Page 81 of Gunnar

Alexandria

Night fell three hours ago and my stomach is growling. I open the door a crack and poke my head out. Voices carry from the kitchen. A cupboard door slams. Something metallic hits the counter.

I should help with dinner.

Can’t stay in here forever.

Behind me, Tabitha is circling the room, tail high, exploring the boundaries of her new territory.

“Stay,” I tell her, which has never worked in her life, and won’t now.

I pull the door firmly shut and check the handle. I don’t want her slipping out, panicking at the sight of the bear-men, and disappearing for good.

I head down the hall.

Gunnar stands at the counter with his back to me, a dish towel thrown over one shoulder. There’s a cutting board in front of him, and he’s chopping at a hunk of meat with a cleaver.

I go to the sink to get a glass of water.

He throws a glance at me.

“Hey,” I manage to say.

“Hey.”

Torin is at the opposite counter, working his way through an onion.

A pan is heating on the stove, oil starting to smoke.

“Too hot,” I say.

“What? …Oh.” Gunnar reaches for it.

So do I.

Our arms collide. I jerk back before we send hot oil everywhere.

“Sorry.” His hand closes around my wrist. “You okay?”

I nod.

He lets go.

My wrist still tingles.

I flex my fingers, like that might get rid of it.

It doesn’t.

He turns the heat down, slides the pan off the ring.

Then he goes back to chopping.

I eye the way Torin is massacring the onion. I take the other side of the counter, pulling a second board toward me.

“Let me help.”

“It’s okay.” Torin grins, but he looks wrecked.