Page 107 of Flames and Blood

Now she’s back, and the arrangement stands. The man is on the road, and he’ll be here inside four days.

Fuck.

I sit there, and I don’t move for a while.

I’m not angry with her. It would be easier if I were. I’ve seen a lot of men make themselves feel better that way.

I’m a man who has just found out he’s stupid.

Because I care.

You’re a fool, Crowe.

I never once admitted it to myself. In the truck, in that cabin, last night with her against my chest—I never let myself think about it. But my work finished yesterday, and I’d be out of here if I went to the mother and gave her my price. I haven’t. Because I don’t want to let go of her. And she was never mine to begin with.

She didn’t tell you.

That’s the hard part. She had the whole road. She had a cabin. She had the climb up the mountain, a narrow bed, every hour of last night. She asked me what I do when a job ends. She let me answer. She said nothing.

And I’ve got it now from two strangers carrying something.

All right.

I get up.

I’ve done this a hundred times, and it goes the same whether the job ended well or badly.

You close it, and you go.

The pack’s already buckled. I go through it anyway, because that’s my routine. Two shirts, one of them ruined. The notebook. The pen. Three passports in three names, a driver’s license, and a folder of border cards. Money in two places. The blade I didn’t need on this job and carried anyway.

I take the coat off the back of the chair. If I go now, I’ll be down the mountain before dawn. I don’t plan to go to the Aldrake with a price. I’ll write to her and tell her the debt’s settled. It’ll annoy her, but she won’t be able to do anything about it. I grin without realizing it.

From the yard it’s two nights of driving to a town with a road out of it. I’ll put a call to the Court when I reach civilization. Faine wants to shout at me, and she’s owed it. After that, life goes back to normal.

I set the pack by the door.

Then I stand there with my hand still on it, because one thing doesn’t fit.

Somebody in this house put her in a blood trafficking ring and made it look like she’d died. They went to great lengths to do it. What stops them from trying again now that she’s back?

I could go up those stairs right now and tell her that I’m worried about this.

With what, Crowe?

I have nothing. Suspicion. A bad feeling. And she’s never alone up there—every hour of her day has council in it, or household, or family; there’s always someone listening. And if I share my suspicion that someone in the clan is a traitor, I’d be down the mountain by morning, and she’d be up here alone with him.

The pack is by the door. I sit back in the chair. And as hard as I think about it, I can’t come up with a workable solution.

It’s late when the door goes. Two knocks, quick, and it opens before I’ve crossed the room.

“Gideon.” Breathless. The way she says my name would melt my heart if I had one. She’s got her hair pinned up and something formal on, dark, with the collar high. Her features are drawn, and I get the feeling she’s been under scrutiny all day.

She’s got a jug in one hand, and she holds it up.

“They promised this was done properly,” she says, “so if this is bad you can take it up with me personally.”

“It’ll be fine.”