Kitty's Mix-Tape (Kitty Norville 16)

we can, but a woman’s touch—”

She left. Slid down the rock and slipped back into her hovel, pulling her knees up and hugging them hard. So. She had come to the Island of Beasts and found . . . civilization. It was civilization that had put her here in the first place. Looking outside to an overcast sky, threatening more rain, she waited. Her nose flared, searching the air for the men’s scent.

At last, Brandon called up the hill. “We’ll come back after you’ve had a bit of time to think things over.”

“We’ve got fire,” Cox said. “You want a warm fire and a hot meal, you’ll come with one of us.”

“Just so,” Brandon said.

She put her hands to her ears and squeezed shut her eyes, because she didn’t want to listen anymore. They went away.

She carried the spear with her when she went foraging on the strand again. She did not trust that they would let her alone, let her choose. The wolves had managed to get themselves arranged in packs—they would fight over her, sooner or later. Why should she believe that they would let her alone?

She’d never been let alone before.

After gathering more crabs and an armful of seaweed that she thought she might knit into a net to catch fish, she went back to her cave to consider how she might find fire and more weapons. How she might survive the full moon night without being torn apart by the Island’s wolf packs.

The gentleman, Brandon, was waiting for her. He stayed the same polite distance halfway down her hill. When she appeared he glanced at her—and away, and did not try to meet her gaze again. In the language of beasts he was saying that he meant no harm, no challenge. She was unconvinced and kept her own gaze on her hand, around the spear.

He had put a tray on the grass in front of him and knelt before it. The tray held a tin kettle with steam coming out of the spout. A pair of little china tea cups, and how on earth had such delicate things reached the island intact? A clay pot of honey, which smelled of the island’s own wildflowers.

“Fancy a cup of tea?” he called to her and drew a strainer out of the kettle. “It’s not precisely tea, mind you. But there are patches of mint and lavender growing over on the east side of the island. It can be very soothing, if you’d like to try?”

She sat hard on the grass outside her cave. Of all the laughable, unbearable things Brandon could have offered . . . The funny thing was, her mouth watered. She did want tea. Wanted nothing more than to sit with a hot steaming cup in her hands, breathing in the smell of it. She didn’t dare.

They both looked down the hill when a new scent came to them. Sergeant Cox, approaching, carrying his own offering. She squinted, not sure she could trust her eyes. But her nose told her: he carried a bundle of scruffy-looking wildflowers.

“What’re you doing here?” Cox said in greeting and stopped on the hill some dozen paces from Brandon.

“Exactly what it looks like. Don’t be cross just because I thought of it first. And what did you bring?” Cox held out the bouquet, and Brandon snorted. “Very traditional. Well done.”

Except that he let the flowers fall away, and hidden within the bundle was a dagger. The kind of thing a soldier might use to cut a rope or slice a throat on the battlefield. He walked a little ways up the hill, set it on the grass, and retreated.

“I see that you’ve been putting together weapons. Or trying to, rather. This one’s not got any silver in it, but it’ll do some damage. If you think it’ll help.”

Brandon scowled as if he wished he’d thought of it himself. Cox gave him a smug smile and hooked both thumbs in his belt.

It was a valuable gift. Couldn’t be that many knives or blades of any sort on the island. He was right, it might not kill, but she could do damage. She could defend herself a little better. She didn’t dare take it. She didn’t dare choose.

“Oh, I almost forgot. The second half of my gift,” Brandon said then, and reached behind him to a small hooded lantern with a candle burning inside. He put it on the grass next to Cox’s knife.

Fire. He offered her fire. Warmth, cooked food. And hot tea. She’d only been a few days in the wet and cold, and what they both offered seemed like heaven. Seemed worth whatever price. Her shoulders slumped. She scrubbed her hands across her eyes because she didn’t dare let them see her cry. Never mind that they would know, that they would smell the tears on her.

“You’re trying to buy me. Both of you,” she called to them.

“Let’s say bribe, rather,” Brandon said, with a wry wink. “So? What say you?”

She couldn’t. She simply couldn’t. Silently, not sure of her voice, she shook her head and looked at the damp, oppressive sky.

They watched her silently. They didn’t cajole, they didn’t mock her. They simply waited, their gifts sitting in the grass.

“Will you take a cup, Cox?” the gentleman asked his rival.

“That’s very upstanding of you, Brandon. I think I will.”

So Brandon poured out two cups of a pungent, acrid liquid that was in fact not very much like tea, and they sipped companionably.

She called to them, “How is it you two are even here and not tearing each other’s throats out?”