Page 85 of Gunnar

I frown. The scratches do look old. I think of the injury Orson gave Gunnar. How raw it looked.

How he pulled away from me.

I find a small dish and spoon a little of the meat into it.

“Don’t let her near Orson,” Torin says lightly.

“I won’t.”

I rinse the spoon, set it aside, then dry my hands on the towel.

“I’m going to call it a night,” I say.

“Yeah,” Torin says. “I’m gonna do the same.”

Gunnar looks up as I reach the door. “Night, Alexandria.”

I nod and head down the hall.

Tabitha is waiting just inside the door, pacing.

I set the dish down and she dives into it. I shut the door and lean against it, letting out a long breath. My palms are sweating and I feel all nervous and jumpy.

I don’t want to be in the same room as Gunnar.

I don’t want to be anywhere else.

18

Alexandria

My eyes snap open and I glare at the dark ceiling. I’ve been dozing for a while, but it’s no good. I don’t even want to look at my watch and see how late it is.

I’m warm under the covers, but the tip of my nose is freezing.

Tabitha is curled against my stomach, flexing her claws every time I move.

I try my back. Then my side.

I just can’t get comfortable enough to fall asleep properly.

Last night’s dinner keeps replaying in my head.

The way Gunnar kept pulling away from me.

The awkwardness of every single moment.

The way he said my name at the door like it meant something different now.

I press my face into the pillow.

Well, what did I expect?

I told him no.

For good reasons—because Orson hates me, because I don’t understand what’s going on here, because I’m not about to walk into the middle of something that could get people hurt.

So why does it feel like I’ve made things worse?