Chapter 13
Clara woke up before the sun. She laid there for a while, the remnants of her dream still spinning through her mind.
She hadn’t dreamed about him in years. Most of her dreams consisted of training, scenarios, and the deaths she had witnessed or executed.
It didn’t bode well for the future that two days in his presence and her subconscious was already manifesting him through her dreams.
He truly was an asshole. How dare he.
She slid out from under the sheets and went through a basic stretching routine.
She focused on her breathing. In and out.
Forcing her body, and her mind, to relax.
Her muscles screamed at her from the day on the train , and she decided that today she would be more active even if it was pacing in the train car.
She dressed for the day and braided her hair back loosely.
She stepped out of the room and her stomach growled at the smell of food.
She had planned to walk directly to the train in an effort to beat Carver, but, she couldn’t resist ordering a couple of burritos to-go.
She debated getting one for Carver. He was kind enough to bring her the key to this place.
With that in mind, she took her food and walked briskly to the train. It wasn’t raining, but a gentle mist still hung in the air. Clara breathed in deeply, exhaling all of the stress she had woken up with.
She wasn’t still in love with Carver. Couldn’t be.
After all, she hated him. He’s an annoying, arrogant, perfect, insufferable asshole.
She knew part of her was lying. She had, against her better judgment, gotten him a burrito.
Well, technically, she got herself three burritos.
But she also knew she’d never be able to eat more than two.
He was already on the train when she reached it, and she was frustrated she hadn’t beat him. He leaned against a crate of some new cargo, but he stood up as she approached. How long did he even sleep? The sun was just barely peeking over the horizon, still sending out rays of orange and pink.
The circles under his eyes were darker than the day before. His hair stuck up at weird angles and he yawned as she approached. He squinted, as the rising sun behind her bathed her in an orange glow. Had he slept at all?
“Drink too much?”
He yawned again, sat back down and leaned against the crate. “Define too much.” He closed his eyes, crossing his arms across his chest.
Clara sat cross legged leaning against the wall a few feet from him. “Whatever you had,” she muttered, unwrapping her first burrito. She sighed as she took her first bite. It was so worth stopping, and she was grateful she hadn’t skipped getting the burritos.
Carver opened one eye, lazily glancing her direction. “You got food?”
“Of course.” It didn’t take her long to polish off the burrito, and as she unwrapped the second one she said, “These were bigger than I thought. I can only eat two. Do you want the last one?”
He fully glared at her for that statement, and she was a little surprised. “What, did you poison it or something?” That is a brilliant way to complete this mission. I don’t hate you enough to damn our kingdom.
“Poison it?” She asked flatly, trying not to give him the satisfaction of a true reaction. “Who do you think I am?”
“I don’t know, maybe the most renowned assassin?”
“You know what, jerk? I rescind my offer.”
He went back to fake sleeping, and she angrily finished her burrito. She was tempted to eat the third one as well, just to prove something to him, though what it would prove she hadn’t figured out yet. But it would definitely prove something. Unfortunately, she was too full for that.
A few minutes later, the man walked back, and glanced inside to make sure they were both there. He closed the door to the train car. The train rumbled to a start, and they were off.
“I shouldn’t have picked a fight.” Carver said softly, eyes staying closed.
“No, you shouldn’t have.” She glared at him, feeling safe doing so since he wasn’t looking.
“Can I still take you up on the offer for your last burrito?”
“Seriously? You think you can yell at me and still have my food?” She answered harshly, and held out the last burrito.
He walked a little shakily as the train rumbled. Taking it from her, he answered, “Yeah, just like you know you would.”
He stepped carefully back across the train to sit. “Thank you.” He answered with direct eye contact, and after a couple seconds Clara had to look away. He was still so attractive to her. Even with how much weight he had lost and the circles under his eyes.
The unkempt hair? Well…that was actually an improvement over his perfectly gelled style. She wondered for a moment what it would feel like to run her fingers through his hair now. They wouldn’t get stuck anymore, and he probably wouldn’t even be annoyed at her for messing his hair up this time.
He caught her looking at him and raised his shoulders in a silent question.
She could feel the heat rush to her cheeks.
“Good burrito, right?” She pulled the journal out of her bag, pretending she was focused.
She started drawing on the first page, trying to get her thoughts together.
She couldn’t look at him like that. She definitely couldn’t imagine touching him.
Rule 3. She certainly wouldn’t break that one.
An avid rule follower, she couldn’t break any of them.
The train ride eventually smoothed out. Once she started sketching, she didn’t want to stop.
It was very simple at first. A sketch of the training room, the punching bag centered instead of in the corner.
But then the edges grew darker, and weapons filled the room.
A dark splotch of blood consumed the right corner as if someone had died just off the page.
Morbid, but she felt calmer with the darkness outside of her mind instead of bouncing around the edges of her brain.
“I didn’t know you could draw.”
She pulled the journal to her chest protectively as she looked up to see Carver. “I can’t.” She bit back, though the retort was weak.
He looked unamused. “Clara, I saw what you drew. You can draw.”
She didn’t bother with a second rebuttal. “It’s not a big deal. I’m not even that great.”
He raised his eyebrows and she felt her jaw clench in an effort to ignore how cute that look was on him. I don’t like him. I don’t like him. I don’t like him.
“You’re pretty great. I sure can’t draw like that.”
“Oh, yes, and you’re certainly the measure of success.”
He grinned, “Absolutely. Have you ever known me to be bad at anything?”
Her mind spun. He was so frustrating. And, no, she couldn’t think of anything he sucked at. But she sure as hell wouldn’t tell him that. Then it hit her. “Yeah, I can.”
“Oh?” He enjoyed the back and forth, waiting for her to come up with something random she could barely accuse him of. She had more than he expected and she knew that.
“You’re extremely bad at relationships.”
The humor evaporated, and she watched pain flare in his eyes before he masked it. “Low blow.”
She shrugged. “Yes, yes it was.” She was dangerously close to addressing their history, but again, the rules. She needed Carver out of her space. Right. Now. “Will you sit down so I can get back to drawing? Or will you keep standing there, staring at me like an idiot?”
He gritted his teeth, and she wished she hadn’t noticed the sharp edge of his jaw again.
Nothing about him was actually helpful for this situation.
Except his personality, she had to concede.
But even that was hit or miss. She was either more desperate to have him, or desperate to make sure no one else ever had him. By, you know, killing him, of course.