“No.” I grab his arm, my fingernails digging bloody crescents into his skin. “We’re not splitting up,mon roi.I’ve told you before: we work better as a team.”
“You’re a little out of commission at the moment.”
“I can handle myself.”
“You need to heal.”
“Brontë.”
“Poppy.”
“Stop arguing with me, and let me come with you.”
“No.”
My right eye twitches. “No?”
“Foreign concept?”
White-hot wrath arcs across my vision, and I lurch up—only to yelp in pain and flop down. Brontë utters curses and checks my wound, applying gentle pressure to the gauze on my stomach.
“You are not ready for this,” he insists, his tone both soft and hard. “I’ll move faster on my own.”
“I’m fast enough.”
“You shuffle like a penguin to and from the bathroom.”
“That’s because my calves hurt from not using them.”
“Exactly. Your body is in a weak state.”
“I’mnotfragile, fuck you very much.”
His glare turns glacial. “Is that what you believe? That I think you’re fragile?”
“You just said I’m not strong enough to—”
Brontë grips me by the throat and hauls me onto his lap. I gasp, shoving the butterfly knife from my pocket under his chin. A trickle ofblood slides down the rainbow blade from his stubble to my trembling fist.
A slow, knowing grin slants his mouth. “Still believe I think you’re fragile,Petit Diable?”
My strength—or apparent lack thereof—has nothing to do with it. I don’t want him going in alone. Knowing our luck, shit will find a way to go sideways. What if he gets hurt? No one will be around to doctor him back to life.
My chin wobbles as I picture him lying in a bed, unconscious for days. For the first time in my life, I feel completely and utterly powerless.
“Don’t go alone.”
“I work best alone.” Brontë skates his palm over my heart threatening to split in half. “Youwillsee me again, Poppy.”
I don’t argue any further, pocketing my knife and hanging my head. “At least call Emi to navigate any cams for you.”
“I will.” His arms wind around me, hugging me to him. “When I get back, I’ll cuddle you properly.”
“Promise?”
“Scout’s honor.”
My snigger stutters into sobs. He smooths his hands up and down my spine, humming softly. His voice is my anesthetic, and I slowly lose my grip on reality.
