bet you do it for sport. We have names for people like you, cut off from others so that you become stagnant and rotten. Bad blooded.”
“Now you’regetting to know me. Keep going.”
“I stick by what I said,” she snapped back, brushing off her clothes. “There aren’t bad people. Just complicated stories.” Not a second after the words left her mouth, his foot hooked her ankle and knocked her feet out from under her.
She fell on her side with a shout, scrambled back to her feet, and thrust a finger at him.
“Now,that”—she bumped her finger against his chest—“was childish!”
He stole her footing again. This time, her hands flew into the air. She fell on her backside, feet out in front of her. She didn’t get up this time, but sat straight, hands gripping the grass at her sides as she kept her gaze focused forward.
Ryson eased down onto his haunches before her, invading her vision.
“I’m sorry, my deep interpersonal issues and dark past compelled me to do that.” He propped his head up on his hand and tilted it. He was completely calm, and the happiest she’d seen him. “I’m complicated,” he added with a delighted lilt. Clea sensed he was feeding off of her anger, enlivened by it.
This isn’t the battle.She closed her eyes. Seeing him and hearing the words made her want to shout.
This is about the medallion. It’s about making it back home.
A heavy wave of embarrassment and guilt pulled her back into the grass. She rested her hands over her face and closed her eyes, inhaling. She winced as the realization hit her—shewasnow being petty.
She was being childish. Maybe she’d been the childish one all along.
His part of the deal was simply to get her to Loda. It didn’t matter how he acted. She still needed him.
Need.
The word filled her with an uncomfortable sense of dread as her pride deflated on the ground where she lay. When it had become clear that her needs would be precisely what would be used to punish her, she avoided needing anyone or anything that could be taken away. Now, here she was, acting like an entitled child all because she couldn’t tolerate that feeling. Need.
She receded into the darkness beyond her eyelids. Days locked in her room, nights staring out the window, it had been her freedom.
Lately, she’d been too afraid, too busy minded to visit it, but lying in the grass there she found it again. A wave of peace settled over her. When she’d been deprived of everything else, they’d never been able to take that quiet space from her. The warmth of ansra filled her chest and she remembered herself for the first time in months.
“What are you doing?” Ryson asked after a minute of silence.
“Finding my soul again,” she muttered breathily, uncovering her face. Her hands slid down over her stomach. He was standing over her, and she looked past him to the glowingcanopy above. He seemed completely perplexed, likely judging her harshly, but she had no other way of describing what she was doing.
He crouched again as if inspecting a dead body, and she took a measured breath.
“I’m sorry I’ve been acting the way I have,” Clea said, still watching the canopy. “I just attacked you. I’ve never done that before to anyone. I feel like lately in all the fighting and survival I forgot myself, and you’re right, I do have to depend heavily on you to survive.”
Ryson seemed to shift uncomfortably at her apology, eyes narrowed on her face, before following her gaze back up to the trees and then down again. “What are you looking at?”
“It won’t happen again,” Clea continued, still focused on the canopy. “You’re taking me through the forest. That’s what you agreed to do. Nothing more. I’ve been…immature and entitled. I apologize.”
