Page 67 of Aryn

“You are psychotic,” I stress, hiding my smile to keep from encouraging him. “Has anyone ever told you that?”

“Plenty of people,” he says gleefully. “And I’ve never denied it, darlin’.”

I breathe a laugh despite myself, then gesture at his bloody coat. “Are you good? Did they break the skin?”

He glances down, examining his arm and peeling back the ripped layers of hide. “Just a few scratches. Are you about to tell me those ugly fuckers carry some sort of weird deadly shit on their claws and I have minutes to live?”

“Ah, lucky for you, they aren’t venomous. You’ll live to fight another day.”

The three draxyss lie dead around us, blood staining the snow yellow and crimson. He glances down at them, then studies the stream bank. “Bastards are faster than they look. Think there are any more?”

“No. We would’ve already seen them if so. They’re too aggressive to hide from a fight.”

“Yeah, well, relatable,” Cato says, wiping his machete on the snow. Once he’s done, he stands and looks at me, something unreadable in his eyes. “Do you still think it was smart to come out here alone?”

“Maybe not… entirely.”

He huffs an abrupt laugh and shakes his head. “Yeah. Thought so. Next time you need to go on a side quest, come get me.”

“Why?” I demand.

“Why?” he repeats as he steps closer, getting so near I have to tilt my chin up to hold his eyes. A gloved hand reaches up to tuck my hair behind my ear before his thumb swipes over my chin, gaze falling to my lips. “Because I’ve got your back, Aryn.”

“I guess we’re even now,” I say with more bravado than I feel, and his eyes lift to mine in question. “I saved your life and now you’ve saved mine.”

“Are we keeping score?”

I hum quietly. “You seem to enjoy it.”

Another smile tugs at his lips, and now I’m the one staring. “Yeah,” he agrees, swiping his thumb over my chin one last time. “I do.”

His hand falls away, and I stop my tail from lashing out to keep him close. Allowing Cato to touch me is more reckless than coming out here to hunt alone, and I’m not helping either of us by encouraging it.

“Just don’t go looking for danger so you can come out on top,” I say.

He chuckles and winks again. “I can’t promise that.”

I try to hide my grin as we walk back toward the farmhouse. After a while, he breaks the silence. “My parents worked for the military, you know.”

I pause, glancing over at him. “That surprises me.”

“Yeah,” he agrees with a bitter laugh. “Surprises most people that know me. They were good parents, and good to others, as far as I can remember. Did contract work in weapon development.” He nods at the machete in his hand. “Dad was the best metalsmith in the world, or so he claimed.”

“You got his modesty, I see,” I tease, thrilled as another grin tugs at his lips. “Is that one of his blades?”

He nods, fingers tightening around the hilt. “Twenty years later, and it’s just as strong as the day it was forged.”

We pause at the quiver of a branch nearby, but it’s only snow sliding to the ground. “You lived in Atlanta?” I ask as we continue.

“We did. There was a community on the outskirts of the military sectors where a lot of the human contractors lived. It was gated and guarded to keep us safe, and backed up to a massive forge where Dad’s crew worked. Mom managed the employees and the upkeep of the place. Made it so Dad only had to focus on his work. They spent a lot of hours there, so my brother Gideon and I had a caretaker who looked after us. Irick was a Ramves male who had been with us as long as I can remember… since we were kids. I trusted him. Considered him family.”

Cato isn’t looking at me as he talks, but there seems to be a point behind his story, so I don’t interrupt. “One day, my mother was working late in the office when some bigshots came by to discuss weapons shipments. They didn’t know she was there, and mentioned some top-secret mission. She interrupted them as soon as she realized she wasn’t supposed to hear it. She did the right thing.”

Personal experience tells me the story doesn’t have a happy ending, and my stomach bottoms out as I wait for him to continue. “I’m not even sure she told my dad,” he says after a long stretch of silence.

“It probably wouldn’t have mattered if she did,” I offer gently.

He meets my eyes for a moment and gives me a fleeting smile. “Yeah. Probably not. Twenty years. She’d been working for them for twenty fucking years without so much as a mark against her name, but that all disappeared the moment they realized she’d heard something she shouldn’t have. There was no loyalty.”