“You thought I was a virgin, maybe?” The whiskey still burned my belly, but its heat was spreading. “Dude, that cookie crumbled back when I was with Tanic.”
“That doesn’t count,” he retorted. “You didn’t have a choice—”
“People keep saying that, but the truth of it is, it happens. Happened. Doesn’t change if you want it or not. Your body’s not the same. Doesn’t mean that asshole or whoever did it to you owns you, and you don’t have to like it, but nothing’s the same,” I refuted softly. “Duffy just taught me how to like it and it didn’t have to hurt. I own myself and took back a bit of what Tanic carved out of me, but I’m not going to shove it all under some rock and pretend it didn’t happen.”
“Okay, I can understand that,” he conceded. “I wish it weren’t true.”
“If wishes were bottles of rum, Pele would be drunk all the time,” I tossed back. “But yeah, I’ve had sex, Ryder. Lots of it. Mostly with people who I didn’t see again. Other times, with people I saw a lot. I’ve killed more people than I’ve ever wanted to, and chances are, I’ll kill some more. I’ve lost count of how many black dogs I’ve brought in, but I’ve kept count of the dragons I’ve brought down. I’m a Stalker, lordling. I’ve been one for almost thirty-five years now—first as an apprentice, then as a full-fledged, badge-carrying bounty hunter. I might be young for an elfin, but for a human, I’ve got a lot under my belt.”
“That’s what I realized today. That’s what I’m telling you.” The flask made another trip across the cot, coming back to me only slightly lighter. “Today I saw a side of you I forget exists. You talk about dangerous people being out there, but I’m probably with the most dangerous person in this station right now. I watched Samms give you a wide berth, and for all his posturing and jabbing at you, he kept his distance. Hernandez treated you with a respect earned by actions, not just because of your status as a Stalker. And Malone, he worships you. Even as you threaten to kill him, he hangs on your every word.
“I saw you today. Really saw you as others see you. As the humans see you.” His voice took on a huskiness I wasn’t sure I could ignore. It rolled over me, rubbing against me like velvet. “You’ve endured things I can’t even imagine and then shaped a place for yourself in a society that hates our kind. I’ve known that. But it was knowledge I didn’t truly understand until today.”
“Does it change how you think about me?” My whisper was soft, forced out around the now-growing lump in my throat. It was already there from Dempsey and from my struggles with the others. I didn’t think about how taking Ryder on this run would introduce him to what I was. I thought he already knew I was trash—something dark and fanged the humans kept in the shadows to hunt their monsters and make the world safer for their own sake. Something in me was threatening to break, and I wasn’t even aware I had anything left inside of me that was still whole. “Because I’ve got to tell you, driving you back—”
“It doesn’t change how I think about you. Not that way.” His hand found mine, squeezing my fingers. The rough Army-issue wool blanket we sat on scratched at my palm, but I didn’t mind. “It’s changed me. Made me realize you’ve done so many things, been so many things to so many people. You warn me about things, and I don’t—and I know this—don’t take you seriously enough sometimes. I trust you. I trust your judgment. I need to remember that you might be young in my world, but in yours, you’ve lived through—survived—so much and thrived. I have to respect that. If anything, I think I cherish you more, finally understanding this.”
“And it took meeting one of my ex-lovers to realize this?” I tipped the flask back again, taking a final sip before pulling my hand out of Ryder’s grasp so I could fasten its cap back on. “Hell, remind me to dig up a few more. Maybe that’ll help you learn how to aim better when I tell you to shoot something.”
“If they are all like Samms, then I will question my sanity in wanting to be with you,” Ryder said, making a face. “What did you see in him?”
“Someone like me. Someone who hunted. A guy who didn’t fit into the world as much as I didn’t. Being a Stalker keeps you on the fringes. Not like I’m going to live in a split-level ranch and come home every day to pick the kids up from school.” I chuckled, trying to imagine myself driving a wood-paneled station wagon. “It was good until it wasn’t. And that was okay.”
“Well, if you’re going to shoot someone, make it him and not Malone.” Ryder nudged me with his shoulder. “I wouldn’t mind using him as target practice. What drove you apart? The distance, or did he cheat on you?”
“Can’t cheat on someone if you’re not actually with them on a permanent basis,” I pointed out. “But no, bastard tried to cut off my ears so… on that note, I’m going to go crash in the Mustang. Because right now, you might trust me more, lordling, but I just don’t trust myself.”
Ten
“ODIN’S TEATS, it’s freaking cold out here.” My breath turned the windshield into a frosted pane, but the tiny cell heater I’d stashed in the driver’s-side space finally kicked in, letting out a whisper of warmth. It wasn’t much, but it was safe to run inside of a closed vehicle. I was counting on the sleeping bags and the survival blankets I’d liberated from the station’s stores to keep me from losing any toes. “Okay. Warmer now. Or frostbite’s just kicking in.”
It probably was a mistake sleeping out in the Mustang, but I felt raw inside and needed a little bit of distance from Ryder, if only to keep my brain from spinning into places I didn’t need to be.
Sleep wasn’t coming easily. The parking shelter’s lights were dimmed, doused down to a dark blue wash over the pale stone with runner LEDs along the ground, leading to the frosted doors. One of the best upgrades I’d done to Oketsu was installing smart shield glass in its windshields and windows. I’d dialed it over to black frost, deepening the shadows of the interior, but even the dousing of the lights down to pinpricks didn’t help. I was restless, my skin too tight and my head too busy with fleeting, buzzing thoughts.
There was also something inside of the damned car with me.
It was something small. That much I was sure of. It scrambled about in the back seat, giving off a tiny squeak when it hit something solid. I wasn’t going to turn on the light, but damned if I was going to try to sleep in the Mustang while something was tap-dancing across the back seat. Opening the passenger-side door, I switched the overhead light on to low, guessing whatever’d gotten in would be startled by the light.
I was right.
Sitting on the stock of my sawed-off shotgun was a small trembling horned jerboa, its fluorescent rainbow mane glittering and mantling over its head and down its back. The puff at the end of its tail was nearly round, warning me off in a fierce display of courage, or as much fearlessness as a three-inch furball could muster up. Standing up on its kangaroo-like back legs, it extended its height to its fullest, weaving its head back and forth so its tiny stubby horns glistened in the Mustang’s soft interior light. Chirruping, it squeaked a battle cry, baring its short front teeth at me, but I could see it glancing at the open door, its tiny brain calculating if it could make its escape before I could grab it.