Glint (The Plated Prisoner 2)

“Interesting that you should attempt to visit them every night when you wouldn’t consider them your friends. Makes one wonder why.”

I bristle, suddenly wishing that we could’ve made it to day four without interacting. I’m just not that lucky, I guess.

“Are you going to block me in this carriage all night, or can I get out? I’m tired.”

Rip’s he

ad tilts to the side, the short spikes along his brow line more pronounced. “Tired? You’re usually chomping at the bit to go eat and visit the saddles.”

“Yeah, well, as you pointed out, they’re not my friends, so I’ll just save myself the trip,” I snap.

This male makes my headache so much worse.

Black eyes narrow as he studies me closely, gaze smoothing over my body from head to toe. “Are you ill?”

“I’m fine. Now, if you don’t mind...” I look pointedly where he’s still blocking the doorway.

I’m surprised when he actually steps aside to let me out. Dusk is still the victor against night, the last of the graying light quickly fading. I take in a deep breath, the fresh air making me feel so much better after being stuck in the stagnant carriage all day.

My teeth begin to chatter, and I band my arms around myself like a shield, trying to hold in a shiver, trying to create a layer of armor against this male. He has a way of making me feel like he’s peeling away my layers, seeing what I want to hide. And right now, I don’t feel well enough to fend him off, to keep up with his battle-minded tactics.

Thankfully, the tent is already set up, erected right beside the carriage. I want to collapse on the pallet under a pile of furs and not come out until my head stops pounding.

I take one step toward it, but my vision suddenly swims, pain lancing through my forehead. I squeeze my eyes shut and stumble, my legs like jelly.

Rip’s hand lashes out lightning-quick, fingers curling around my arm. His catch steadies me, freezes me in place. The disorienting feeling is swept away from my head, like his touch is a chain to an anchor I thought had broken away. I teeter, a boat in the water, reeling as that anchoring grip holds steady, keeping me upright.

A split second later, I realize my mistake—dependent on his hold as I am. Eyes springing open, I whirl, yanking my arm from his grasp.

“Don’t touch me!” I hiss, looking around wildly, my heart nearly beating right out of my chest as I glance at the sky.

A dizzying feeling comes over me again, but I lift my hands in front of me to ward him off.

Rip’s eyes harden like inky steel, his spikes erupting from his sleeves and down his back. They seem to breathe, each sharp curve expanding like ribs.

He glares down at me. “You can barely stand. You are ill.”

“I said I’m fine.”

He takes a step forward, coming into my space, forcing my head to tilt back. “And I said don’t lie until you can do it better,” he replies quietly, his voice an even rumble, a saw dragging through wood. “Go to the tent. I’ll send for the mender.”

I grit my teeth at his order, since that’s obviously what I was doing in the first place. My head hurts too much to think of a retort though, and I can’t breathe correctly with him so close.

Cursing him under my breath, I turn and walk off, keeping my attention on my feet, feeling his eyes on my back until I duck into the tent.

There’s a slight chill in the space since the burning coals haven’t had enough time to heat it up, but I kick my snowy boots off and strip out of my coat before I collapse onto the pallet on the right, burying myself beneath layers of blessed fur.

I feel like I’ve just barely closed my eyes when I feel a hand pressing against my brow. My head swims, and for a moment, I think it’s my mother’s hand, her comforting touch come to say goodnight.

But then I notice the calluses on the palm, the rough grit sliding against my forehead like sandpaper smoothing wood.

It can’t be her—her hands were soft, dainty. Hers was a mother’s caressing touch, not this clinical, unfamiliar graze.

I startle awake, blinking blearily as Hojat comes into focus above me. It takes a second, but once I realize that it’s his hand touching my forehead, blind panic comes roaring up.

In a rush of alarmed horror, I jerk upright, my ribbons straightening out, acting on pure instinct. They shove him away hard, curled edges of satin slamming into his chest with a furor.

With wide, surprised eyes and a grunt from the force of my push, Hojat’s body goes flying back. It happens almost in slow motion, while I watch in horrified shock.