Chapter 3
Ripples
The sun was kissing the horizon when I reached my hideout haven. I’d found this sanctuary as a child, and it brought me more contentment than my family home. No one expected anything from me here.
The warm lick of the wind on my cheeks was soothing as I climbed.
The sting of coarse rock tearing the edges of my fingertips wasn’t.
Surefooted and quick, I scaled up the familiar steep cliff barehanded.
Heaving my body upwards, I strained and pulled until I was atop the false promontory, facing the small crack in the cliff that revealed a diaphanous coastline.
It was a remote spot, the dense canopy surrounding it ensconced with the area’s own vegetation.
From the ground you couldn't tell there was even a ledge here.
This plateau was high enough up to barely see over the walls of the inner perimeter, but not steep enough to see the lower outer perimeter beyond it, and far enough away from the shore that there was no risk of getting splashed by miasma.
This would likely be the last time I could sneak back here before the Mistrun. It might be the last time I ever saw it. My heart clenched itself into a tight fist.
Everything was just how I remembered it, the ironwing ant hill on the corner, the fresh perfume of blooming hibiscus clinging to the edges of the Rainbow Eucalyptus that towered over the center of the area.
The constellations of deep engravings scarring the rock, knit together into ancient symbols.
Even the mossy blanket that hugged them and carpeted the entire edge, with the rolling rock river that I had redirected years ago to create a small wind breaker for my vantage point. Everything was the same.
The handsome fighter from Docksiders who sat in my favorite spot overlooking the miasma sea that surrounded Mesmoria, reading a journal… that was new.
His presence had a gravity to it, and I almost didn't want to disturb him as he glared out at the sparkling sheen of the ocean with his back to me. He was pensive, and I felt like the intruder here, even though this was my spot.
I must have made some small noise, because he turned toward me and something fluttered in my chest.
His complexion was that of the far side of the island; he had Southerner features, concealed by the shadow of stubble.
I should have been afraid, given the private nature of this location and the sheer amount of Skinscript he wore, but I'd spent too long in the company of criminals to be scared so easily.
His heated gaze raked over me. “Didn't get enough violence, huh?
Needed a private view of raw physicality?
As much as I love a good piece of tail, I don't appreciate being tailed.
Plus, I'm not in the mood.” His voice brushed against me, low and smooth.
He looked down at his book, pointedly turning his back to me.
I bristled at the implication. “Not everything is about you; I didn't follow you here. If you're going to brood, you could be less aggressively unpleasant about it. Or you could do us both a favor, and leave.”
He snorted, turning back toward me. “You’ve gotta be kidding. I was here first. You’re the one who should leave.”
Anger replaced the color of any flush in my cheeks.
Never mind my foolish hormones, I didn't need to hear him speak again.
This might be my last chance to enjoy this secret spot, and this rude, albeit attractive stranger was trying to pressure me into leaving.
“All the testosterone from your victory earlier must have clouded your brain. Not. Everything. Is. About. You.”
He was seated in the middle of the crack in the cliff, in my seat, without enough room on either side for me to squeeze in.
His massive frame was occupying so much space that even from this end of the outcrop, it was difficult to see around him.
Maybe from the top of the nearby Eucalyptus I could get an unobstructed view of the miasma.
And it’ll maintain a safe distance.
Testing my weight on the lower branches, I was encouraged when they didn’t break beneath me. Hefting myself up, I climbed the tree. The curling bark was loose, sloughing off in flaky sheets as I gained height.
“Hey, watch it,” he warned as stray peels of bark landed in his lap.
Serves him right, seat-thief.
A meatier chunk of bark loosened under my foot, stumbling its way down the branches to smack the crown of his head. A grunt rose from below as it collided with his thick skull.
“Get down from there before you fall and take us both out,” he growled.
“I won’t fall,” I told him, trying to peer around the dense foliage.
Disappointment rose when I saw how compact the leaves were, there wasn’t any view of the miasma beyond the layers of greenery.
Any higher and the branches wouldn’t be able to bear my weight.
The only vantage point of the coast was where he already sat.
He grumbled something under his breath. “That’s something someone says right before they fall.” He paused. “Don’t think I’ll catch you either. I won’t.”
