Page 4 of Secrets of the Six

An orange flame ignites, illuminating a man dressed in black with a matching black sackcloth mask. His hooded cape shrouds most of his body from me. He sparks a small lamp to life inside the cabin.

"Who the hell are you?"

"Personally, I would have led with thank you for saving my life," he lights his cigarette and inhales deeply. "But I suppose that's where we differ, Señorita de la Vega."

"Saved my life?" My mind spins, fighting to put the puzzle pieces together. "What do you mean by that? How do you know my name?"

He sighs, as if I bore him by existing. "Yet still, no thank you. If it weren’t for me, your head would be on the ground."

"Forgive me," I crinkle my nose, curling my fingers around the hilt of my dagger. "I was far more concerned with the masked man appearing out of thin air than contemplating my unexpected release."

"I would have gathered you from the prison, but I value my privacy. Wagging tongues of prison guards is the last thing we need."

"We?" I spit. "There is no we. I don't even know who you are – "

"I already explained it to you," he interrupts, exhaling smoke my direction. "I'm the man who saved your life, even if you don't care."

Seeing we're making zero progress, I roll my eyes and succumb. "Thank you, Señor…?"

"You may call me Salvador."

Savior. I snort. "How very dramatic of you. Is that even your real name?"

His hand suddenly flies to grab my throat, but I parry his attack, jerking out of reach. When I glance up, I see him nod in approval.

"Quick reflexes,” he muses in what could be mistaken as a delighted voice. “Effective defensive maneuvers. Calm and collected under pressure."

Is he appraising me?

I steel my features, doing my best to appear unfazed. I pray it’s dark enough that he can’t see my eye twitch. "When you're done with your weird assessment, will you tell me where you're taking me?"

He shakes his head. "No."

"So, should I start guessing?"

"No."

"And the mystery intensifies."

"I would curb the sarcasm if I were you." His warning falls on deaf ears.

Clicking my tongue, I shrug and say, "Afraid I can't do that. Sarcasm runs in my blood."

He flicks his rapier from the darkness and presses the tip against my neck. I grimace as a hint of warmth spreads, a trickle of blood sliding down my skin like a falling tear. He smirks, and though I can't make out his face behind the mask, I can see how deadly his eyes are, and it sends a shiver down my spine. "And she shows no fear in the face of death. Impressive. I know powerful men who would beg for their lives." He cocks his head to the side. "Would you care to try it?"

Even with the weapon pressed to my neck, I can’t help myself from egging him on. Something about his haughty attitude brings out a fire in my core. "You should ask the warden about my thoughts on begging," I say, my tone even. Thank the Saints.

His shoulders tighten. "Did he harm you?"

"Does the phantom suddenly care for the little thief?"

His brow furrows. "Did. He. Harm. You?" There’s no disguising the menace in his tone. It’s a voice that begs lesser men to fall to their knees.

"No," I lie. Upon my arrival, the warden greeted me in my cell with his cock in hand promising extra rations of food and a warm blanket. When I laughed, two guards pinned me against the wall, and he gave me a beating that took a month to heal.

"So, the idea of begging for your life —"

"Begging is beneath me," I interrupt, wondering when he’s going to realize who truly has the upper hand here. "Especially when you pose me no true threat."