Page 11 of Gold & Shadow

“We…solve problems,” I hedged, thinking of the phrase we asked our clients to pass on when recommending us. “Of varying natures.”

“Uh-huh,” said Orson skeptically, leaning forward on his knees, the wooden object held between them. “And whatproblemwere you trying to solve when you stumbled upon my cabin?”

“Oh, I…” I trailed off, unsure what to say.

“Because it seems to me,” said Orson, looking at me in a way that made it hard for me to break my gaze, “that a shadowweaver would indeed make an excellent thief.”

I fumbled my cocoa, Orson catching the mug before it spilled with one hand. “I—“

“You wouldn’t be planning to steal from me, would you, Lis?” Orson asked, taking my mug from me and placing it on the coffeetable as he closed the distance between us. “Because that would be extremely disappointing.”

My heart pounded in my chest as Orson drew close, his face inches from mine as he backed me against the couch. Something about the way Orson caged me in, how he towered over me as he looked down, made my pulse race from far more interesting emotions than fear.

Perhaps I wouldn’t mind being dominated by him.

The traitorous thought didn’t have time to properly coalesce as a tap on the upstairs window indicated Owl’s return.

Orson scowled, his eyes still boring into mine. “Here.” He put the wooden object in my hand before turning from me and taking the stairs two at a time. “Don’t move.”

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I had been holding, cursing myself silently. How did a pair of warm brown eyes and a few muscles make me lose all common sense? Literally tell him anything other than the truth, Lis.

Before he could return, I examined the trinket, my determination to lie to him dying a painful death. It was a tiny wooden bear, carved roughly from a single piece of dark wood, its paws placed to make it look like it was running through the forest. I admired the little creature, astonished that Orson would gift me anythingso precious.

He returned and handed me a folded paper. “I didn’t read it, in case you wondered,” he said, watching me as I took it, but didn’t open it.

“Youmadethis,“ I said, holding up the wooden bear. “And you’re giving it to me?”

Orson shrugged, frowning at the letter. “I can make many more if that’s your biggest concern right now.”

I pursed my lips, unconvinced by his deflection, but I unfolded the note as he wished. It was characteristically short, Izzy believing firmly in terseness:

Lis,

Gold’s men were here. Whatever trouble you’ve gotten yourself into, get yourselfoutof it. That’s an order.

Iz

“Typical Iz,” I sighed, folding the paper and trying to decide how I should deal with this. If Victor sent his henchmen to check up on me, they’d find an extremely territorial bear-shifter and a failure of a thief.

“I’m not going to ask you to tell me what it says,” Orson said, startling me. I had almost forgotten he was watching expectantly. “But I’ll only ask you one more time, Lis. Why did you come here?”

I opened my mouth, prepared to spin an elaborate tale of misfortune and woe, but Orson stopped me with a finger to my lips.

“Don’t insult me by lying, Little Thief,” he purred, his body suddenly too warm and too big next to mine as he caged me against the sofa once more. “I can protect you, and I can probably pay you twice what whoever hired you offered, but only if you tell me the truth.”

Twice? Holy gods, I could take a whole year off with that kind of money, although there was no way Orson could afford Victor’s finders fee, never mind doubling it. His cabin was comfortable, but he couldn’t be as wealthy as Victor was.

“Why would you protect me?” I asked warily, my voice a little hoarse with his renewed proximity. I tried to think of a way to deflect, to push him away from the truth. “And why are you suddenly talking to me? Asking me questions? I thought you liked the silence?”

Orson smirked as if he could sense all of my thoughts perfectly. “I have my reasons,” he growled, stepping back and returning a safe distance to the armchair. “Speak.”

I sighed, feeling suddenly so tired. Tired of caring for everyone. Tired of thieving and stealing for Victor. Tired of the fear of being caught. My ribs still hurt and my ankle was stiff and all I wanted was to go home and cry on Izzy’s shoulder. I was overwhelmed and emotional, and Orson was studying me like he could read every emotion in my tangled mess of a brain.

I stroked my thumb over the little wooden bear and decided that I was too tired to lie.

“I was sent to steal from you,” I confessed, sinking back against the couch cushions with a sigh of exhaustion and, oddly, relief. “By a man named Victor Gold.”

If Orson recognized the name, he didn’t show it, keeping his eyes locked with mine as he sat next to me on the sofa and put a heavy hand on my knee.