Page 53 of The Shadow Sanctum

“What do you want, Luna?”

My arm slips from my face. Luna sits half perched on the edge of the bed, but at my glare, she stands.

Dainty hands brush her sweater in three obsessive strokes, eyes pointed at her breasts. For the life of me, I can’t help but follow.

“I… I was…” Deep breath. Dramatically deep, one notch too far, as if she wants me to think she’s hanging by her fingertips. Like she believes I’m a big enough sucker to catch her again.

I’m not.

But I find my gaze sweeping her face for … clues. Red eyes, swollen lips, a mouth-shaped bruise stamped on her neck. I find a pale face and nervous fumbling lips—no red, no purple.

Pressure in my lungs yanks my attention a half second before a held breath rushes out.

“I wanted to congratulate you on a successful initiation. And I wanted to…” Luna’s hand twirls as she sorts through fresh bullshit. “Express my gratitude for your safe return.”

“Wow.” I sit up. Place my hand over my heart. “Thank you, Your Grace. That really means a lot coming from you.”

Her hands clasp over her stomach.

Nausea?

“Fuck, I mean…” I blink a few more times than necessary and raise my shoulders. “With the explosive collar you put around my neck and the sneaky bullshit you pulled to disorient me, for a moment there, I thought you wanted to get rid of me.”

Those hands on her stomach squeeze.

She doesn’t eat bread.

“I knew you could find your way back.”

“Mmm.” I nod slowly.

“I’m more curious about why you brought the Spaniard back with you,” she says with just a thin veil of accusation.

I let out a laugh that sounds remarkably like a bark. “Did that fuck up your plans?”

Her shoulders cave. Maybe a shrug. “I have no plans for the Spaniard, I just… I thought I made it clear to you where your best interests lay.”

“Yeah.” My cheeks puff with a dramatic exhale. “I don’t know. I think sometime between when you ran back to your puppy dog after using me like I’m your actual fucking slave and when you left me in a rainstorm with a bomb around my… Are you all right?”

A beat of silence.

“What?”

I gesture with a sweep of my hand toward her abdomen. “You’re hugging your stomach… And you’re pale. Are you feeling sick?”

Her hands fall to her sides as she shifts her weight. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not nauseous? You look⁠—”

“I just said I’m fine, didn’t I?” Her eyes constrict only to soften a moment later. “We’re not enemies anymore, Sawyer. When I told you to kill the Spaniard, I had your best interests in mind.”

“I kind of think you had your best interests in mind.”

Her mouth opens to protest, but I go on.

“And it turns out that nearly freezing to death and going without food for forty-eight hours can really bring two people together. The Spaniard and I are buds now.”

Twenty years of prior friendship didn’t hurt either.