We may eat? Grinning, aware the interloper was utterly insane, she kneeled at his side to pick at the animal with her fingers and eat straight from the spit.
***
In the woman’s enthusiasm, Stephen ignored where her arm kept brushing against him, priding himself in his offer. “As you gave me the greater portion of your fish—”
Scoffing, mouth full, River said, “You’re about twenty times my size.”
He finished as if she had not interrupted, “—you may have most of the rabbit.”
Looking out the corner of her eye, River’s brows drew together. “I can have more than half of the rabbit I caught?”
“Yes.”
She laughed, really laughed, before she bumped his arm. “You’re so generous. Lucky for you, I couldn’t eat that much if I wanted to. Help yourself.”
Stephen’s large fingers pulled chunks— not bits, not morsels— huge hunks off the bone and placed them in a stack. Pretending not to notice the abnormal obsession he had with lining up his food, careful to keep her eyes where she was picking the best part of the rabbit to chew, River shifted to give him more room. Just like the last meal, all those lumps, in systematic order, were shoved into his mouth.
Stephen’s cheeks filled up like a chipmunk’s, and he chewed in time to his strange system, working down that hunk of food. The ritual was repeated until the two of them had picked the bones bare.
Sucking her fingers clean, River sat back on her heels, and glanced to her unlikely companion. “Thank you.”
&n
bsp; The twitch in his brow, the way they slightly drew together... the stranger did not know what to make of the statement. His mouth was still full, River’s timing intentional, and all he could do was stare.
Unsmiling, not at all playful, she said it again, “Thank you.”
He nodded once, earning himself a less hostile expression. Stephen’s attention went to the darker smear below her eye, the bruise he’d caused. He’d have to have been weak when she’d nursed him for the mark to be so small, for the socket to be intact. The slope of her nose wasn’t broken, it still sat straight, aquiline.
This slip of a girl could have killed him.
Measuring every last expression on her face was crucial. It wasn’t in a judgmental search for beauty, or to make her uncomfortable. This creature should not exist. Call it ignorant curiosity. Call it take a taste of something strictly prohibited. Call it what it was.
A moment of neutrality.
Almost childlike in his interest of this new, strange thing, he watched her sigh from fullness and sit back on her heels.
What female hunted? What female provided? What young woman lived alone, vulnerable to danger when they were supposed to be dressed in fine clothes, well washed, and perfumed for the men they served?
He had not earned one yet, but the prize had been so close to coming.
And never would he have chosen one such as this: a female who dared meet his eyes when they should have been cast to the floor. One who spoke with a vulgar tongue. One who failed to prostrated or beg as he had seen Mikhailov’s do.
One who dared say, “Women must look different where you’re from.”
Stephen hardly knew where he was from.
The only females he’d regularly conversed with were rare those rare few who’d trained him to distrust their wiles. The rest he’d seen were on missions—many he’d been sent to assassinate. And no, they did not look like the almond-eyed native with her matching braids—like Tiger Lily in a book he remembered from when he was still small in the orphanage. But if he were to say that, the hissing female would grow angry again. He was certain.
So, he had to ask, “The men in this region, do they find you beautiful?”
There was no guile in the question, still it seemed it sting her. “You’d have to ask them.”
“You appear to align with the local concept of exotic.” A few honest words and River’s lip curled. His attention went to her mouth. A full mouth. Lips chapped from the cold but still soft in appearance. It made him think of his own face. Of what she’d said, needing to remind this strange, strong thing, “You found fault in my face.”
“And you have no grasp of sarcasm.” She grew even more hostile. “I find fault in your attitude. Great fault. Massive fault!”
Dry, Stephen responded, “Platitudes are pointless. Do you really think insincere gratitude will alter the situation? Change what’s going to happen to you?”