Page 15 of Savage Devotion
Now she goes perfectly still, and I seethe posture of someone calculating kill ratios and escape routes.
"Where did you hear that name?"
"Your prisoner talks freely under proper motivation."
"Darian," she calls without taking her eyes off me. "Are you intact?"
"Mostly," comes the weak reply.
"Good. We're leaving."
She takes a step forward.
Too close for weapons. Perfect range for grappling.
"I think not."
"I think you'll reconsider."
Her voice drops to the tone commanders use before ordering executions. Soft. Final. Absolutely certain.
"One smuggler isn't worth starting a war between our forces."
"No," I agree. "But arming our enemies might be."
For the first time, genuine emotion crosses her face. Not guilt—surprise. As if the possibility of consequences hadn't occurred to her.
"You don't understand the situation."
"Explain it."
"The Bloodfang Clan has something that belongs to me. Getting it back requires certain... negotiations."
"What kind of negotiations require poisoned crossbow bolts?"
"The effective kind."
Her honesty catches me off-guard. Most humans try to elaborate justifications for treachery. She simply admits to planning violence as if it were a reasonable business decision.
Which makes her more dangerous, not less.
"And if those weapons kill Ironspine warriors?"
"Then they should have stayed out of Bloodfang territory."
The cold calculation in her voice ignites something savage in me. This is the woman who tended my wounds with gentle precision. Who refused payment and offered aid without conditions.
All while planning to arm my enemies.
"You bandaged my injuries."
"Yes."
"Knowing you intended to supply weapons to orcs who might kill me later."
She meets my stare without flinching. "Yes."
At least she doesn't lie about it.
