Page 50 of Artemysia
He heaves a breath. “Fine. I’m on a killing spree.”
“Syf?”
“It’s unclear. Faceless. Could be Syf, could be human.”
“So you’re fighting for your life. Makes sense why you’d be violent.”
“Maybe. But the nightmare of it all is…that it’s not abaddream.” His dark lashes lift, and his eyes shine with a strange ferocity. “It’s not a nightmare at all.”
“It’s not?”
The air goes still as his expression darkens like a storm cloud. “I’m…enjoying the killing. I’m having a fucking good time.”
“Oh.” I see why he didn’t want to talk about it in the first place. What does one say to such a brutal confession? Even I can’t come up with an understanding reply right away—and I’m good at this kind of thing. I don’t want to make him feel worse, so I do my best to maintain my impartial expression.
Apparently, I’m unsuccessful, because he studies me and says, “Yeah, so I’ll just sleep in the chair.”
“Riev, it’s just a weird dream. I mean, I dream about food a lot—and one time, I dreamt I carved up Throg and ate him.” True story.
“You’re just saying that to make me feel better becausethatisfucked up.”
The tension breaks, and when we both burst into laughter, it continues to build like kindling catching fire. His starts off in a low, rasping chuckle that he tries to suppress. Mine cackles loudly into the room, and he points a surprised finger at my unbridled laughter and lets himself go. I never thought about anyone’s laughter before, but his genuine, throaty laugh must mean something to me, because I find myself craving more of it.
Finally, wiping a tear from the corner of my eye, I gesture to the other side of the bed. “Bed’s big enough. I don’t need the entire thing to myself.” I draw back the quilt.
“But…” He eyes my legs. “You’re going to bed in your riding pants?”
“What’s wrong with that? It’s cold.”
“You’re going to make the bed smell like elk.”
“Says the guy who was going to spend the night in the alley when we met. I was gracious enough to offer you half the bed—”
“When I have a choice, I try to be human,” he says wryly, but there’s a hint of vulnerability in his words, as if deep down he thinks of himself as less than human, maybe with all that King Galke forces him to do.
“It’s exhilarating, you know. Your unending insults. Apparently, I stink of elk and barely pass as human.”
“I’m not going to lie to you.” He’s as stoic as ever, but his eyes gleam with brazen intent.
“Fine.” I don’t know what his issue with cleanliness is, but I’m too tired to argue. I unbuckle my leather belt, slide it out of the loops, and drop it on the floor beside the bed.
Riev turns to a small dresser to fold his socks.
Meanwhile, I roll down my pants and kick them away. I have thermals on, but I stall.
When I don’t think Riev is watching, I lift a knee to my nose and sniff. Yes, dammit, my thermals do stink like elk musk, so I shuck them off and toss them aside.
Each sock comes off. Now, I’m wearing only my silk underwear and the blue flannel shirt he found for me earlier, which barely covers my ass.
“I’m naked now,” I joke.
“What the—” He whips his head around. He’s motionless, paused in the middle of rolling his belt into a neat coil. The open-mouthed look on his face is totally worth it. He glances from me, down my bare legs, to the pile of clothes around me, clearly disapproving.
“Why would you look?” I’m enjoying the utter disdain on his face.
Since he’s been answering all my questions tonight, I decide to press my luck. “The day before our mission, who were you visiting at the cemetery?” I’m proud that I’m so cool and casual about it, but I guess it comes out overeager and greedy anyway, because he takes one look at my face, bares his teeth in an exaggerated snarl, and turns away.
“No one,” he grunts, barely audible.
