Page 35 of Forged in Fire
“Safe.”
The word would be laughable if it weren’t so infuriating. “Safe?” I snort. “Tied up, God knows where, by the man who tried to kill my brother. Your definition needs serious work.”
He turns from the window, and I get my first clear look at him since regaining consciousness. Tall, lean, carrying himself with that predatory stillness that should terrify me. Dark hair, sharp features, and eyes that reveal nothing while seeming to see everything. The kind of man who measures words like ammunition and treats silence like a weapon.
The kind of man who makes my shadows reach toward him despite every logical reason they shouldn’t.
Stop it, dammit!
“I prevented your execution,” he says, and something in his tone suggests the words surprised him as much as they do me.
“Execution? I was with my brother!” My shadows flicker despite the restraints, power responding to the anger building in my chest.
“Who was quite willing to let you die,” he says with brutal honesty.
The words feel like they crush my chest. I want to deny them, to rage at him for even suggesting such a thing. But the memory of those final moments plays on repeat—Kieran’s cold voice, the way those operatives emerged from cover like they’d been waiting, the guards who took orders fromhiminstead of restraining him.
Sorry, Iris.
“What do you want with me?” I ask instead, because that truth is too raw to touch. “Why did you take me?”
For a moment, he doesn’t answer. Just studies me with uncomfortable intensity. His eyes are different in the firelight—arctic blue circled by something darker—and when they meet mine, something electric arcs between us.
My breath catches involuntarily.
“You weren’t part of the plan,” he says finally, voice rougher than before.
“Then why am I here?”
The question seems more like a challenge. I watch him weigh his response, see the moment when he decides to give me nothing useful. But there’s tension in the way he holds himself, like a man fighting an internal war.
“It’s complicated.”
“Uncomplicate it.” Heat builds behind my eyes—not dragon fire, but something closer to fury. “You try to kill my brother, then abduct me, tie me up in the middle of nowhere, and now you’re playing mysterious? I’ve had enough games for one night.”
He moves away from the window, each step controlled and deliberate. But I catch the way his eyes track over me—not leering, but aware. Definitely aware.
When he’s close enough that I can smell that scent again—smoke and something dangerous—my shadows strain toward him like they recognize something in his darkness.
“Your brother led you into a trap,” he says. “Six armed operatives. You walked in trusting him completely.”
“It was a misunderstanding.” But even as I say it, I know how hollow it sounds. The rational part of my brain—the part that’s kept me alive—won’t let me ignore the evidence.
“Was it?” There’s no satisfaction in his voice, just harsh honesty. “Think about how he handed you over.”
The horrible thing is, I can’t stop thinking about it. About the way Kieran had looked at me in those final moments—apologetic but determined. Like he’d already made his choice, and it wasn’t me.
“He wasn’t himself,” I whisper, more to myself than to him. “Something happened to him. They did something—”
“I don’t have those answers,” he says, settling into a chair across from me. Close enough that I can see the tension wired through his frame, the way his hand rests near a concealed weapon. But also close enough that I notice other things—theway firelight plays across his features, the unconscious grace in his movements.
Close enough that my power responds to his presence like metal drawn to a magnet.
“Who hired you?” I demand, fighting to ignore the unwelcome sensation. “Someone wanted my brother dead. I need to know why.”
“That’s confidential.”
“Screw your confidentiality!” I spit the words out. “My brother’s life is at stake.”
