Glint (The Plated Prisoner 2)

I become a flustered mess in the span of a heartbeat, as a war erupts inside of me. I’ve always known where I stood, and I always stood with Midas. So why the hell do I feel like this?

Shaking my head, I tell myself to stop. What’s done is done. I can’t take it back now, no matter how much I may regret it.

I feel guilty just by thinking that.

With my mind acting like a turbulent, churning storm, I start going through the motions of getting undressed.

With only a thin bit of moonlight coming in the tent, I strip out of my coat, dress, boots, and wet leggings, hanging them up to dry. I try to stoke some life back into the coals, but they’re thoroughly burned out, nothing left of them but cold crumbles. No more warmth or light to give.

It’s because of this, and the lack of lantern light too, that I never noticed him until right now, when his voice jolts across the tent.

“Have a nice walk, Auren?”

A yelp of alarm flies out of my mouth as I whirl around, hand over chest. With wide eyes, I panic, until I notice the shape of the spikes along the shadow’s back.

Funny how the silhouette of a monster seems to calm my racing heart.

“You scared me,” I say shakily, dropping my hand.

“Did I?”

He sits on his pallet, unmoving, his voice strange, like he’s using a different tone with me than he usually does.

Unease slithers over my body.

The sliver of moonlight pouring in across the floor is like a line drawn between us.

He just sits there in the dark, not speaking, not moving. The dim light shines on the scales of his cheekbone, his black eyes only visible from the iridescent gleam in them. A feral cat waiting in the rafters to pounce on the unsuspecting mice.

“Rip?” I question, and I hate that my voice sounds so small, so scared.

He doesn’t reply. I’m thoroughly unnerved, and more than a little frightened of him right now—a contradiction to the relief I felt just moments ago.

Dressed in only my shift, my knees begin to shake, but I don’t know if I’m shivering more because I’m cold or because I’m frightened.

I back away a step, and that’s when he stands up fluidly, with more grace than a male like him should be able to move. I flinch, like a rabbit caught in a snare, but I know that the twine around my neck will only tighten quicker.

My heart thumps hard with palpable threat, my ribbons starting to unravel, as if they’re anticipating attack.

Three steps, and then he’s right in front of me, close enough that I have to tip my head up to look him in the eye. My tongue is stuck to the roof of my mouth, too dry, too heavy.

This close, I can feel something brewing beneath his skin, feel it like a wicked coarseness that leaves a tangible sharpness in the air.

Maybe this is it. Maybe this is the moment where I’ll finally reap that vicious cruelty that Rip is known to sow.

I can be done with this interlude and finally face the real him. I can hate him and not be confused anymore.

So I lock my knees and put my shoulders back, and I wait for the blow. Wait for the noose to tighten and leave me swinging.

But Rip never does what I think he will.

His hand comes up to grip my neck, like he’s going to strangle me right here in his tent. I flinch when his fingers close around my throat, except he doesn’t squeeze. His touch just rests there, burning into me like a brand.

“I wasn’t supposed to find you on that pirate ship,” he murmurs, voice like rippling water, the fluttering waves slicking against my ears.

I blink in the dark, trying to keep hold of his black eyes, trying not to notice the heat from his hand on my skin.

He’s confused me once again, and I don’t know what to say, don’t know what to do. For a moment, I wonder if he’s getting ready to snap my neck.