Roar (Stormheart #1)(22)
She gave him a look; clearly she wasn’t used to people arguing with her. “I can’t give you that.”
“The man you’re afraid of … does he—”
“I’m not afraid of him,” she snapped. Her tone was so fierce he nearly believed her, but he hadn’t read her wrong out there. He and fear were old friends. It had taken his parents’ place to raise him when they died, and he recognized the foul taint when he saw it. Even now, it lingered about her hunched shoulders and danced over her whitened fingers as they gripped her forearms.
He eased off. “Fine. The man you were avoiding, then. Who is he?”
“I can’t tell you that.”
“Who is he to you? Personal or business?”
She hesitated, and there were a dozen subtle shifts in her expression as she considered what to tell him. It wasn’t that hard a question, so she was either crafting a lie or this man’s infiltration into her life fell into both categories. His mind conjured up possibilities for dangerous men and how they might be involved in her personal life. He didn’t like any of them. His voice was barely above a growl as he asked, “He’s a danger to you?”
Her arms dropped to her sides, and her long lashes brushed her cheeks when she sighed. “Probably not in the way you’re thinking.”
His fists clenched at his sides. Even if the man wasn’t going to barrel into this tent, trying to kill her at any moment, she hadn’t denied that there was danger in some form. It should not matter. She was just a girl who was in over her head. Those were plentiful in dodgy places like the Eye. If he hunted down the demons of every wayward girl, he wouldn’t have time to hunt a single storm. But there was something about her. Her look of wonder at Etel’s booth had caught his eye. The defiant way she stood her ground and made him acknowledge her as more than a little girl … that was when she got her hooks in him. She might appear fragile, but there was fire in her. And he definitely knew she was no little girl. He could still remember the feel of her pressed up against his side as he led her through the market.
Even now, she swayed on her feet and eyed the cushions to her left like she might collapse under the weight of her exhaustion, but met his gaze with a calm, fortified expression that said she would never admit defeat, not to him or her fatigue.
In a way, she reminded him of his sister. He had never realized how little strength had to do with size and power until his parents had died and left only him and his sister behind. He had been six and she eleven, neither old enough to take care of the other, not that it stopped his sister from trying. She refused to fold in the face of adversity. She was brazen and brave right to the very end.
He ducked his head, then sprawled onto the rug, leaning back to prop an elbow on one of the cushions. Give him a violent tempest any day over those memories. At least the storm he could fight.
“Sit down.”
She hesitated, but complied. She made sitting on the ground look graceful as she lowered herself to her knees and eased her body back onto a pillow. He crossed his legs and leaned forward to brace his elbows on his knees and stare at her.
She did not wither under his study, but instead turned the focus on him. “Is Locke your first name or your last name?”
“Listen, princess—”
That made her flinch. “Princess?”
“You never gave me your name. And when I said you weren’t a princess before, you had this glint in your eye like you might pull out a crown and prove me wrong. So stop dragging your feet, princess, and tell me about that man.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“You sure are fond of telling me what not to do. This is easily solved if you tell me your name.”
She growled in frustration. “You told me I was smart for keeping my name secret.”
He had told her that. But that was when he had intended only to save her from Etel and send her on her way. Now … now he didn’t know what he was doing.
Before he could examine all the reasons it was a bad idea, he maneuvered himself to sit directly in front of her. He wanted to grab her hands, but he gripped his own knees instead. “You can trust me with your name. With whatever trouble you’re in.”
He saw her response coming before the words were even all the way off her tongue. “I’m not in any—”
He scooped up one of her hands, pressing it between both of his own. “It’s just a name, princess. Give me your name.”
*
Something happened when he took her hand; an electric, tingling sensation tickled down her spine, making her shiver. Her first instinct told her to run, far and fast, but as long as Cassius lurked in the market outside that was impossible. She had noted Locke’s size earlier—his impressive height and muscled build—but he felt even bigger sitting right in front of her. He had a scar through his right brow and another on his chin, just below the corner of his mouth. His eyes were a deep brown, and his jaw was dusted with short, dark hairs. It added a rough masculinity to a face that otherwise might have been too pretty for a man decked out in leather armor.
Scorch it all, he looked good in leather. His chest was broad, and his armor had all manner of straps and loops from which tubes and vials and jars dangled just like the ones she’d seen in the market. A row of blades at his hip added a dash of menace. When her eyes lifted again to his, that scarred brow rose along with one corner of his mouth. Menace and mirth. What a bizarre combination.