Her hand rubs over my head, back and forth, back and forth. Maybe she can’t help but touch me like I can’t stay away fromher. This is like some Deeper Magic, like in Narnia. Except instead of that power being etched into a Stone Table, she’s carved some spell, some curse into my skin, bone… soul.
I’ve been alone for so long, it feels somehow wrong to allow this… intimacy. But there’s this tiny deprived part of me that longs for this. Though I’ve never experienced it, that same part recognizes it and hungers for it.
“We’re all fucked up in our own way and out here doing the best we can to cope. To make it in this goddamn zoo we call a world,” I say, words muffled by her throat.
“What’s your coping mechanism?”
I pause, my heartbeat a thunderous echo in my head, against her back. “You already know.”
She softly chuckles, but it’s not amused. More self-deprecating. “Your books. Movies. Apples. They’re your comfort and connection.”
I lift my head and stare at the window covered by the blackout curtains. How does she…? Shit, you’d think I would’ve stopped asking that pointless question days ago. But her damn uncannyinsightinto me when I’ve made a career of being invisible is at the very least uncomfortable, at the most dangerous.
No one knows me… I made sure no one could possibly know my identity, my secrets. I buried that shit so deep, an archeological dig would come up with only dirt and stones. And now, in this moment, I’m grateful to be sitting behind her in the dark. It doesn’t erase this crawling, vulnerable sensation of being so terribly exposed, but Eshe can’t see my weakness.
And thank fuck, neither can I.
“Why didn’t you kill me?” To my own ears, my voice sounds as if it’s traveled over miles and miles of unpaved, pockmarked road, and there’s nothing I can do about it.
Nothing I can do about the desperation, the need I can’t hide.
Eshe turns, twisting her body fully toward me, so even the shadows are no longer my barrier. I’ve never had an issue copping the flat, blank mask that camouflages my thoughts and nonexistentemotions. It’s the face of the assassin that has become more than a persona for me over the years. It’s who I am. But looking into her jeweled eyes…
There’s desolation.
Longing.
Need.
Grief.
Everything that claws at my chest, attempting to gnaw its way free. A glimpse into her eyes is like staring into my own damned soul, and it’s as liberating as it is terrifying.
Her long, elegant fingers lift and feather over my jaw, trail down my throat, and sweep to the back of my neck. A warmth blooms inside me, and for a second, I lean back into her touch, sink into her strength.
“Who says I won’t?” she murmurs, her gentle grip a direct contrast to her deadly question.
She could. If she thinks I didn’t notice the Glock tucked under the pillow, she takes me for a half-assed assassin. Andthat, I am not. Shit, mine is hidden under the edge of the mattress.
But could I pull that trigger on her?
I want to say yes.Fuck, I want to say yes.
But wanting and doing… The waters have become so muddied between us, and for the first time, my job isn’t so black-and-white.
“Don’t play with me, Eshe,” I warn on a low growl, and she shivers, her lashes fluttering closed. I silently and savagely curse. The least she could do is fucking pretend that I don’t affect her so profoundly. She should guard herself more securely around me. “Answer the question,” I snap, irrationally angry with her. “Why didn’t you kill me?”
“I’ve already told youcountless times, but you don’t want to hear the truth.” She tightens her grip on my neck, squeezing hard before sliding her hand to my cheek and cupping it in a caress that’s too gentle, too… tender. It’s ten times more threateningthan a knife to my jugular vein. “You refuse to believe me, so is there any point in repeating it?”
“You’ve never answered that question directly. So do it. I’m listening. No riddles. No double-talk, Eshe. Just speak plain and honest.”
She cocks her head, studies me closely for several moments that seem to stretch into hours. Her thumb rubs over my bottom lip, back and forth, back and forth.
“All right. But for the record, I’ve always made it plain. You’re just not in the space to hear me. But here you go, Malachi: I didn’t kill you, because you’re the Huntsman. And you’re Malachi Bowden. And both of them are mine. They both belong to me. I already explained to you what that means. I come hard behind mine. I will fuck this whole world up and leave nothing behind but bones, because there’s nothing I won’t do, no sin I won’t commit to protect those I love. Nothing is off-limits, including bringing down a queen who threatens their lives. Get me now? Is that plainspoken enough?”
I jerk my head back, and if I could crawl off the bed and away from her until I crouched in the far corner, I would. But I settle for flinching as if my skin touched hot lava. And I recoil. I, Malachi Bowden, the Huntsman, fuckingflinch.
Because in the blink of an eye, with words that are as deadly as any loaded gun, Eshe Diallo became the bogeyman. And she terrifies the fuck out of me.
