Kit’s barred arm stopped my fall, then he pushed me back onto the stiff couch cushions. “Why?” he asked, clearly bewildered.
My thoughts were a puddle now, sloshing around in my brain and maybe leaking out my ears. They sounded clogged, and my voice seemed distant as I struggled toexplain. “Father trusted me to take care of things. Take care of them…”
Mother expected the same. Her happiness and well-being were left in my hands. Sayla had Warren. But Mother only had me.
“We have to destroy the Bone Men,” I concluded. “It’s the only way. And I owe you.”
Kit recoiled. “What could you possibly owe me for?”
“If you hadn’t brought me here, I would never have known the truth about Merrick. About any of this. I wouldn’t have had a chance to save the farm. To do what my father believed I could.” I sagged forward again, this time slumping against Kit’s chest and nearly knocking my head into his chin. His warm, woody scent overwhelmed me, and I hummed a happy sound.
“You smell nice, Kit,” I told him. “Everything about you is nice.”
He pitched back, grabbing me by the arms and trying to right me, but my body stayed limp in his grasp. “All right, all right. We can talk about this when you're sober. There's no rush?—”
“Kit.” Squirming free, I stabbed my finger at him. “Kit,” I sputtered again. “Your father was a bad man. And he did terrible things, but he’s dead. My brother is very much alive, and I think…”
WhatdidI think?
I stared wordlessly at Kit’s eyes. When the light caught them just right, they had the slightest tinge of gold. But now they were bottomless pools, and his long lashes fanned around them. He was handsome, and strong, and good at everything I wasn't. Hewouldbe quite a catch, but not for me. Maybe for Tessa, whoever she was.
My thoughts circled around, and I regained myself witha nod. “Merrick is a bad man, too. If I can stop himbeforehe does the terrible things… You would have, if you could.” My head seemed to bob of its own accord. “You would have stopped it before it happened. To save others. Save yourself.”
I was still nodding, so it was hard to decipher Kit’s expression, but the gravel in his voice made it clear he was quite serious as he answered. “You could die. We both could. What would that prove?”
I could think of no further argument, so I clenched my fists and met his eyes. “I'm going through the Oaths, Kit. To prove Merrick wrong. To prove my father right.”
Kit worked his jaw for a moment, and I thought he would protest. Instead, he dipped his chin and then took hold of my elbow.
“I think you need to sleep this off,” he said. “If you feel the same in the morning, then I suppose I’ll have to accept it.”
My head wobbled again before I looked up at him. He was kind. And nice. And his sweetly piney scent was intoxicating as he pulled me up and threw my arm across his shoulders. I pressed against him, tucked to his side in a way that made me feel like I fit.
I leaned back, listing more heavily than I meant to, but Kit quickly snatched me up.
My eyes fluttered through a slow blink. “We’re friends,” I said to the growing quiet. “Aren’t we, Kit?”
He didn’t hesitate. “Of course we are. I think you might be the only friend I have.”
That meant something. I was more to him than a nuisance or a burden. But, as glad as I was to be his friend, I couldn’t help hoping in time I could become more than that.
When we turned toward the bedrooms, the world spun. I thought I might belch again but, when I opened mymouth, a wet stream spewed out instead. Lavender shortbread and watered-down whiskey made a mess down the front of Kit’s clothes and splattered his boots.
He stumbled back, dragging me along with him while I stammered through apologies.
“Oh, gods, I’m sorry… I didn’t mean…”
Kit’s chest swelled in a deep breath. When he exhaled, it ruffled my hair. “This doesn't need to happen again,” he said near my ear. “You are not this kind of man.”
I clung to him while he stepped out of his boots and steered me away from the vomit on the floor. Together, we staggered down the hall and into my bedroom, where he eased me onto the bed. Another wave of bile surged up my throat, and I tried to swallow it down. Despite my hand clamped over my mouth to seal it, a bit escaped anyway, dribbling past my chin and onto my shirt.
Kit groaned, and I whimpered while trying to peel the soggy fabric away from my skin.
Crouching before me, Kit grabbed the hem of my shirt and pulled it off over my head. He wadded it into a ball, then used a loose bit of the fabric to wipe around my lips.
Tears and blushing heat beset me while I stared at him.
He straightened and tugged out of his own soiled shirt. Gripping both garments in his hand, he stood over me, bare-chested and as brawny as I’d imagined. It would have been appealing if he was stripped to the waist for any reason other than me puking on him.
