Total pages in book: 204
Estimated words: 193124 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 966(@200wpm)___ 772(@250wpm)___ 644(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 193124 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 966(@200wpm)___ 772(@250wpm)___ 644(@300wpm)
“Where did you go,” he says roughly.
I’m so caught up in my head, there’s a delay as I realize he’s spoken to me. It’s only as he looks around his shoulder with expectation that my mind decodes his words.
“Ronl came. He said Lena needed to see me. I had to go.”
Merc opens his mouth. Closes it. Looks back down at his pack. As the tension in his strung-bow body gradually eases, I resolve not to be impressed, one way or another, with the fact that my explanation has placated him.
What does it matter.
Turning to me, he levels his black and white stare. “Is she all right?’
“Yes.” I cross my arms and feel the bandage that the woman wound around my injury. “She is.”
I would mention what she did for me, but it’s best to start the separation now.
“Sorrel, listen to me, you shouldn’t go out alone here—”
“Sooner or later, I have to take care of myself. Whether it’s now or when you leave after this incessant rain stops, you’re not going to be looking after me forever.”
There’s a long pause. “It’s not that simple anymore.”
“Yes, it is.”
“No, it’s not.” Merc shakes his head and snatches his pack off the table. “And you’re going to regret this. Soon or later, you’re going to need me in this town, but it’s going to be too late.”
The truth of the statement makes me more angry because I do need him. Just not in the way he’s thinking.
Maybe this is a sign.
I point to the door. “Go forward, Merc. Take your own advice—and don’t lay upon me any lingering on your part. You’re less important to my destiny than you think.”
There’s another tense pause. “Fair enough. Fare thee well.”
And that’s where and how it ends. Merc just walks out, and there’s no slamming of the door, either.
Left to my own, I start to shake, so I go back to pacing, thinking of more things I should have said, want to say—none of which are conciliatory, all of which revisit me kicking him out. But then I move beyond myself.
I can’t get the maid out of my mind. And even if I have to let Merc go eventually, I can’t do the same to her.
I need him one last time.
With a curse, I march back over to the exit and yank open the door, prepared to hunt for him—
Merc is standing right outside, his pack on the floor at his feet, his body leaning against the gray wall. If his brows were down any lower, his belly button would be glaring, and as he turns his head and stares over at me, I don’t know what I’m feeling.
No, that’s a lie. I don’t like anything that I’m feeling.
“You don’t have to wait for the latch anymore,” I mutter.
“Habits die hard.”
As he bends over and picks up his pack, I can see down the corridor—and at the head of the stairs, the woman with the red bed has stepped out of her room. She’s wearing a low-cut, black silken robe that reminds me of the color of Merc’s eye, and it brings out her long, pale hair. Her lean against the doorjamb is an invitation if I’ve ever seen one, and her attributes are as obvious as mine feel invisible.
She’s turned toward Merc—to us, now—and she’s clearly prepared to catch him on his way out.
“You’re right,” I say.
My words stop him as he starts to walk away, and I find myself staring the other woman down—even as I remind myself I have no right to any of the aggression I’m feeling toward her. Too bad that logic is utterly irrelevant as I remember him coming out of her room.
Opening my own door wider, I step to the side. Merc narrows his eyes on me.
“What,” he demands.
Swallowing my pride, I say in a low voice, “I need your help.”
“What’s changed. In the last three moments since you kicked me out.”
There are so many ways to answer that, many of which are anger-based and will only drive him away, the rest of which I don’t want to say out here.
“I’ve decided…” I clear my throat. “As much as it pains me, I have to be honest about my limitations.”
His brows lift, and I expect him to gloat. Instead, he just nods once. “Fair enough.”
Merc’s big body moves by me, and I look down the hall.
The working woman smiles slowly and then inclines her head, as if she’s deferring to me and the claim I’ve staked. I wait until she’s disappeared back into her room.
Before I turn away and go into mine.
Fifty-Two
The Awakening.
As I close the door and lean back against it, I remind myself of how far Merc and I have traveled and all the things we’ve battled and bested by working together. These memories fight for the forefront of my mind against the image of that pale-haired woman in her messy bed—but neither the things Merc and I have shared nor what he did with her matters.