“They nearly impaled my foot.”
Vera groaned. “You must have thought me an utter fool.”
“Or a very polite assassin.” His chin lowered, as did his voice. “You certainly slayed me.”
Vera eyed his dark fingers, wrapped so gently around her arm. His words were unexpected; she’d been rehearsing her thoughts all afternoon, but his replies—a mix of teasing, humor, and quiet statements that made her pulse beat faster—were pulling her thoughts out from under her.
It didn’t feel like she was fighting for Venn.
It felt like he might be fighting forher.
Her chest swelled at the hopeful thought. “It’s a wonder you ever talked to me again, considering our rough start.”
“Yes, well, the fact that you threw scissors at me made it rather hard to forget you. I’d never experiencedthatbefore.” He met her gaze, and she was surprised by the solemnity in his dark brown eyes. “You truly were hard to read, Vera. You ignored me often, and sometimes it felt like you were running away from me.”
“Sometimes I was,” she admitted softly. How to explain that she hadn’t been running fromhim, but from the feelings he’d inspired? That was far more than she’d planned on saying tonight—she’d only wanted to remind him of their first meeting. She’d hoped it would soften him; help him see her as he once had.
But she paused too long, and the moment ended.
Venn’s fingers fell away as he drew back, his voice shifting back to a more serious timbre. “We should get some sleep. It will be another long day tomorrow."
Terror filled her. Choked her.
She was in that grimy alley in Krid, hiding behind the barrels—and Tariq was staring down at her.
“Got you,” he sneered, his eyes gleaming in the darkness.
Vera screamed, scrambling back. The dagger. Where was the—
Tariq lunged, pinning her against the hard cobblestones. His breath was rancid and hot against her face, and his grip on her arms was punishing. “Mine,” he growled. “You’re mine.”
She thrashed in his hold. Panic hitched her breath as he bent over her—
“Vera?”
A hand touched her shoulder and she jerked awake with a scream that tore her throat.
A shadow crouched over her, his hands lifted nonthreateningly. “Easy, it’s me—Venn. You’re all right. You were just having a nightmare.”
Vera’s breaths came heavy and fast, locking her chest in a punishing vice. She shoved into a sitting position, her blanket pooling in her lap. Shivers wracked her, and her shoulders were rigid. She could still feel Tariq’s weight on top of her. His hot breath on her cheek. The rasp of his bristled jaw against her skin.
Her stomach churned and she buried her face in her hands, her loose braid slipping over her shoulder as she shuddered.
Venn remained crouched beside her, but he gave her space. He didn’t touch her, or speak. Just sat with her.
Behind her hands, her eyes burned. “I’m sorry.”
She wasn’t even sure what she was apologizing for. For waking him? For crying?
Venn’s voice was low, his words edged. “You have nothing to apologize for.”
Tears slipped from her eyes, because he was wrong. She had so much to apologize for. And not just to him. “I left her,” she whispered weakly. “I left her with them.”
“Vera, look at me.”
Slowly, she lowered her hands.
The moon was a sliver in the sky, shedding little light. But she could see the glint in his eyes. The steel there. “Clare made the choice to attack Salim,” he said quietly. “You didn’t make her do that. You didn’t tell her to take that risk. She chose it. And you made the only choice you could in that moment. You made her choice worth it by running.” He hesitated, then reached out with one hand, cupping her cheek and smoothing away a tear with the pad of his thumb.
