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“Maybe,” I said. “Or maybe you’ll have enough sense to change your name, and I’ll never know who it is they’re talking about.”

Keaton handed the gun back to Bruce. He turned to leave, then stopped and looked at me. “Speaking of names, is your name really August?”

“It is,” I said.

He looked to Keaton. “Truth or lie?”

“Truth,” Keaton said.

Bruce nodded and walked away. He didn’t look back.

Chapter Thirty-one

Keaton

The weather staying dry on the journey back meant we made much quicker progress than on the way here. No discussion of our destination had taken place. But then, we’d discussed nothing of importance since leaving the tunnel hideout in Dover and reuniting with August’s bike.

We’d kept up a constant politeness toward each other over the last couple of days that I hated with every fiber of my being. It wasn’t us. August’s first ‘greeting’ had been a knife to my throat, and a twisted part of me had liked it. It was rare to meet someone who gave as good as they got, but August did that in spades. Yet, as much as I hated the new way we shared the same space, I couldn’t break out of it.

So we rode in somewhat companionable silence. We shared food. We killed biters. We lay next to each other in whatever place August deemed safe and went to sleep without touching. Then we got up the next day and did it all over again.

At least we were far enough north now, having circumvented London for the second time, that August could tap into his supply of safe houses. That’s where we were now. And I couldn’t deny that he did things in style, this place having once been a country estate with all the bedrooms to show for it. The one August favored held only the second four-poster bed of my life.

This morning I’d woken to find the space beside me empty, my breathing speeding up and my heart pounding until I stepped outside into the overgrown grounds and saw the bike right where we’d left it. August might decide he’d had enough of me and dump me somewhere, but he wouldn’t leave his bike. Wherever he was, he wasn’t far away.

I settled myself in the middle of the stone steps leading up to the front door. From that raised position, I could watch for biters, and August. Where was he? Why hadn’t he woken me? Because then you would have had to talk, and it would have been awkward.

The morning sun was warm. I tipped my head back to let it touch my face and stayed like that for a long while. A rustle in the undergrowth snapped me back to the real world. I reached for my knife as I peered in the direction of the sound. Biter, wild animal, or August?

The answer came seconds later when they cleared the undergrowth. Upright on two legs, not four. Strolling, not charging in a frenzy. Tall, lean, unmistakably pretty, but still rugged with it. Hair that somehow always looked styled, despite that being impossible. August’s genes hadn’t just made him immune, they’d given him fantastic hair to boot. The universe really wasn’t fair sometimes. I slipped my knife back into my boot before he saw it. Though given the stilted peace that existed between us, he’d probably pretend not to notice.

He drew close before spotting me on the steps, the slight stiffness that crept into his shoulders giving away the moment he did. Long legs carried him upward until he stopped a few steps below me. “Nice day. Warm.”

“Yeah.”

He held out his hand, uncurling his fingers to reveal a handful of plump blackberries. I took them eagerly, popping one into my mouth and savoring the sweet tang as it burst on my tongue. A second quickly followed. “What about you?” I asked around a mouthful of blackberry.

August shrugged. “I ate plenty while I was picking them.”

“Thanks for bringing some back for me.”

“You’re welcome.”

So fucking polite. He started up the rest of the steps, clearly intending to go inside and leave me there. And then before I knew it, we’d be back on the bike and another day would have passed.

“Don’t go!” There was a moment when I thought he’d pretend he hadn’t heard and carry on walking. Then he stopped, his turn painfully slow and his expression neutral once he faced me. “Please,” I added.

August nodded and came back down, taking a seat beside me on the same step, elbows resting on his knees. I carefully set the remaining blackberries next to me. I’d eat them later.

“What are we doing?” I asked.

“Putting distance between us and Dover.”

I studied his profile, trying not to get distracted by the sharp jawline and long lashes. Either he’d deliberately misunderstand or he truly thought I’d meant that.

‘Not that,” I said. “Us. What are we doing?”

August dropped his gaze to his hands, examining something on his fingernail as if it were fascinating. “I don’t know.” At last he turned his head and looked me in the eye. It felt like the first time he had since Dover. “You tell me.”