I clenched my jaw, making my way back down. “You take up so much space it’d be impossible to miss hitting you if I did fall. And I wouldn’t dream of assuming you had a single unselfish bone in your body.” I jumped down the final distance to the ledge.
“Selfish?”
Gesturing with my hand, I waved at the amount of space he was occupying around the gap in the cliff wall. “You’re not even enjoying the view, you’re reading some dusty old book. But you’re taking up the entire perch.”
He shifted slightly to the side, leaving barely enough to allow me to sit beside him. “There, are you happy?”
I would be if you chose somewhere else to read.
He was still dangerous, but this was my last chance to enjoy this view. My pride and pent-up frustration from dinner wrestled against my caution.
It’ll save Nikolach the effort of killing me if this jerk shoves me off the cliff. At least I wouldn’t have to participate in the Mistrun tomorrow.
Straightening my back, I marched over toward him and swung my legs precariously off the edge next to him.
There was barely enough room for both of us, but I would meet the Devourer before I let him intimidate me like a child.
Every mote of distance between us held an electric charge, but I refused to move.
There was less than a fingertip of space separating us.
He let out an aggrieved sigh, closing his book and setting it down beside him. I leaned back on my hands, trying in vain to ignore his presence while watching the frothing miasma.
Lovely, nearly translucent waves undulated in the melancholy dusk light. Pale and shimmering, the miasma folded over itself in a reflective kaleidoscope of color, shadows twisting within it from the many creatures that inhabited it.
It was a shame that touching it burned flesh like acid.
Watching the miasma was usually calming. His proximity beside me made it irritating instead. The stranger hadn't so much as twitched. He was as stubborn as I was, and also refused to leave.
Well, two could play that game. I wanted to hear his voice again, just a tiny smidge. And if interacting with him was annoying enough to make him move, all the better.
“What brought you up here to my spot?”
The corners of his left eyebrow twitched. “Your spot?”
“Yes, my spot.” He gave an exaggerated scan of the gouges carved into the ground around us, scrutinizing the runes. “What are you doing?”
“Looking for your name, carved somewhere.”
My eyes narrowed. “Out of curiosity, what name do you think you should be searching for?”
“Something shallow, pretty, and more hard-headed than this rock.” He knocked his knuckles against it. “Like Madisen. Or Ashlei.”
Torn between being pleased at the compliment and offended at the insults, I blurted out the truth. “It's Lisia. And I would never deface nature with my autograph.” An awkward silence shivered to life between us. I paused until it stretched too long. “You know my name now.”
“What's your point?” His voice had no right to be as melodious as it was.
Frustration had me grinding my teeth together. “It's polite to tell someone your name when you learn theirs.”
Disbelieving, or maybe aggravated, he tipped his face ever so slightly to examine me again. I successfully ignored the impulse to meet his eyes. “I'm not polite.”
“No kidding.” I waited for a few more seconds. “Well, are you going to tell me your name or not?”
“No.”
“Why are you all the way up here, anyway?”
He scowled, thick brows furrowed. “That’s none of your business.”
“Oh c’mon. Sharing secrets is more fun than safekeeping them.”
“I’ve had a hell of a day already. My quota for facing consequences is maxed out, and I won’t be sharing the damn details with you. But since you’re desperate for companionship and won’t leave me alone, why don’t you tell me about your day instead?”
“I got out of the Reformatory today,” I announced, swinging my legs back and forth.
“Happy hatching day.” I rolled my eyes at his lame joke. “Never would have guessed from the getup.”
I gave a noncommittal shrug, tugging at the hem of my yellow shirt. “Standard issue shade of shame.”
After a beat of silence, he drawled, “You're too young to have committed any crimes worth committing.” I scoffed.
Little did he know. “You don't look old enough to even enjoy sweetstalk syrup.” His eyes were drifting over me again, and the same tangible sensation traveled over me. Like a heated touch.
Now it was my turn to raise an eyebrow. “How old do you think I am?”
He continued his slow perusal, and an involuntary and unwanted trembling stirred in my chest. The slightest smile transformed him from handsome to gorgeous.
“I'd be a fool to answer that. No woman ever wants to know the age she looks, and no girl ever wants to hear that she still looks like a girl.”
“So you think I look like a girl,” I summarized.