“I’ll shoot you again,” I warn. “Don’t come?—”
Ender grabs my wrist and snatches my gun away, tucking it into the waistband of his pants with his left hand. He reaches for my wrists and holds them in his big palm, restraining me.
“Let me go, Vale.”
“You shot me because you thought I was interested in another woman,” Ender says slowly. “If I weren’t so delighted by your bloodthirsty reaction, I might have you punished for the assault.”
“I care about my sister and her feelings,” I say. “She is sensitive. She cannot weather a scandal.”
“Is she?” he asks. “Because when we first met, she was bold and reactive, and now she is timid and afraid. And you are the opposite.”
“I tire of your speculation.” I sigh. “You constantly doubt me. You believe I helped the rebels kidnapme, you think I know their grand plan, and now you imply that I am impersonating my sister? When will these foolish notions cease?”
“Why can’t you admit it?” Ender snaps. “Admit that you are my wife.”
My breath stutters. I would step away, but I have nowhere to go. Ender is furious and bleeding. His eyes stare so deeply into mine that it’s uncomfortable. My gaze drags down to the small gash on his arms.
“You should get that checked,” I advise. “You might be losing too much blood. It’s affecting your senses.”
Ender roughly rips off his coat, releasing me momentarily, and snatches out his dress shirt from his trousers. He attempts to rip it one-handed, to likely wrap his wound. I lift a foot to take advantage of his distraction and disappear when he pins me with a dark glare.
“Don’t move,” he says icily.
“Just go to the clinic,” I say. “You’re being stubborn.”
He ignores me, and I sigh, reaching out to hold the fabric while he tears off the end. Ender thrusts the white cotton at me.
“Fix it,” he says.
“Must I?” I ask.
“Unless you want to be detained and prosecuted by the High Justice for shooting me and then executed. I would tie the damn cut, if I were you,” he says, staring down at me beneath his arrogant nose.
I snatch the cloth from his hand. He raises his injured arm, giving me room to wrap it around his bicep. I have to stand on my toes to work efficiently, bringing me closer to his face. I take a deep breath and immediately regret it when I inhale his cologne. It’s masculine and spicy.
I tighten it. A bittootight, and he grunts. His palm falls on my hips, and he squeezes my flesh in warning.
“Careful,” he snarls.
I make the mistake of looking up at him. His thick, velvet-black lashes shield his eyes. They are fluttery and wispy, and I’m instantly envious of them.
“You didn’t answer my question,” Ender says.
I’m not going to entertain his suspicions of Mercy and me swapping places. I refuse to give him the satisfaction of being clever enough to unravel our ruse. And so early on at that. He knew about our deception since day one.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say.
I step forward to brush past him, but his fingers dig into my flesh. I forgot that he was holding me in place. His touch burns even through the fabric of my uniform. I can feel the indent of his fingers.
“Don’t lie to me, Warrick,” he says. “How long will you keep this up?”
“Let go of me,” I whisper.
For a second, I think he intends to keep me here forever, trapped in the vortex of his stare. His eyes are so pale, they appear spectral under the moonlight.
We’ve been gone for too long, and after the gunshot, I’m certain the enforcers are all waiting anxiously beyond the door.
The Supreme Director will most certainly kill them if any misfortune befalls his son. I’m surprised Ender is letting me get away with this. It was a foolish, reckless thing to do. I shouldn’t have reacted to his goading.
