Page 11 of Burned

That is the first mercy I offer.

It feels like tearing skin from bone.

She walks deeper into the cabin, her boots leaving damp marks on the old wood floor. She usually stops to take them off.

My coat is too big around her shoulders, one of mine even though I’ve bought her a collection of weather-appropriate ones. Before me, she nearly froze herself in inadequate outerwear.

She stops near the fireplace but does not turn toward it. Her back is stiff. Her dark hair is loose down her spine, wind-tangled from outside. I want to wrap my hand in it and tilt her head back until she looks at me.

I want to order away the pain.

I want to put my mouth on hers and force every question out of her head.

I want to lock every door in this cabin and keep her where nothing can reach her.

“What does Isobel make you?” I say.

Erin gives a sharp little laugh without turning around. “That’s the question.”

“No.” I remove my gloves slowly because if I do anything quickly, I may break something. “It isn’t.”

She turns then.

There she is.

My girl with her chin up and her eyes wounded.

God help me, I would rather take a bullet than see that look on her face.

Again.

“You went awfully quiet for a man who always knows exactly what to say when he’s ordering people around,” she says.

“I was surprised.”

“Were you?” Her gaze narrows.

“Yes.”

Her brows rise. “Because she might be alive?”

My voice lowers to gravel. “Because you were standing beyond the boundary after being told not to cross it.”

Her eyes flash. Good. Anger is better than hurt. “Don’t you dare make this about the bloody woodpile.”

I want to laugh. She’s picking up Bayne’s men’s lingo. I don’t. “It is about the woodpile.”

“No, it isn’t.”

I take one step toward her. “You were outside the perimeter.”

She takes one step toward me. “By about three feet.”

“Three feet is enough.”

“For what? A sniper? A kidnapping? A wolf attack? One of Bayne’s charming hill people mistaking me for a deer and calling me lunch?”

“Do not make jokes.”