Page 22 of Rook
His jaw flexed, a muscle jumping beneath his skin. "My fire cannot harm you," he said. "You are immune."
A beat passed, heavy as wet canvas. She flinched at the words, amazed and confused and scared down to her toes.
Her voice, when it came, was barely above a whisper. "Immune? Why?"
He stared at the dashboard like it had personally offended him. "It's … rare."
Great. Fan-freaking-tastic. "Rare how? Like, lucky-me rare, or you're-about-to-sacrifice-me-in-a-dragon-ritual rare?"
A faint tremor ran through him, anger or pain or maybe something worse. He didn't answer, just pressed his hand to the dashboard. Smoke curled from his skin, briefly lighting the van's interior. The smell of burning plastic made her nose wrinkle.
Her left butt cheek had gone numb from sitting tense for so long. "You're not allowed to keep secrets if we're about to die, you know."
Rook's gaze finally landed on her, all hungry intensity and simmering heat. For one dangerous second, she wished he'd just say whatever it was, no matter how impossible. Even the crazy truth was better than the silence gnawing at her nerves.
She took the next corner sharper than she should, barely missing an old mailbox. "Don't you dare throw one of those fireballs in here," she said, aiming for cool but landing on desperate. "This thing's duct tape can handle a lot, but not alien pyrotechnics."
A ghost of a smile flickered on Rook's lips, the tension in him easing by a hair.
"No fire," he agreed.
Back to business. The box truck ahead swerved hard, its rear door bucking open an inch. It was just enough for Sasha to see two wide, terrified eyes peeking out before a rough hand yanked them back.
She almost choked. "People. They're still alive." Her mind raced through an inventory of her van's contents. Road flares. First aid kit. A heavy Maglite with batteries that might be dead. Nothing that would help against space dragons.
She pressed the gas, the van roaring its complaint. "Hang on," she barked to Rook, her fingers slick with sweat as she yanked the wheel around another curve.
Action soothed her terror, gave her something to do besides feel every splinter in her soul. She focused on the road, the hunter, not the hunted. The headlights bounced, slicing through deep green and black, and she gritted her teeth, repeating silent pep talks with every slam of the suspension.
This wasn't supposed to be her life. She was the one who showed tourists how not to die when a bear got curious. Not alien slavers. Not dragon fire. Not this.
You're not running, you're fighting. Keep the wheel between you and the monsters.
A dry laugh threatened to escape. She swallowed it, jaw clenched.
"If we survive this," she said, "and you still insist on dodging basic questions, I'm leaving you in the woods with the next group of Instagram hikers. The ones who wear flip-flops on ten-mile hikes."
Beside her, Rook shifted, the van's door creaking under his bulk. He looked at her like she was the only thing not currently on fire. "I will explain," he said finally, the words like torn fabric, "later."
"Convenient," she snapped. "You save my life, they torch my ex like a piece of kindling, and now we're chasing bad guys in my rolling trash heap. And you still get to keep secrets?"
Rook's fingers hovered above hers on the gearshift. His heat soaked through, dangerously intimate. She needed to pee. Of all the stupid times for her bladder to chime in.
"Trust me," he said, softer now. "Please."
She almost shattered at that. All her walls, painfully built and loved and battered, wanted to tumble down. His plea took her by surprise. She didn't know what to do with it.
The van bounced over a pothole, nearly launching them through the roof. Sasha cursed, feeling a sharp pain shoot up her spine where she'd already bruised it during the fight back at camp.
"Don't die now, baby. If the aliens and the cops don't get us, your transmission might."
Another swerving flash of taillights caught her eye. The box truck was picking up speed, trying to shake them on the twisting descent toward the old service road. Sasha's gut coiled with dread. If they disappeared onto the fire road, she'd lose their trail. No, not happening.
She punched the gas and slammed into a lower gear, the familiar whine of overtaxed mechanics grinding beneath her. The van shuddered, threatened to give out, but she bullied it forward, bumping hard over a rut, her heart thundering so fiercely she felt dizzy.
A tremor worked through her as she mustered every scrap of courage she'd ever claimed. She risked a glance at Rook. His face looked all cut angles and shadow in the low light. He was battered, maybe even bleeding, but still a force of will. She could feel him watching her, measuring, weighing, wanting to speak.
Or wanting to bolt.
