Flame in the Mist (Flame in the Mist #1)(67)

But perhaps . . . perhaps her hatred masked an emotion far more troubling than mere dislike. The same emotion ōkami had struggled to contend with these past few weeks. Struggled to identify, especially as they’d argued with each other. Contended with each other over matters both large and small.

Attraction.

No. Want.

Alas, want was a weak word for what he now felt.

Perhaps the girl wasn’t water, as he’d first thought. Perhaps she was wind. Wind could whip a fire into a frenzy. Make a mighty oak bow. Lash water into mist.

Though he hadn’t cared to admit it—even to himself—ōkami had known something was wrong the first time he’d looked into Sanada Takeo’s eyes. The first time he’d touched . . . her.

It wasn’t that it was wrong.

It was that it felt strangely right.

And now?

He didn’t know for certain what had driven him to promise the girl who lied as freely as she breathed that he would keep her secret. All ōkami knew was that she fought back—with both words and a strength of conviction—as no girl ever had in his experience. That she saw through his many masks in a way that both unnerved and enchanted him. That her mind worked in a way ōkami could not take apart and piece back together.

That the moment she’d kissed him by the hot springs, his sight had gone liquid. And that the sound of her sigh was like a sunrise.

The memory thickened his blood. Left him on edge.

ōkami watched his reflection ripple across the surface of the lake. He looked drawn. Haggard. As a boy, he’d experienced nightmares often. A sleep disturbed by thoughts of anger and retribution. Remembrances of shame and scars of dishonor.

Then, as he’d grown from boyhood into a young man, ōkami had made a choice.

He would not be burdened by these things any longer. Refused to be burdened by any responsibility he did not elect to take on himself. Since then, he’d thankfully chosen to take on very little.

The fewer obligations he had, the less likely he’d be to fail anyone.

Once ōkami had made this decision, sleep came to him much more easily.

It had been a long time since he’d had a poor night’s sleep. A long time since he’d seen a face marred by exhaustion when he took in his reflection.

Last night had been a bad night.

A night filled with uncertainty.

ōkami had dreamed of a lagoon filled to its brim with steaming water. Then it had started to drain. Slowly. A churning whirlpool had formed in its center.

The girl’s face had drifted past him as she’d glided through the swirling mist.

She’d wandered to the edge of the lagoon. Smiled at him over her shoulder. Beckoned for him to join her. When ōkami had moved to her side—drawn as a dragonfly to a flame—she’d reached for him. Stepped into the lagoon.

And let the whirlpool swallow her whole.

The entire time she’d watched him—waited for him to join her, even in death—her features had remained serene. A flame in the mist.

ōkami had stood immobile. Witnessing as the water dragged her under.

Doing nothing.

Even in his dreams, he’d remembered how she smelled.

Clean. Like orange blossoms.

He recalled how she smiled. How her lips would waver at first, as though she still had not decided whether or not it was wise to show her true feelings to anyone.

Despite everything, ōkami had admired Sanada Takeo for this. When he’d thought her to be a boy, ōkami had appreciated how poorly she’d hidden her emotions—how inept she seemed at keeping them in check—despite the fact that the girl clearly knew how to tell a lie.

It reminded him of the small, angry boy he’d been in his past.

A boy who didn’t mind lying to others. But despised lying to himself.

ōkami frowned again at his reflection in the water. Shoved his hands beneath it, splintering the image. He washed his face. Let the water rinse away his memories. Cleanse him of all responsibility.

He was not lying to himself. He did not care about the girl. ōkami could not afford to care about her. She was trouble, even if she was smart. Even if there was something awkwardly fearless about her.

She was nothing to him. Even though he should have asked her why she’d dressed as a boy. Should have let her know how curious he was about her. How much he wished to know all that passed through her clever mind.

But he would not answer her questions. So he had no right to ask his.

For this one day, ōkami would not tell anyone about her.

This one day only, he would lie to his best friend.

For this time only.

—

“I think it’s time Sanada Takeo learned how to wield a katana. And I think you should be the one to teach him,” Ranmaru announced the instant ōkami entered his tent that morning.

ōkami’s resulting hesitation spoke volumes. “I don’t use swords.” The Wolf pronounced the words carefully, each one bound in an underlying threat.

Tread no further.

Ranmaru grinned, his expression unaffected, even when met with signs of ōkami’s cool fury. “I think it’s time for you to change that.” His response was equally underscored with a trace of menace.

Might had to be met with might. Especially on the field of battle.

“With all due respect, I don’t really care what you think.” ōkami turned to leave.