He raised his eyebrow. “As you like.”
She took a few more steps down the wall, away from him. Not because she didn’t trust him. Okay, she didn’t. But it wasn’t because she thought he’d hurt her. It was because she thought she might like whatever he did.
And that just irritated her. This was so far out of the realm of how this whole thing was supposed to go, she just didn’t want to deal with any of it.
She raised her chin. “The truth, huh? What is there to learn? Everyone tells lies, and you can't trust anyone.”
“Sounds rather bitter of you.”
“I bring death,” she muttered, and saying the words out loud made her feel kind of sick to her stomach, but she meant it. Until the Rhysgarrds were taken care of, she would be bringing problems wherever she went.
Guilt magnified under the events. If she was somehow connected to what happened to the ship and the others, she didn’t know if she’d be able to live with herself.
The thoughts hit her hard.
Overwhelming and?—
“So you're the beast of death, are you?”
She blinked and glanced at Stron. “What?”
“You’re the beast of death? A little thing like you?”
“Danger comes in small packages.”
He smirked. “I doubt it.”
She turned and started to walk away from him, wiggling past the barrier of his shape. “Really, I'm trouble. You don't want to talk to me.”
“Maybe I like trouble,” he said, stepping into line with her as she walked away. “I need a little trouble in my life.”
“Sure you do,” she said. “You don't look like anyone who really wants trouble in their life.”
“I haven't had enough, I think. Spent my life doing exactly what I was supposed to for my family line and being a proper Gol-Vett.” His shoulders adjusted, almost curled in a tiny bit. Just enough that she was pretty sure he was being honest.
So weird, because no one was ever really honest. Why would he be so honest to her, an utter stranger from another world?
“And now, you find yourself drawn to chaos?”
“Is that what you are? Chaos?”
“I'm not exactly a great person. I live on the streets. I steal to survive. I have info that crime lords would kill for.”
“What kind of information do you have?” he asked.
“It's amazing what a server will hear when delivering food and drinks to patrons of establishments.”
He nodded. “Are you in danger?” he crossed his arms, and his big forearms looked strong and powerful. And tense.
“Probably.”
“Why are your people not taking care of you?”
“Why would I trust my people, when many of them work for the crime lords themselves?”
“Is that what brought you here? For safety?”
“Distance.”
