Her fingers twist in the fabric. “Everything’s fine.”
“You killed those things. Is that why you were crying?”
“I—” She shrugs. “They would’ve killed us.”
A non-answer. She’s good at those.
I grab her wrist, drawing her closer so I can see her eyes. Those strange blue-gray eyes, still glistening with unshed tears, that somehow manage to look both calm and turbulent at the same time. Like the surface of the ocean before a storm breaks—deceptively still, but churning underneath.
A tremble runs through her body, so subtle I’d miss it if I weren’t holding her. She blinks rapidly, gaze dropping to where my fingers circle her skin before darting back up to meet mine.
“Are you okay?” I hold her gaze.
She wrenches free, something hardening in her expression. “You really expect me to tell the guy who got blackmailed by my father if I’m okay? What are you going to do? Comfort me? Hug me?”
I tried.
I clench my teeth. “Forget it.”
“Gladly.” She snatches the blanket and strides to the door, yanking it open, only to walk straight into Sienna, who was apparently about to enter.
“Shit! Sorry.” Sienna stumbles back, nearly dropping the cleaver in her hand. Fresh blood drips from its blade onto the carpet. “I didn’t?—”
“No, my fault.” Dakota clutches the blanket like a shield. “I wasn’t looking.”
“We cleared the kitchen.” Sienna puts on a grim smile. “Found some better tools for the job, too. “
“You okay in here?” Cameron appears behind Sienna, surprise crossing his features. “Dakota?”
“Just heading back.” She nods once, then slips past them. “Amelia needs this blanket.”
They watch her go, then Cameron turns to me with raised eyebrows. “Did we interrupt?”
I strain upright, muscles protesting the movement. “Any surprises?”
“Nope.” Sienna swings the cleaver experimentally. “We came to get you.”
“What was she doing here alone?” Cameron asks.
“Changing clothes,” I say. “Getting a blanket for her sister.”
“Right.” Sienna’s tone suggests she doesn’t entirely believe that’s all it was. “Well, we found canned goods, bottled water, and those little sandwich things for the reception.”
“Canapés,” Cameron supplies.
“Those.” She shrugs. “They’re sealed. Should be safe.”
“Anything else?” I move past her into the hallway.
“Matches. First aid kit under the sink.” Cameron stops me by my shoulder. “Everything okay?”
“It’s the apocalypse. Nothing’s okay.”
But for a moment, gazing into Dakota’s eyes, I almost forgot that.
SIX
DAKOTA
