Chapter 29 Never Better
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
NEVER BETTER
ADELINE
“Roane?” I hurry after him back into the ruins of the cabin, or whatever this place is. I don’t really care at this point, the only thing I care about being… “Roane! Stop.”
He doesn’t reply. He grabs his belt with all the sheathed knives and the scimitars and buckles it around his narrow hips. Then he starts braiding his hair, fingers flying over the dark strands. He throws the finished braid over his shoulder and starts for the door again.
“Roan! Damn.” I gather the book and the egg and hurry after him. “Wait for me.”
I run outside and he’s already climbing down the slope. What is going on with him? I thought we were over the mistrust and glaring.
Gritting my teeth, I slip and slide down the path he helped me climb last night. He was so… nice then. And this morning he was so cute, cutting up water-apples for me. If only I hadn’t touched him, made him realize I want more…
“Roane. Come on, slow down.”
But he doesn’t. He sets a punishing pace all the way down to the river bank. By the time we reach level ground, I’m tired, annoyed, and close to tears.
Which is unbearable. He is unbearable. My body was so wrong about him. I don’t want him. Don’t want anything to do with him.
Finally, he stops and I catch up with him.
“Why didn’t you wait for me?” I demand, the book nestled back in my bosom, the egg clutched to my side. “Why are you acting like this?”
He shakes his head, but when he turns around, his face is pale. “What the fuck was I thinking?”
That takes me aback. “Are you all right?”
A grunt escapes his lips. “Yeah. Never better.”
“What you said earlier—”
“Did you think that meant something?” He sneers. “I was testing to see how far you’d go.”
Now I feel the blood draining from my face, too. “Why? Why would you do that?”
“I was bored.” He turns away from me and stumbles. Catches himself. “So fucking bored.”
“Right. Because killing monsters is a boring activity.”
“Try being alone in a world full of monsters.”
“Wait until Ardruna and Talton hear you disparaging them again. Then you will be all alone, as is apparently your wish.”
“My wish?” He laughs, a hollow sound. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Why don’t you tell me, then? Since you know everything.”
He runs his fingers through his hair, partially undoing his braid. “Fuck…”
“I don’t care about your little tantrum,” I say when the silence stretches. “We have to return the egg to the griffin. When we go—”
“We are not going anywhere. I will return the egg to the griffin, and you will return to your world.”
It’s a punch to the gut, every time he says it. “I thought I can’t leave.”
“I’ll find a way. I don’t want you around,” he snarls. “I don’t like you, little bird. I don’t like you rearranging my world, poking your nose where it doesn’t belong. Just fly back home.”
“Fine. Be that way.” I’m shaking, angry and embarrassed and strangely sad. “I didn’t ask you to be nice. Or to save my life.”
He tsks, tipping his head back and giving me a long, undecipherable look from under his dark lashes. And then he resumes walking.
Great. Excellent.
Gods, this is worse than I thought. He loathes me and I don’t know why, but you know what? My mistake. Quit the game it is, then. Why did I think it would be any different?
I’m such a fool. The most stupid woman ever. I should know better.
Naida taught me the stories. When you know the patterns, you have no excuse for erring like I just did. Letting yourself believe a moment of sweetness can offset a man’s consistently nasty behavior is stupid.
He saved your life again and again.
But that’s his duty as the library’s guardian. As my host in this world. It was obviously nothing personal.
Who would have known if he’d let you perish, though? Nobody is here to see, remember? Maybe you do mean something to him.
Or maybe he has his own code of honor. Or his animals hold him accountable. I don’t know. The point is, apparently, you can save someone and not feel anything for them.
Anything positive, like attraction. Fondness. Attachment. Learn something new every day, right?
The point is, he doesn’t feel anything for me.
Which makes sense, I tell myself. I barely know him. He barely knows me. I heard and read too many romantic tales where two people glance at each other and are instantly felled by the arrows of love. It didn’t happen here. That should have been my first clue.
Sure, I ogled him. Stared at him like a starstruck fool. He’s so pretty to look at, despite the coat of grime and the constant glare.
It means nothing. It’s an eternal trap set for women, set by their minds, thinking they can take a man who has proven nasty and turn him around, save him from himself, make him see the error of his ways and transform him into a perfect partner.
Because we women are always looking for a partner. A person to share our experiences with. And men… men call to us. So we gather every little sweet word and gesture, cherishing them in our hearts, choosing to ignore the wealth of meanness directed toward us.
“Hurry up,” he says, glancing at me over his shoulder. “Or the monsters will get you.”
I rush after him, furious that he has the upper hand and has no qualms about using it. Furious that for a moment he made me believe I had been wrong about him, but I hadn’t, and I should trust my instincts.
Asshole.