5. Chapter 5 #4
“Who taught you how to hunt?” A deep voice engulfs me. I swirl around, wincing at the quick pivot of my twisted ankle as Augustine’s eyes fall on the blade I’ve lodged into a tree.
“No one,” I yelp in pain.
“Clearly.” Augustine reaches me quickly. Too quickly. His warm hands find my waist before I can trip on my bunk ankle again, and I shiver for an entirely different reason. Gods, he is handsome.
I bat my eyelashes. Oh gods, I never bat my eyelashes at anyone. I run my hands over my face and groan. As if I haven’t embarrassed myself enough already.
Once I’m stable, his hands slip away from my waist. He yanks the blade from the tree trunk and sheathes it, then asks, “Who were you talking to just now?”
“Myself,” I reply quickly.
He casts me an incredulous glare. Then he storms away.
I stare at his disappearing silhouette as I contemplate taking off in the opposite direction, but Solara’s request that I trust him echoes in my mind.
Ugh. Fine.
“I’m sorry, did I say something to offend you?” I limp to catch up with him, nearly tripping over a moss-coated rock in the process.
“You need to rest. You’re delirious, and you’re getting clumsier by the second,” he says as he parts a grouping of weeds out of the way with his bare hands.
He keeps them held apart like a door, despite the fact that their pricks are probably stabbing him in the palms, and then motions for me to proceed down the pathway ahead of him.
I fold my arms over my chest and plant my feet instead.
“I don’t need you,” I remark.
“Could’ve fooled me,” he replies.
I tip my head back at the sky, or what little sky is visible between all the bramble, and I sigh. “Wait a second. Why are you doing this?” I ask, snapping my head at him.
“Doing what?” Our eyes collide with his returned question.
“Helping me,” I say, my lips tingling at the way he’s looking at me.
He cocks a brow, as if my question has confused him somehow.
“You killed Frank,” I remind him.
He shrugs. “He was a dick.”
“And you knew all about my raven spellmark, even though only three people in the world know about it. Me, Master Grimwell, and Eric,” I say, ticking each person off on my fingers.
“And Frank. But he doesn’t count.” My eyes narrow in suspicion.
“Someone told you about me, and I’m going to get to the bottom of it. ” I point at him.
Augustine winces. I imagine the thorns are really starting to hurt his hands by now, which would explain why his voice comes out sparse and broken. “Would you mind?” he gasps, jerking his chin at the walking trail and motioning for me to get moving.
“Fine,” I say as I storm down the beaten path back toward the campsite, anger rising up in my chest. “But just so you know, if you’re up to something, I will make you regret it.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Augustine says.
“Sure you don’t,” I hurl over my shoulder, ignoring the pain ripping through my ankle. Ugh. I swear to all the gods, if Solara hadn’t told me to trust him, I’d be halfway back to Windspire by now. Even with my bad ankle to slow me down.
Once we return back to camp, he points toward a crackling fire seated on the side of the riverbank where a single sleeping bag lies. I can feel its warmth sinking into my skin from here.
“Lie down,” he says.
“Excuse me?” I blow out a stubborn breath as a stitch gathers in my ribcage.
“Where the hell did you find that sleeping bag? Actually, that’s not important right now,” I amend with a flippant wave of my hand, bending over to gasp for air.
“What is important, is that you understand I’m not sharing that sleeping bag with the likes of you.
So you can give up on that little dream of yours right now. ”
His voice is hard and to the point, almost like a well-deserved whack atop the head. “I didn’t expect for you to.”
I open my mouth to protest, only to slam it shut again.
Honestly, I’d been half-expecting to argue with him.
But this? This is so much worse. Because now I’m forced to imagine this hunk of man sleeping on the cold, hard ground, after sacrificing his fire and the comfort of his own sleeping bag so that I might be warm.
Or worse, him getting beheaded by the queen for failing to heed the marriage mandate, all because I refuse to swoon in response to his chivalry.
Something in my heart twinges at the thought.
It’s a gnawing sensation that feels a lot like… guilt.
“What about you, where will you sleep?” I ask begrudgingly.
“I’ll be fine,” he says. “I’m used to sleeping on a bed of leaves beneath the stars. You on the other hand…” His gaze sweeps up and down the length of my shivering, defiant body. “You need sleep. Now.” He nods toward the sleeping bag as an unsettling howl rips across the clearing.
“Well, that doesn’t sound good…” I murmur, the eerie noise shattering the stillness cradling my fragile heart. “What if sleeping here isn’t safe?”
Augustine’s eyes flash with something fierce. “I’ll keep you safe,” he says. And for some illogical reason, I believe him.