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“Youdolike my sarcasm,” she crows good-naturedly, sliding her fingers from my hand to the crook of my elbow. “Is it true, then?”
“What? About my father? Definitely.”
Her levity fades. “Was he at least good to you if not those around him?”
“Fuck no. There was not a decent bone in the man’s body.”
“I’m sorry, Luka.”
“Don’t feel sorry for me. I learned to adapt. It was my mother who suffered most.”
She goes quiet after that and I suddenly regret the serious turn in our conversation. Repressing a sigh, I reassure her by covering the hand that’s in the crook of my arm. Her fingers are slightly chilled so I leave my hand there.
“I remember my father as a kind man,” she says hesitantly after a time. “But most of my memories are second-hand because I was so young when he was taken from us.”
The sadness in her tone almost has me wanting to pull her into my arms, or at least to say something comforting, but my mind can’t come up with a single thing. I’m relieved when she finally keeps talking.
“My parents were very much in love.” She stops walking and her stalled momentum brings me around to face her. “I can’t imagine how my father’s being violent would have changed the entire foundation of my life.”
I make an attempt to do just that. Imagine how my life would have been different if my sire had been loving instead of abusive, or even rational instead of mad . . . and I can’t do it. The whole idea is outlandish. My memories of him only involve fear and loathing.
I’m startled as she presses a warm palm to my jaw. “At least he didn’t succeed.”
“Huh?” I’m so disconcerted by her touch that I can’t follow her meaning. “Succeed at what?”
She strokes my beard and my knees weaken. Her tenderness is almost more than I can bear. “Turning you into a man like him, without a decent bone in his body.”
I blink, then disbelief rumbles its way out of me in the form of a guffaw. “You of all people should know that’s not true.” I take hold of her wrist and slowly pull her hand away to put a stop to the dizzying pleasure.
“Luka, I’ve known true malice and you don’t even come close.” The compliment has my gut quivering with even more pleasure.
“Yes,” I say wryly, not wanting her to notice how she affects me. “I’m as pleasant as a summer stream.”
She giggles some more and says something about me being as sarcastic as she is, but then a soft sound of pain draws my attention to her now more obvious lopsided gait. Shit. I let out a shrill whistle and Nightshade raises his head from where he’s grazing on what’s left of the summer’s grass. Sure enough, Glory has joined him, and with Venna gone, she dutifully follows when he makes his way toward us.
“You need to rest,” I tell Rina.
She balks at the idea. “No, I’m fine.”
“Rina –”
“I’mnotgoing back.”
At her unyielding tone, my brows lift. “Ever?”
The mulish jut of her chin doesn’t abate.
“All right,” I concede. “We won’t make it to the lake, but –”
“We’ll make it to the lake fine.”
“Would you let me finish?! We won’t make it to the lake, but we don’t have to go back to the stronghold yet. Will you ride with me on Nightshade or –”
“No,” she says obstinately, reaching for Glory’s reins. “If you help me up, I’ll be fine.”
“She’ll be fine,” I mutter. The woman is truly impossible. Her pride is prickly enough to rival a bramble patch. If I get any closer, I’ll surely die of a thousand tiny cuts.
She lifts a foot like I’m supposed to lace my fingers together and boost her up. I shake my head with exasperation. I’d wager the resulting strain on her thigh would turn that slight sheen of sweat on her brow into actual droplets. Putting my hands around her waist, I simply lift her onto the horse’s back.
