Page 52 of Forged in Fire
“That I hated you?” I raise an eyebrow.
“Yes.”
“Who says I don’t?”
“Do you?” He tilts his head, the light catching the startling silver blue of his eyes. From this angle, the thick column of his throat is exposed, and I have a startling urge to press my lips to the pulse there.
Because I’m insane.
“We’ll see,” I say, finding myself fighting down a smile. There’s something oddly charming about this man. Which is insane, considering the circumstances of our meeting.
“So why did you change your mind?” he repeats. “Why did you choose to stay with me?”
“You saved my life.” I tilt my head. “Three times.”
“Three times?” He frowns.
“You protected me from those guards in the compound,” I say. “Then you got me out of the line of that first shot in the cabin.” I meet his eyes. “And then this.” I glance down at his arm. “That bullet was meant for me.”
“Why does that matter?”
“Because it does.” I raise my chin. “I settle my debts. By my count, I owe you two more.”
“That’s not how this works,” he says.
“Isn’t it?” I ask.
“I don’t save people to put them in my debt.”
“Then why do you?”
He pauses. “I don’t save people at all.” It sounds like it causes him pain to say it.
“Except me.”
“Except you.”
I’m not sure what to make of that, so I change the subject. “Let’s figure out what to do next.”
His lip twists. “To be honest, this is something I never planned for.”
“No kidding.” I roll my eyes. “But I have people who could help.” I think of Caleb and the others. They’re probably pissed at me, but they’ll still do right by me. “Unless you have a better idea?”
“Not anymore.” The admission carries weight I’m not sure I understand. Like he’s cut more ties than just his professional obligations. “But this place is as good as any to lie low a while. Until we can plan the next step.”
My stomach chooses that moment to growl loud enough to wake the dead, cutting through whatever heavy moment we’d been building toward.
Riven’s mouth quirks upward. “Seems like our next step is food.”
“Is it safe?” I glance toward the window, half-expecting to see black SUVs rolling down the cobblestone street. “To go out, I mean.”
“For now, yes. There’s a place nearby. Small, local. The kind where strangers stick out, which means so would anyone hunting us.” He stands, testing his injured arm with a careful roll of his shoulder. “We need to eat.”
Fair point. I watch him move to the small bag of supplies, pulling out a clean shirt and jeans that somehow manage to fit his lean frame perfectly. The man really does think of everything.
“Your clothes are still relatively clean,” he observes, not looking at me as he changes. “But there’s a spare shirt if you need it.”
I check my reflection in the small mirror above the washbasin. My hair’s a disaster, and there’s dirt smudged across my cheek, but the dark clothing has held up better than expected. A quick wash with cold water and soap helps, though I still look like I’ve been running through forests and dodging bullets.
