Hison takes a step closer. “You do understand me, don’t you?”
I furrow my brow further. Then my skin tingles. A second later, Aren steps into the living room. I let myself give in to the urge to stare at his shadows because it’s an excuse not to meet his eyes.
“That didn’t take long,” Hison says, sounding disappointed. “Were you successful?”
In my peripheral vision, I see Aren nod. “He led us to a home where three others were meeting. They’ll be taken to Corrist.” He turns to me. “We can go now, McKenzie.”
I should win an Oscar. I meet Aren’s eyes, and I smile. “Back to the suite or to Corrist?”
Maybe the smile is too much. His gaze drops to my lips, and his brow wrinkles slightly as he frowns. “Corrist, if that’s okay.”
“It’s great,” I tell him cheerily.
“Your shadow-witch isn’t as terrifying as the stories make her out to be,” Hison says.
Aren glances at the high noble. “That’s because she’s not your enemy. Lena will contact you if we learn anything from the fae.” He takes my arm, and I’m thankful for the protection the cloak offers against his touch. I can’t deal with any chaos lusters right now.
“I heard Thrain discovered her ten years ago,” Hison calls after us. “Is that true?”
Aren tenses. He turns his head to the side but doesn’t quite look over his shoulder. “I’ve heard that as well.” He reaches for the doorknob.
“It’s a shame Atroth stole her from you,” Hison adds.
Aren looks down at me. My face is expressionless when I meet his eyes, and that’s all he needs to know that I know.
“I didn’t know her then,” he says, then he opens the door.
“CAN we talk about this?” Aren asks, keeping pace by my side. That pisses me off even more than I already was because I’m walking as quickly as I can. If he were human, he wouldn’t be anywhere near me. I don’t want him near me right now.
“I didn’t know you then,” he says, when I don’t respond. “I swear I never saw you. I broke ties with Thrain about the same time he took you.”
“So you claim.” I stuff Naito’s sketchbook into one of the big pockets on the inside of my cloak. The snow is beginning to fall faster, but I’m too angry to feel the bite of the air.
“I’ve never lied to you, McKenzie,” Aren says. “Never.”
“And I’m supposed to take your word on that?” I stop at the end of our narrow, curvy passageway and peer both ways down the main street. Two cloaked fae look our way. They’re breaking curfew. Technically, so are we. I bury my hands in the pockets of my cloak, trying to preserve what little warmth they have left.
“The gate is to the left,” Aren says.
The two fae watch as I turn that way. I return their stares and, surprisingly, they drop their gazes. Even with the occasional edarratae flashing across my face, I don’t think I’m very intimidating. Most likely, Aren’s glaring at them over my shoulder. He’s just behind and slightly to the right of me, walking through the night fully armored in jaedric. His sword, sheathed at his left hip, is easily accessible. He could kill both men before they throw aside their cloaks to get access to their weapons.
“That’s the shadow-witch?” the shorter of the two fae asks. The other doesn’t respond; he just backs away. Which is ridiculous, considering I’m on the opposite side of the street from them.
I just shake my head and keep walking. I try not to think, because when I do, I either flash back to ten years ago or think about the fae—the fae I barely know—who’s trailing me. Aren was Thrain’s protégé. It’s so hard to believe, and not just because my heart breaks a little when I think about the connection. Anyone who was associated with Thrain should be mentally unstable. They should go from calm to irate in two seconds flat. They should issue threats, dole out punishments with their fists, and be abusive both mentally and physically and…
The scar on the side of my neck throbs, and I freeze. It’s the remains of a horrible moment, when Aren and I were still on opposite sides of the war, when he threatened me…Maybe Aren is like Thrain. Maybe I’ve just been too blind to see it.
“I’m not a mistake, McKenzie,” he says softly, stopping beside me. His voice is soothing, reassuring. My chest tightens, and a warm, tingling sensation rushes through me. That scares me. I’ve told myself to take this relationship slowly, but my heart refuses to listen. I’m growing too attached to him too quickly. I shouldn’t be on the brink of falling in love with someone I know so little about. I shouldn’t want to believe every word he says. That’s what happened with Kyol. I loved him so blindly and so completely, I put my life on hold. I never questioned anything he told me, and I regret that so much.
I swallow down a lump in my throat. “You should have told me about him.”
“When?” Aren asks, and for the first time, impatience creeps into his voice. “Including today, I’ve seen you four times since we took the palace, McKenzie. Four.”
“That’s not my fault.” I start walking again, but he grabs my arm.
“You’re not being fair,” he says.
“Of course I’m not,” I yell, turning toward him. “You’re as bad as Kyol was about not telling me the complete truth.”
His nostrils flare. The comparison hurts. I’m almost sorry I made it—almost—but I’m sick of people withholding information.
I meet his gaze. “Anything else you want to confess?”
That gets under his skin. The silver in his eyes seems to sharpen, and he takes a step forward, pressing his body against mine so that I have to move back.
“The complete truth, McKenzie, is I’d do anything for you, but you ask for nothing. You won’t confide in me. You won’t rely on me. You’re so preoccupied trying to decide if you can trust your feelings that you won’t consider giving in to them.”
I back against a stucco wall. He’s breathing hard. So am I, and I have to admit it’s not only because I’m hurt and angry. There’s some truth to his words. I don’t trust my feelings for him, but there’s good reason for that. Learning about his connection to Thrain proves it.
I put my hands on his chest to push him away. He doesn’t budge. Instead, his grip on my arm tightens.
“Let go, Aren.”
He shakes his head. His eyes are narrowed.
“Seriously, let go.” I twist this time, trying to slip free, but his arms go around me, pulling me more tightly against him.
“Aren—”
“Shh,” he says. Then, when I keep struggling, he looks down at me. “You can be angry, McKenzie, but don’t be careless. Listen.”
I don’t allow myself to relax in his arms, but his hearing is better than mine, so I turn my head to the side and listen. At first, all I hear is his heartbeat. It’s a steady, almost hypnotic thumpthump. Thumpthump. But then I hear something else. A raised voice. A shout. A crash. It’s all coming from the direction we’re heading.
“I thought there was a curfew,” I say.
“There is,” he answers. “Stay close.”
I don’t protest when he places a hand on my back, just next to the dagger he gave me, and urges me forward. Rightly or wrongly, I trust Aren with my life. Even when we were enemies, he took care of me; my gut tells me he’ll take care of me now. I might be disturbed by his origins, his past, but that’s something I have to deal with later. Right now, I need to deal with what’s going on here.
The shouts and noises grow louder as the snow under our feet turns from a soft, white blanket to a wet, dark mush. People have been through here recently. Lots of people. At the end of our alley, an orb-topped lamppost turns the stucco walls a brighter shade of blue. We stop at the corner and peer out at the scene.