"Might I turn around now?" he asked, irritated. "It's disturbing speaking to an empty bathing chamber."
I rolled my eyes and quickly pulled on my pants.
"Fine," I snapped.
He turned, eyes flicking briefly over my attire, and frowned.
"That's what they left you?" he practically growled.
"What? Not suited to your taste?" I replied with a raised brow.
"You're Verdunn, Fallen. You possess the Darkness. You're the weapon we've been seeking for centuries. Rough pants and a plain shirt are an insult to your status."
I snorted.
"My status," I repeated. "You know, I starved for twenty years, spent my childhood doing odd jobs with Second Ringers just to help my mother put food on the table for two growing brothers and myself. I worked every day I could, took handouts when I needed it, and learned to sew a stitch before I was ten. Now, I'm expected to be affronted by a clean pair of pants and what appears to be a men's shirt? While the same people I grew up suffering with suffer still? Please, general, don't take offense on my behalf. It's beneath you."
Gryfon's eyes flashed the way they always did when I challenged him. And, as always, I felt the same thrill burst through me for doing so. This was our game, our own little dance, one which no one else knew the steps to. He told me what to do, I disobeyed or outright belittled his orders. He got angry. I found it concerningly attractive but never said so and held my ground anyway. Then, ultimately, he respected me for my strength of will. And here we were again. But this time, he broke the pattern.
"Maybe you deserve fine things, Adrian," he said softly. "Have you ever thought of it that way?"
I was more caught off guard by his tone than his words, though they were shocking as well. The gruff, surly general had neverspoken gently to me before, or to anyone, for that matter. In fact, I'd been quite certain he was incapable of soft speech until now. And what he'd said, that I deserved any of this, touched my heart in a way nothing had since Dante had uttered the same. Since my partner had cut through the cold, sharp barrier I'd placed between us for my own protection and wormed his way inside with the right words and a gentle treatment far softer than anything I'd ever known. And look where allowing that softness had gotten me.
My lip curled, expression hardening into a sneer. Never again, I'd vowed. I didn't want that softness, didn't want those tender kisses in the dead of night, those gentle touches in darkened corners. Not from anyone, but certainly not from the cold, hard general I'd been sure would never offer them.
"No," I growled, stomping toward him, rage burning in the hole inside me where a heart used to be. "You don't say that to me. Not you. Never you. They all look at me like I'm their savior and I have to deal with that from them. That soaring hope, that fragile faith, that newfound confidence. They treat me with kindness and charity. They offer me things Idon'tdeserve because they don't know any better. But you do.You. Do."
I was inches from the general now. I poked him, hard, in the chest, and his jaw clenched in response.
"I'm fucked up," I snapped. "I'm a godsdamned mess and you know it. You knew it the moment you pulled me through that hole in the Underground. And you keep reminding me because I need to hear it. While everyone else is putting me on a pedestal, you're threatening me and growling at me and grounding me. So don't go soft on me now. Because I don't know where I am or who I'm supposed to be so I need you to remind me."
His jaw ticked and the door opened.
"Out," he spat, without even glancing over to see who'd entered.
"But—" my servant began to argue.
I turned to see her staring at us, wide eyed, platter of fruit and bread and cheese in one hand, gorgeous, flowing golden gown in the other.
"Leave them," Gryfon snapped, his tone going dangerously low.
She dropped the plate onto the table, tossed the dress over a chair, and fled, slamming the door slightly louder behind her in her haste to run away.
"You could have been nicer," I grumbled.
"I thought you didn't want me to," he growled back.
I crossed my arms but lowered my gaze, peering out toward a balcony I hadn't seen before to avoid looking at him. I had said that. I couldn't deny it. And the rigidness of his posture, the cruel sneer on his lips where a smirk had been for the briefest moment, the frigid, icy eyes that had lost their sparkle, had gone still as stone, all told me he was taking his assignment quite seriously. The general had returned.
I almost took it back. If only to see that smirk again, if only to see the spark in his eyes, the amusement in his expression, anything but this cruel scorn. But I'd gotten what I'd asked for, what I knew I needed. I could feel the distance yawning between us again, exactly as I'd hoped. I wouldn't let anyone get that close to me again, wouldn't let another man under my skin, wouldn't fall to soft words and softer touches. Never again. Even if it felt strangely like wrenching my own heart out to do so.
"This is more like it," he muttered.
I glanced up to find he'd crossed the room and approached the gown my servant had left tossed over the chair.
"That's for the party," I said, frowning.
"It's this or the armor," he replied, lifting a corner and rubbing the silken fabric through his fingers.
