Page 10 of The Silversmith

“Why do I need protection?” I glared at Gemma.

She didn’t answer, only winced and turned to the others. Vexed, I furrowed my brow and crossed my arms over my chest, careful to avoid brushing against my wound. What else had she forgotten to tell me?

Apprehension weighed heavy on me. My mysterious savior stood by the fireplace, jacket removed, illuminated by the cabin’s dim light. He stood with his arms crossed, at least a full head and shoulders taller than me. Huge. His expression was cold, grumpy, and the muscles of his jaw were flexed. He looked… brutal.

His teeth were pressed together behind his lips. His hair—tied back partially with a black leather strap—was dark brown, and his matching beard was thick, well-kempt. Wild, yet reserved. He wore all black, shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, top button undone. Both forearms were covered in tattoos, uniform tally marks that spiraled up, around, and into his sleeves. His muscles were clenched so tight that the veins in his thick, corded forearms were visible.

Yet, despite the tension in his body, those warm, hickory eyes glowed like honey.

He was so savagely beautiful and exhilaratingly terrifying that I had to remind myself to breathe.

When my breath caught in my throat, he noticed. His stern expression turned tortured, and his dark eyebrows drew together.

He silently observed while the other three exchanged small talk about their journey, drinks, supper, and the weather. The tension that pooled off of him should have irked me. Instead, the power of his stare was so rigid and gravitating that I couldn’t help but feel it centered me, for better or for worse.

“I was told there would be three, not four.” Gemma’s voice was unnaturally high-pitched in the way it was when she was stressed. She brought a tray of hot tea, coffee, and mugs to the sofa. “I expected the Sinclair brothers and Ezra. That is what Simeon, Elowen, and the Wintertons agreed to. Three. No more, no less.” She scowled at my wolf slayer in the corner of the room. “So who are you?” Something I, too, was quite interested to know. But I was stubborn enough to keep my glare trained on Gemma.

“That’s Smyth. Simeon’s orders, last minute,” retorted Caz, then nodded at me. “I bet our girl here’s glad he tagged along.”

My cheeks flooded with heat. Words—all of them—were trapped in my throat. My pleading eyes sought out Gemma, desperate for aid. I should have been more than nervous. I should have been angry…

But there were six total people in my home, including Gemma and this… Smyth. More presence, more life, than I could ever remember inside these walls. Against my better judgment, despite my nerves and inability to speak, I felt reluctant to wish away the sudden and welcome warmth of company.

Loneliness had made me irrational.

“Not your girl, you creep.” Ezra flashed his bright-blue eyes at Caz, his voice an uncomfortable groan.

“Oh, don’t act like you didn’t spend the entire last week talking about anything but meeting her, Ez.” Caz took a casual sip of his coffee and lifted an eyebrow at Ezra.

“Yeah, but she’s my—” Ezra stopped himself, glaring at Caz before turning to me. He bore an uncanny resemblance to Oliver, both with his sandy-blond hair and dimples. And those deep-blue eyes… those were Phillip and Oliver’s eyes. “You’re my cousin.” His awkwardness—though it did little to help my nerves—was endearing. At least I wasn’t the only anxious one. “By marriage, anyway. My mom was Phillip’s older sister,” he rushed out.

“What?” I sucked in a ragged breath. I didn’t know Phillip had a sister, or any extended family now that I thought about it. “Gemma?”

“Ezra,” Gemma spoke slowly, like she feared I was having a hard time understanding. She rested her long fingers on Ezra’s forearm. “He’s your cousin, Ary. He’s family.”

“I had a family.”

The words threw themselves loose from my lips like rogue blades. And I hated myself for saying it.

Finn and Caz both crossed their hands in their laps and pursed their lips, waiting patiently for someone else to fill the silent space.

Ezra sighed. I expected anger, but his eyes were rich with empathy, and I hoped he wouldn’t hold it against me.

I stole a glance at the man I now knew to be called Smyth and saw he had trained his unreadable eyes on the ground, muscles flexing in his jaw.

“I’m sorry,” I sighed, forcing my attention back to Ezra. “I’m sorry, that was uncalled for.”

Ezra waved it away and shrugged. “You’ve been through a lot.” He looked at me, then at the others, then chuckled. “If it was dropped on me that I was destined to save the world, I’d be a bit miffed too.”

Gemma rubbed her eyes and sighed, cringing.

“What?” I choked. I was still very angry with her, but that anger didn’t rival the pit of nausea burrowing deep inside me.

“You haven’t told her?” Finn nearly shouted, his expression a mix of stress and mirth. “Well, shit.”

“This should be fun.” Caz leaned back in his seat and folded a pair of toned arms behind his head. His hazel eyes twinkled beneath a few strands of black hair—far messier than his brother’s.

“I was getting around to it,” Gemma grumbled, scowling at them both. “Elowen didn’t exactly leave me with a trusting Ary. I just told her Simeon’s her real father, and she needed time to process.” She wrung her hands together before throwing them in the air. “Such a gods-damned mess!”