Chapter 7 #2
Or maybe he was just another kind of collector—one of those men who likes to play hero because it makes his cock feel bigger. A white knight who thinks giving me sweet words was enough to slip between my legs for free, because paying would make him no better than the rest.
But they’re all the same in the end.
Every man’s got a tactic. Some wave coin in your face, others promise you love, safety, forever . . . as if any of that ever came without strings.
I opened my mouth to say something, but slammed it shut with a sigh. It was too cold to be out here talking to men in the streets. “I have to go . . . thank you for whatever that was.” I motioned towards the regular who’d sauntered off into the crowds.
Then I spun on my heel, heading for the bakery.
Pine and fresh river water stepped in beside me. “You always seem to be rushing away. What demands your attention?”
Of course he followed. His footsteps were too damn quiet for a man his size.
“If you really must know, bread demands it.”
“I love bread,” he teased, a smile stealing across his face.
I halted outside the baker's doorway. The smell of freshly baked dough did nothing to soothe the prickle under my skin.
The words fell out before I could stop them. “You break Ree’s nose and now what? You think you’re my saviour?”
He tilted his head, that calm, infuriating look on his face. “Saviour? . . . Nah, he wouldn’t break someone's nose.”
“And what about Ree?”
“What about him? Seemed he deserved it. Didn’t hear you complain when my face hit his.”
I crossed my arms tight over my chest. “You think that earns you something?”
His eyes dipped to my lips, then back to my glare. “No. But it felt good.”
Before I could stop myself, I looked down at his mouth too. “You know, you’re feeding them with your rage,” I said with quiet confidence. “It doesn’t hurt them the way you think it does.”
Something flickered in his expression, gone as quickly as it came.
“Maybe,” he said, voice low. “But it’s the only language they understand.”
I shook my head. “No. It’s just the one they expect. If you’re trying to prove a point to them, I’d pick strength over anger.”
He looked at me then, really looked and it sat heavily in my chest. Blythe had risen to the surface unexpectedly. I couldn’t let him see her, so I squared my shoulders and took a step back. “Well anyway, in case you needed a reminder, my time is money—and I’m not working today.”
He had the nerve to smirk, just a flicker at the corner of his mouth. “Didn’t ask you to work. Maybe I need something from the bakery too? I could keep you company?”
“Go keep someone else company. I have errands to run.”
He leaned in, voice low enough to send a wave of bumps over my skin. “Are you sure I couldn’t just join you?”
I had nothing to say to that. The truth was, I didn’t even know why I didn’t want to talk to him.
I scraped around inside myself for a reason, something sharp to throw at him—but there was nothing.
There was just the way he carried himself, too calm, too confident.
That smile that made my ribs ache. And the worst part?
Not once had he touched me like I owed him something for it.
“Fine,” I said with a sigh, then twisted on my heel, heading into the bakery.
I kept my eyes on the shelves, on the bread, on anything that wasn’t him.
I ordered a loaf and counted out my coins carefully, pretending I couldn’t feel him somewhere behind me.
He bought a small tart from the baker, thanked her like he had all the time in the world, and I hated how normal he sounded.
When I turned to leave, he was already there, holding the door open for me.
I stepped past him without a word and out into the street, he followed behind. As I turned to face him, the setting sun caught the edges of his curls, turning them into a tumbling mess of red and gold flames. His gaze found mine, and my breath hitched.
“Well, good day to you,” I said, voice void of emotion.
“Can I walk with you more? Perhaps home?” he asked, as if he hadn’t already been doing exactly that for the past five minutes.
I shot him a sideways glance. “You’re kidding, right? Now that we’ve bought bread together you think you can walk me home too like some sort of suitor? What is this?”
He chuckled, unbothered. “Just thought I’d be polite. Besides, it’s getting dark.”
“Oh no. The dark,” I deadpanned.
His voice softened. “And because I want to know you, Sapphire.”
That stopped me. Just for a breath.
I scoffed, but it sounded thinner than I meant it to. “No one wants to know me.”
“I do.”
I do.
Two stupid little words—softer than they should’ve been, sharp enough to wedge under my ribs. Nobody wanted to know me. They wanted what I could do for them, what I’d let them take. Nothing more.
Maybe he thought he wanted to know The Night Jewel, when my painted lips were all he saw. But one slip of the mask and he’d flinch just like the rest.
Yet something in the way he looked at me, like he was telling the truth, made my shoulders loosen—just slightly.
My gaze travelled over his face. “Why are you so persistent?”
I'd seen him smile before—a graceful tilt at the corners of his mouth, bright as the dawning sun.
But this was different, vibrant with a joy untouched by the world.
A smile that knew it had won something vital, and claimed it.
All perfect teeth and glittering eyes. “You look like you could use a friend.”
His words settled in my mind, and how true they were.
I sighed, pressing the loaf of bread to my chest as I started walking. Just like before, he fell into step beside me. . . like he belonged there, matching my stride without saying a word. The warmth of him made the cold feel less somehow.
When we turned the corner by the butcher’s stall, I spotted two small girls huddled together next to their mother—hollow things, skin too thin over bones, eyes too big for their faces. They saw me and lit up like lanterns. My feet stopped on their own.
“Here.” I crouched, tore the loaf in half, and handed a half to each set of waiting hands. Dirty fingers brushed mine, cold but grateful.
“Thank you, Sapphire!” the smallest squeaked.
“We love you!” the grey-eyed girl piped up, mouth already full of crust.
Their mother dipped her head in thanks, her eyes filling with tears.
I managed a smile, but it tasted wrong. Felt even stranger with him standing there, seeing it all—seeing me like this. Not painted up, not working the floor. Just this woman who handed out bread she should be saving.
I straightened, wiping my palms on my skirt, and caught his eyes on me. I didn’t like what I saw there—softness. Pity. Something else I couldn’t name.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I muttered, stepping away before he could say anything stupid.
We walked in silence for a while. I wasn’t sure how long he’d stay at my side.
I thought he’d falter once the Silver Finch came into view—fall back from the warmth between us in favour of cold distance.
But he didn’t. His stride was steady, shoulders back, chin tilted upward, as if he didn’t see the same darkness I had lived my whole life wading through.
What was his angle? I still couldn’t work out why someone so gentle was interested in knowing someone whose heart was made stone long ago.
“I suppose it would be rude of me not to ask your name,” I murmured, head down, boots scuffing the cobbles.
He glanced sideways at me. “You can call me Nik.”
“Is it short for something?”
“Yeah, Pumpernickel.”
I twisted, looking up at him in disbelief.
He stared down at me, unblinking.
Gods, this man was serious, wasn’t he?