I bristle and march away from the vigilante, fumbling my way in the dark as my eyes adjust to the dim starlight.
“No candles or matches,” he muses. “No way of getting inside—”
“Youhave the key,” I say in an undertone.
“Stole the spare,” he says, quieter. “No weapon.”
“I’m armed. I have a sword.”
“That I gave you.”
My eyes finally pick up the dark outline of El Lobo.
“I was right,” he murmurs. “I did hear you correctly the other night. You’re a girl.” He saunters to the wall and leans against it casually, his ankles crossed and his arms folded. “If you insist on pretending to be me, you need to disguise your voice better than that.”
My ears pick up a new note in his tone—wariness, as if he’s stumbled upon something he doesn’t like. “Black blends in with the night,” I point out. “So unless you own the color, I wouldn’t flatter yourself.”
“Disguise your voice,” he says in a steely tone.
“Careful,” I say. “You’re starting to sound like you care about me.”
His crack of laughter startles me. “Now, that’s funny.”
“Well, what are you doing here, then? Don’t tell me it’s coincidence.”
“It’s not,” he says conversationally. “I followed you.”
“You followed—What?For how long?”
“I saw you in the corridor and became quite curious.” He pushes away from the wall and lazily strolls over to where I stand, leaving four feet between us. His casual grace doesn’t fool me. I’ve seen the boy with a sword. He might look bored, but from experience, I know he’s alert. And dangerous. “I think it’s time we have a chat, little wolf.”
“Really.”
He holds up a gloved hand and begins ticking off each question with his fingers. “Why are you running around the castillo dressed as me? Why did you come back to the king’s study? Why did you help me free the prisoners?”
With each question his voice rises, battering my carefully constructed walls. I think of the priest’s threat and my resolve hardens. This is the moment. The start of earning his trust. “I want to help you.”
“You don’t know anything about me.”
“Yes, I do. You steal from the king’s coffers and his food supply, but you don’t keep any of it for yourself. You have access to the castillo. Maybe someone lets you inside. It’s clear you have allies everywhere. But it’s not enough. You need help.”
“Is that where you come in?” he asks. “You want to join in the fight against the king? You’re willing to risk your life to end his rule? To put others before you? To bring about change even though you may never live to see the fruit of your labors?”
Each of his questions is supposed to rattle my determination. But he speaks of my life without knowing it. I try to settle my rapidly beating heart. If I’m going to get information from the masked man, he needs to trust me. And that can only happen one way. I have to be honest with him first.
To a certain degree.
“We’re a lot more alike than you think, Lobo.”
The vigilante considers me, his head tilted to the side. Then he walks forward until he’s inches in front of me. He meets my gaze. Dark eyes. The color of coffee beans. His hands are steady as he reaches for the bottom of my mask. The movement is soft, like a butterfly’s wing. His thumb grazes underneath my left ear and sends a shiver down my spine. His fingers curl underneath the fabric. My breath catches, and I flinch when he grips the fabric tighter, but I don’t resist as he tugs the mask upward.
It glides over my lips, my cheeks, my eyes. It falls quietly between us and lands on my boots. I don’t bother retrieving it. I can’t tear my gaze away from El Lobo.
His shoulders tense as his hands drop. Only his eyes are visible behind his black mask. And they see everything.
My cheeks burn. “I take it you’re not going to do the same?”
“Well, no,” he says. “I’m not an idiot.”
