My heart pounds. “And you’re going to teach me to be careful?”
“No,” he says. “I’m going to teach you to be dangerous.”
The words send heat curling low in me despite everything, the fear, the anger, the exhaustion pressing down on me.
“You think I’m not already?” I ask.
A corner of his mouth shifts beneath the mask. It’s not a smile I can see, but something in his eyes changes. “I think you punch girls in the stomach when they threaten you,” he says. “That’s reactive. Danger is different.”
“In what way?”
“It involves control. Knowing when to push. When to wait. When to make people wonder what you’re capable of.”
I stare at him. “That’s what you do.”
“Yes.”
“And Armen. And Rogue.”
“Yes.”
“So,” I say, voice sharpening, “you’re going to turn me into one of you?”
His gaze holds mine. “I’m going to give you the tools to survive,” he says. “What you do with them is up to you.”
Silence stretches between us.
His hands are still at my waist. My pulse is still racing. I’m acutely aware of how close he is, of the solid line ofhis body in front of mine, of how easily he could pull me closer if he wanted to.
“Why me?” I ask.
“Because you didn’t lose your shit like most Runts,” he says. “Because you’re still asking questions even when you know you might not like the answers. Because when that woman out there tried to put you in your place, you didn’t flinch.”
“I’m a Runt,” I say. “She was right about that.”
“You’re a Runt with protection,” he corrects. “That’s different.”
“It’s also a target,” I reply.
His eyes darken. “Yup.”
“So you’re making me more dangerous by keeping me close.”
“I’m making yousurvivable,” he says. “There’s a difference.”
My breath catches. I want to pull away. I want to push him. I want to ask him a hundred more questions that I know I won’t get straight answers to. So, instead, I just stand there, caught in his grip, my body humming with tension I wish I could shake off.
Sting’s gaze drops briefly to my mouth, then returns to my eyes. “You feel it,” he says.
“Feel what?”
“The shift,” he replies. “You’re not the same person who walked into the Hunt.”
“I don’t know about that,” I snap.
“You’ve already been claimed, chased, caught, and dragged through half the Rot,” he says. “You think that doesn’t change you?”
I swallow hard. “I’m not sure I want to change.”
