Page 56 of Forged in Fire
Quit it, idiot.
“These people,” I say quietly, matching her pace and keeping my eyes above chin level. “How do you know them?”
“The Cravens are family. The twins are distant cousins of ours.” Her voice stays low, meant only for my ears.
“The twins?”
“Dorian and Caleb Craven of the Craven Clan,” she says. Her voice carries respect, maybe a little awe. “Ancient bloodline, massive resources, and they’re not afraid to fight when necessary.”
“I’ve heard of them.” I nod. “Interesting that they’re twins too.”
She gives a shrug. “Common in our bloodlines. Often, we’re polar opposites, two halves of one whole. Dark and light.”
“Which one are you?” I glance at her.
“I used to think I was the dark one,” she muses. “Now… I’m not so sure.” She navigates around a cluster of tourists, her shoulder brushing mine in the process. The brief contact sends heat through my entire body.
“So these Cravens will be reliable?” I ask.
“I’m sure they will. But I can also reach out to the Collective, if all else fails.”
“The Aurora Collective.” I feel my jaw tighten. “I’ve heard of them, too.”
“Good things, right?” Her expression is so earnest that I can’t bring myself to burst her bubble with my cynicism.
“Sure,” I say, though I can tell she sees I’m not convinced.
“They’re different from other dragon organizations,” she says quickly. “No clan hierarchies, no territorial bullshit. Just people trying to make the world better for supernatural entities.”
I process this information through the filter of Guild training. Idealists usually mean well, but they also usually get themselves killed.
“Supernatural entities.” I try not to scoff. “Like a club for outcasts.”
“I know how it sounds.” She glances at me, gauging my reaction. “But I’ve seen stranger things. Haven’t you?”
Fair point. I’ve killed enough supernatural creatures to know the world is bigger and weirder than most people imagine.
We turn down a narrow alley, the sounds of the main street fading behind us. Here, the morning shadows are deeper, the air cooler. More intimate. I’m hyperaware of her presence beside me.
“What makes you trust them?” I ask.
“Because when someone needs help, they show up.” Her conviction is absolute. “No questions about bloodlines or clan politics or what you can offer in return. They just help.”
The concept is so foreign to my experience that I almost can’t process it. In my world, everything has a price. Every favor comes with strings attached. The idea of help without expectation…
“You don’t believe me,” she says, reading my expression.
“I want to.” The admission surprises us both. “But in my experience, everyone has an agenda.”
“Even me?”
I look at her. The earnest hope in her eyes, the way she’s letting me see her vulnerability despite knowing what I am. What I’ve done.
“I don’t know what your agenda is,” I say finally. “But I don’t think it involves getting me killed.”
Her smile is soft, dangerous in a completely different way than anything I’m trained to handle. “My agenda is saving my brother. Everything else is just… figuring it out as we go.”
We reach the guesthouse, and I automatically scan the street before following her inside. No sign that we’ve been compromised. But as we climb the stairs to our room, I’m thinking less about potential threats and more about the woman in front of me.
