Steel's Edge

Considering her latest stand, he shouldn’t really be surprised. Their partnership was less than a day old, and he had already received a dressing-down. Your own damn fault, he congratulated himself. You took her with you.

The dog rose from his spot by the bathroom door, trotted over, and flopped by him with all the grace of a sack of potatoes. Big shaggy paws rose in the air, and he was presented with a canine chest.

“Really?”

The dog looked at him. Fine. Richard reached over and rubbed the fur. He couldn’t possibly smell any worse. The wolfripper dogs weren’t trained to kill humans, only to find them and keep them put. The slavers didn’t wish to unduly damage their merchandise. Aside from their size and their teeth, the wolfrippers were just dogs, and this shaggy idiot seemed starved for affection.

Richard scratched the dog’s belly. He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t thought to tell her what he was planning. It was simply force of habit. He had been on his own for too long. Being chewed out for it, like he was a child who had committed a lapse in manners, however, wasn’t in his plans. She would have to get over it. Nor would he be obeying her orders. In fact, he would address it the moment she came out of the bathroom, to prevent future misunderstandings.

The door opened slowly.

“It appears our host has a sense of humor,” Charlotte said, and stepped out.

Her hair fell down over her back in a combed wet wave. She wore a flowing robe of pale pink that ended a few inches above her knees. The robe was completely, decadently sheer. He could see every curve of her body, from the elegant neck to the swell of her breasts, barely obscured by the folds of the fabric, to the supple bend of her waist and widening of her hips . . .

He was staring. All of his years as an adult male had vanished, wiped away as if they never existed, and he was a teenage boy again, awkward and dumbstruck. He gaped at her, unable to glance away, unable to make a sound, unable to do anything but stare.

He wanted her. She was an erotic dream.

This wasn’t real, he decided. He was still in a cage or lying by the road dying, and his feverish brain had conjured up a beautiful fantasy to taunt him one last time before he passed on into the afterlife.

A pale pink blush spread over Charlotte’s cheeks.

Look away, you fool.

Richard closed his mouth and forced himself to turn to the bed and pick up his own stack of clothes. “It appears you’re right. Jason does have a sense of humor. Let’s hope I don’t come out in a leather loincloth.”

He headed to the bathroom, forcing himself to look anywhere but at Charlotte as she crossed the room and climbed under the covers.

In the shower, he leaned against the wall, bracing himself with both arms, and let the water splash onto the back of his head and over his back, massaging his tired muscles. Richard closed his eyes and saw Charlotte in his mind. Get a grip. You’re the man she sprung from a cage, covered in filth, piss, and blood. She took pity on him and healed him. She had no idea that it was more kindness than he had seen from a woman in years. For her it was merely common charity.

She was a beautiful, refined woman. A man would have to be dead not to respond to her. He had come so close to death, and now his body was rejoicing in the fact he’d survived. Acting on it was out of the question. She trusted him, and he wouldn’t break that trust. Even if she opened that door, which she would not, Charlotte had just suffered an emotional catastrophe. Only a lowlife would take advantage of that, and he wouldn’t be the mistake she regretted first thing in the morning.

Richard shut his mind off, soaped up the sponge, and scrubbed himself until he could detect no odors other then the crisp, spicy scent of soap. The shower was almost more effort than he could take. As he stood under the water, he briefly considered simply sitting down on the floor and not getting up. But he was pretty sure she would come looking for him, and being found naked slumped on the shower floor would be truly disastrous.

Jason had left that outfit on purpose. The man was smart and perceptive. He would’ve read their body language, deduced that they were traveling together but weren’t intimate, and taken this opportunity to taunt him. If Richard was keeping score, this one would go to Jason Parris, but he wasn’t interested in side battles.

His clothes turned out to be plain Weird attire: simple dark gray underwear, a tunic, and brown cotton pants. It would do until he could acquire new ones. He exited the bathroom. Charlotte lay on her side, hidden under a sheet. Her eyes were half-closed, and he wasn’t sure if she was asleep or watching him through the curtain of her soft eyelashes.

Richard took his sword from where he’d left it, by the door, and sank down against the door, crossing his legs, his blade resting against his shoulder. Generations of his ancestors had slept just like this, and some of them had woken up with their blades in their attackers. If Jason had a moment of insanity and decided to disrupt their rest, he would join them.

“Richard,” Charlotte said.

“Yes?”

“Are you worried we may not survive the night?”

There was no point in lying. “I prefer to be cautious.”

“Would you like a blanket and a pillow?”

He would’ve liked to join her in bed. And what would you do if you did? You’re so tired, you can’t see straight. “No, thank you. I’m used to sleeping like this. It gives me comfort.”

She stirred on the bed. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For guarding the door, and for taking me with you.”

There were many questions he wanted to ask her. He wanted to know where she was from, why she had run away to the Edge, and how her ex-husband had hurt her, but the fatigue smothered him. Richard closed his eyes and surrendered to sleep.

FIVE

WHEN Charlotte awoke, sunlight was spilling through the windows into the room, the delicate and pale radiance of the late morning coloring the light yellow bedding a faint peach.

Richard stood by the door, with his bare back to her. He’d changed into dark trousers and was holding a white shirt. Muscle corded his back, hard and powerful, bulging under bronzed skin, as if he had absorbed the sun’s warmth and now was suffused with it. He was built like a predator, lean, strong, fast, and perfectly balanced. Frightening in his potential for violence yet irresistibly compelling. She wanted to run her hand up his back, tracing the contours of the muscle underneath. It was a completely sensual desire, a physical need free of rational thought. He was so different from her, so very masculine, and she wanted to reach for him.

Richard raised his arms, pulling on the shirt. The muscles flexed under his skin, bulging on his broad shoulders. She watched, mesmerized. Last night, when she had crawled into a strange bed, feeling half-dead, it occurred to her that she was in the house of a criminal, deep in the worst part of the city. If Jason Parris wanted to murder them, he could at any time and with complete impunity. Nobody even knew where they were. Her fear had spiraled, threatening to explode into a panic attack. Then Richard had sat down with his back against the door last night, and her anxiety had faded. Somehow she was completely sure that nothing would make it past him to harm her. It was selfish, but she closed her eyes knowing he wouldn’t move till morning, and she slept well.

No woman could mistake the way he had looked at her last night when she had stepped out of the shower. She had looked at him too, through the curtain of her eyelashes, when he emerged, his skin clean, his hair damp. She looked at him even though she knew she shouldn’t have. He embodied strength, and she felt weak, despite knowing otherwise. Further, she had survived terrible things, and she was tempted to remind herself that she still lived in the most primal of ways. She wouldn’t do it to him, however. First, it was simply not done, not in this fashion and not after a mere two days of knowing each other. Second, Richard made it plain that his effectiveness depended on having no attachments. He would resent her.

Neither of them were in their right mind. People who had nothing to lose often did crazy things, and she had