Page 83 of By the Flames of Her Fury

“What game?” she asked.

“One my father and I used to play to pass time on the fishing boat. Two truths and one lie.”

There was shuffling on the other side of the wall. “Okay. How do you play?”

“I’ll tell you three things about me, but one of them is a lie. You have to figure out which one.”

“And what do I get when I win?” she teased.

A heated thrill swept across my skin. “What do you want?”

She paused. “Nothing this cell can give me.”

My throat tightened. Fates, that was the truth. “What do you say? Want to play anyway?”

Her visible eye flashed back at me. “You first.”

I took my time, twisting my lips in thought. “Alright. Let’s see. Three things about me…I once rode on the back of a shark, I had a dog named Starfish, and I’m allergic to pears.”

She snorted. “Too easy. You told me once that you had pear and vanilla cake for your birthday, so you can’t be allergic to it. That’s the lie.”

I grinned. “Final answer?”

“Well, am I right?”

“Of course, you’re right. I need to stop telling you everything.”

She laughed, then asked, “Did you really ride on the back of a shark?”

“Yep. There were a lot of shark sightings in the late summers. Our fishing net got wrapped around one’s nose once. I tried to free it, but the net broke when I grabbed it, and the shark took off through the water, dragging me with it.” I chuckled at the memory. “Scared my father to death. Got about a quarter of a mile before I finally let go and swam back to the boat.”

She snorted. “My Swift, fearless shark tamer.”

My Swift. Warmth spread through my chest. “Your turn.”

“Okay, let me think,” she said. There was a faint clinking sound, as if she were tapping her nails against the stone. “I used to eat a raw egg every morning, my older brother let me try whiskey when I was thirteen, and…” Her voice sounded closer. “I have a birthmark. Below my collarbone.”

I hummed. “Those are good.” Now all I could think about was that birthmark. “Raw eggs and whiskey. You do have quite the appetite.”

“You think those are the truths?”

“I think,” I pressed my hand against the stone, “that I have no proof of this birthmark.”

“Do you want to see it?”

My forehead fell to the wall, and I let out a soft grunt. “Songbird, you’re killing me.”

There was that laugh again. “It’s just a game, Swift.”

Just a game.

I dragged my head down so my eye was flush with the hole. “Prove it.”

She was so close, all I could see was her slender neck. Her hand came up and ran along the collar of her raggedy shirt. It lingered at the edge, fingers curling slowly. My heart was already racing from that simple motion. What was she doing to me?

Fingers pulled at the fabric, lower, lower, lower, exposing porcelain skin little by little. There was a smattering of freckles at her collarbone, and a small dimple at the base of her neck. I soaked it all in, memorizing every inch of her I could—always fragments, never the full thing, but it was enough. I would take any piece of her I could get.

Her fingers stopped moving when the shirt reached just below her collarbone. I watched, transfixed, as she circled a mark in the shape of a flower on her skin. “Believe me now?”