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“A twenty-year-old American college student studying at the University of Vienna means you come from a wealthy family. You hold yourself as if you were born with the arrogance of money and no one telling you no. Probably an only child, am I right?”
Her expression pinched.
“Tell me I’m wrong.” I flicked my chin toward her ears. “Diamond earrings, which confirms the rich part but also tells me you have no clue of the real world outside your bubble. No one would wear those here unless they wanted them cut from their ears. People kill for a lot less in these parts.” I nodded at the room. “Look around. You think one of these people would hesitate to slice your throat so they could feed their family for a month?”
Her fingers went to her lobes, feeling the jewels, quickly taking them out and stuffing them in her pocket. Her cheeks pinked with embarrassment, like she hadn’t even thought about it.
“You haven’t lived life at all,” I chided. “You are nowhere near capable of beinghelpfulto me.”
“Why? Because I’m small andlookfragile?”
“This has nothing to do with you being tiny.” She was, but Birdie was similar in size. “I’ve seen women smaller than you fight beasts you can’t imagine and handle far more than any man.” I shook my head. “It’s experience.” I doubted she had trained one day in her life outside of yoga and Pilates. “I have lived thousands of lifetimes over your one. Seen and done things you can’t possibly imagine. And what I have to do, how far I need to go—there is no line I won’t cross.”
She didn’t blink, watching me closely.
“You will turn around the moment we can and return home.” I flopped back down, closing my eyes.
She stayed quiet so long that I thought the conversation was over, my argument finally penetrating her thick skull.
“I’m not an only child,” she replied, the backs of my lids fluttering. “I have a brother. And you don’t know anything about my life or the experiences I’ve had.” She shuffled back against a pile of hay. “Go ahead if it makes you feel better to think you’re doing the right, moral thing by sending me back by myself with trained Russian Mafia men hunting me down. They’ll murder me before I can cross the border.” She sighed.
“They probably won’tmurderyou.” I opened one eye.
“At first.” She pulled up her knees to her chest. “But I have a way of getting under people’s skin.”
“Don’t I know it,” I muttered, rubbing a hand over my face. “Get some sleep.”
I heard her moving, settling deeper into the straw. It didn’t take long until her breathing evened out, exhaustion taking over and pulling her under. While I lay there wide awake, a sick pit in my stomach.
If I forced her to return home, she might get caught. I didn’t know what those men wanted, but I knew Nikolay’s reputation well enough to know it wasn’t nice. Nor would it be quick. But if she stayed with me, it was certain death. I wouldn’t be able to focus on what I needed to do, and trying to keep her alive would probably get us both killed.
She had to return. My goal was the only thing important to me. She was tough and smart. She would get home on her own.
But would you be able to focus on your task? Wondering every moment what was happening to her?
With a groan, I flung my arm off my face and sat up. I needed something to dull my thoughts, take away the voices in my head.
“I need a drink.” I stood.
She could stay out of trouble for two minutes, couldn’t she? Sound asleep on a train, what could she do?
I should have never underestimated her.
The rickety rails rocked the train back and forth like a baby swing. Enough for the sober person to feel drunk and the drunk person to feel sober.
“What would you like?” The human woman bartender moved to me, a steady stream of passengers coming in from the lower-class cars to get refreshments. I couldn’t even afford the low-class ticket.
“Anything cheap and to the point,” I muttered, keeping my head low. Once, I brewed my own mead and gin at home. When I had a real home. One tucked half into a tree, with a garden and privacy. A tree fairy’s dream. It seemed so long ago.
Another Ash, before being a prisoner of Verhaza, tortured in the House of Blood. When he lost the two people who seemed to understand him, who had been through hell and back, finding peace.
The night Warwick carried in Brexley, laying her almost dead body on my table and demanding I heal her, I should have known everything afterward was set on a different course. Seeing how different he was with her, the connection already there… I could never blame her. She brought Kek and Lucas into my life, and to be honest, a part of me would always be in love with that girl, but there was a niggling section that resented her.
She was why I lost them too.
She and Warwick were my biggest reasons for leaving. I couldn’t look at either of them without feeling both shame and rage. Guilt because I loved them more than life, but that didn’t stop the irrational anger when they looked upon me with pity and concern.
They had each other. Mates.
