Her hair is a curly nest on top of her head, tangled and still streaked with saltwater from the boat ride. Her arms are folded tightly across her body, the bruise on her cheek stark against her pale skin.
Even now, battered and cold, she’s still the most stunning thing I’ve ever seen.
Morte mea.
I’ve called her that since the first time I saw her.
My death.
Because that’s what she is.
I’ve always known she’d ruin me, and yet here I am, moving mountains to keep her alive and safe.
The pet name usually draws a look of irritation across her features.
Except in those moments when she’s in that floaty headspace after being properly used like the good little slut she is.
She definitely likesthatpet name, especially when I have her on those pretty little knees for me.
I readjust myself in my pants.
Shaking off the thought, I turn my attention back to the task at hand. The fire in the hearth is barely holding on, flickering weakly against the encroaching cold, and I still need to check the solar inverter before the last of the daylight disappears.
Outside, the wind howls through the trees, rattling against the windows like it’s trying to claw its way inside, a stark contrast to the heavy silence stretching between us. I steel myself against the chill.
Kruz isn’t looking at me. Her gaze is locked somewhere beyond the window, but I know her well enough to recognize the storm brewing beneath the surface. There are a thousand thoughts running through her mind, tangled and sharp-edged, and I doubt any of them are good.
Finally, she speaks, her voice raw from whatever’s been building up inside her. Frustration. Exhaustion. Maybe even fear, though she’d never admit it.
She doesn’t look away. Her gaze is unrelenting, despite the exhaustion pressing into her limbs. And then, just as I knew she would, she asks the question I’ve been dreading.
"Why did those men kidnap me?"
Her voice is steady, but there’s an edge to it—a challenge, a demand. Like she’s daring me to lie. Daring me to give her some half-assed answer and see what happens.
I exhale slowly, dragging a hand down my face.
"They were just trying to do their job, though they did an absolutely shitty job at it."
She stiffens, her fingers tightening around the blanket like it’s the only thing keeping her anchored.
Her glare intensifies. "That’s not an answer."
I should’ve known she wouldn’t let me off that easily.
I lean back against the wall, arms crossed, stalling. There’s no version of this conversation that ends well, no way to explain without making myself look worse than I already do.
"They wanted leverage. A bargaining chip."
She lets out a short, humorless laugh. "Leverage for what? What could possibly be so important that they needed me for it?"
"It’s complicated."
That earns me another scoff. "Of course it is." She shakes her head, as if she already expected that answer, already bracing herself for the vague, useless half-truths I’m so good at giving.
“I’ve told you, it wasn’t you they meant to grab. This is all just some lucky coincidence.” As I say the words out loud, I realize they’re true and not the smart assed way I meant them to sound. Idofeel lucky to have her here.
And then she looks at me again, eyes narrowing, cutting straight through the silence between us. "Why were you trying to kidnapanyone?"
