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Without preamble, he grasped her wrist. She gasped at his bare skin against hers. At the heat of him and the unexpected physical contact. He sent a chill up her back, and goose bumps exploded on her arms. He looked deep into her eyes as if willing her to reveal herself. She inhaled at the heat of him. His concentration was focused on her. Direct. She hovered in anticipation as she waited.
Then he blew out his breath in a huff and released her.
She rocked back in her seat at the loss of him and covered it by reaching out for her glass of water and taking a long sip.
“Just a trinket,” he said as he handed her the necklace.
She tied the wren into place, contemplating how he could possibly know that from one touch. “You can . . . tell that by touching me?”
“Yes.”
Which meant that his magic had something to do with touch. Was that the reason for the mystery gloves? She watched him slip his glove back on, more curious than ever.
At that moment, Isolde and Edgar entered from the kitchen with trays laden with food. Once the food was on the table, they removed the silver covers and served them. Kierse’s mouth watered as food was added to her plate. Some sort of beef on a bed of rice, a side of steaming creamy corn, glossy dinner rolls, a leafy salad, and even out-of-season berries. God, she loved berries. It all looked delectable, but she reached for a raspberry first, popping it into her mouth. It was even better than she remembered.
Graves stared at her with open interest.
“What?” she asked, grabbing for another berry. “They’re out of season.”
For a moment, he said nothing. Then, as if it was against his better judgment, he said, “I don’t remember ever enjoying something that much.”
“When you live on the streets, you learn to appreciate what’s in front of you. Guess you probably don’t know what that’s like.”
“I did not always have what you see before you. I was once discarded as you were.”
She covered her wince by cutting into her beef. Discarded. He wasn’t wrong. It just sounded like she was the trash that had been tossed out.
“How could someone get rid of someone like you? Someone with magic?”
“Easily. And without remorse.”
She had no response to that. She didn’t know why she had been discarded, either. She had no memory of before. The earliest thing she remembered was standing on the street, starving. She’d had no other option than to turn to theft. Stealing was better than dying of hunger, and she’d gotten really good at it fast. Jason found her a short while later. She’d all but given up hope of discovering who she was . . . until Graves happened.
She went back to her food. She ate the beef so quickly that she barely tasted it. The meat was so rich and tender in some sort of cranberry sauce. She’d never had anything like it.
“Before we begin, tell me about the book I lent you.”
“It’s a bit dark,” she confessed. “Everyone dies in all the tales. I thought the will-o-the-wisp would have some happy moral ending at least.”
“Why? That’s a product of modern storytelling.”
Kierse paused at this conclusion. When she met those storm-cloud eyes, she saw interest in them. She decided to meet him with her own interest. “I felt like I understood the little girl who was led astray by a will-o-the-wisp. It was a common theme in the city during the war.”
“Ah,” he said as understanding narrowed his eyes. “And you wanted a happy ending for the girl when there wasn’t one for you.”
She refused to recoil from his assessment. “I didn’t need a savior. I saved myself. But others weren’t as lucky as I was.”
“That’s the way of the world.”
“It is. I assume you wanted me to see that I could be consumed by the monster that was waylaying me. Was that a metaphor?”
“She isn’t consumed by the monster at the end. She’s consumed by the bear.”
“Fine,” she acknowledged. “Then the only real monster in the story is the bear.” A natural monster, like the very human monsters Kierse knew all too well.
“Well, the bear and the monster that pulled her off her path—the wisp. They both led to her death.”
“She never stood a chance.”
“No, she did not.”
“But you still haven’t told me anything about me.”
He cleared his throat. “Well, we know that your pendant isn’t controlling your immunity. Which likely means you’re like me.”
She leaned in eagerly. “Like you how? A monster?”
“We’re all monsters. But for simplicity, yes. I’m a type of monster you’ve never encountered. Though with your immunity you might not have ever known what you were experiencing.”
“And what do they call you?” she asked. Labels didn’t always matter, but putting a word on what she was felt important. Solid.
