Night Shift (Kate Daniels #6.5)(108)

“He can promise what he likes,” she said quietly. “None of it will come to fruition, because I have vowed to see him dead.”

Kavik barked out a hard laugh and glanced up for the first time. The back of Mala’s neck tensed as alarm shot through her, yet she stayed her hand instead of reaching for her sword. Never had anyone looked at her with such hatred and anger—but he was still cold. Still controlled.

A sharp smile touched his mouth. “That sounds like a lie you would tell a man you meant to win over. To tame.”

Sickness balled in her stomach. “That doesn’t mean what you believe it does.”

“What does it mean, then?”

“I don’t know.” From all that Mala could see, Kavik was no more savage or feral than she was. So it must be something she couldn’t see yet—and so she needed to know him better. “I suppose I must discover what it means.”

He shook his head and resumed eating. Not believing her.

Then she would make sure to stay with him until he did. “Though it is not my quest, I still intend to slay the demon tusker while I am here. I would hire your services.”

No response.

“I’ve purchased a mount for your use.” Along with two additional pack horses, over which Shim was currently playing lord of the herd. “We could leave for the mountains tomorrow.”

Only silence.

That would not break her. Still, she was grateful when Selaq approached their table with two flagons of ale. Setting them down, the innkeeper quickly looked from Kavik’s face to Mala’s again. “Will you be having supper, too?”

“I will, thank you.”

Selaq hesitated. The woman had been abrupt and resentful when Mala had arrived at the inn, and during every following encounter. Now she seemed torn between that resentment and guilt.

Her next words revealed why. “Kavik told me you saved my sister’s boy.”

“My horse did.” Mala pushed one flagon in front of Kavik and picked up her own. “And he enjoys a warm grain mash.”

“I’ll see that he gets one.” But the innkeeper still did not move away, and the twist of her hands revealed that anxiety had joined the guilt. In a rush, she admitted, “I spit in your ale at the midday meal.”

“I knew,” Mala said easily and took a swig.

Selaq looked at her in astonishment. “But you still drank it.”

Of course Mala had. She wouldn’t waste good ale because of a little spit. “Have you never kissed someone? It is the same—mouth to mouth and spit to spit. So a drop in that ale was no different than a kiss from you. I considered it my welcome to Blackmoor.”

And she’d had kisses thrown behind her feet all day. Word of her encounter with Barin in the citadel had already traveled through the city. No matter that they called Kavik a beast, not everyone Mala met had approved of her quest, and their reaction told her what she’d already guessed: many of these people cared for Kavik, even though he didn’t want them to show it. Yet they cared enough to risk both Vela’s and Barin’s anger by spitting on the path she walked.

“A poor welcome,” Selaq said.

Mala shrugged. A welcome mattered not at all. Only the man across from her did.

His gaze had risen from his plate again, but not to look at Mala. Instead he frowned up at Selaq. The color rose in the innkeeper’s cheeks.

“I shouldn’t have,” the woman said, as if in reply to a silent admonishment.

Had she read disappointment in his expression? Mala searched his face, but she didn’t know it as well as the innkeeper did. She could see nothing at all but his frown, then even that was gone when he began eating again.

Oh, but that small exchange gave her hope. The woman had admitted to spitting in Mala’s drink, yet he hadn’t enjoyed hearing it. For all of his hatred and anger—justifiable anger, if what Mala had guessed of his history with Barin was true—he hadn’t taken pleasure in Selaq’s insult. Mala suspected that, in his place, every single soldier in the common room would have mocked her or tried to make her feel shame for having sipped a little spit.

He was an angry man. But unless Mala had completely misread the reason for his frown, he wasn’t a cruel one.

And there was one way to be certain. One that might put them on a more level understanding.

But she waited, gathering her courage. Mala expected pain on this quest—but she believed it wouldn’t come at Kavik’s hands. Still, she feared being wrong about him more than she feared what he might do.

Quietly she ate the meal Selaq brought her, and after Kavik refused to touch the ale she’d bought for him, she took it back and drank it herself. When he cleaned his plate, every last crumb of bread and shred of meat and drop of gravy, she couldn’t wait any longer.

Without a word, she brought the coiled leash and collar from beneath her cloak, and placed it on the table between them.

And Temra forgive her, because this was cruel. For an instant, there was not just rage and hatred when he looked at her, but an agony so deep she didn’t know how he’d survived it. An agony she’d seen before, on the faces of some older women at home—as if they’d been subjected to a torture that simply wouldn’t end.

She forced herself to speak past the constriction in her throat. “This isn’t what it means to tame you.”