Page 2 of Their Fierce Little Monster

I tug the wire tighter, and the sapling suddenly snaps. Instantly, it whips back with a vicious cracking sound. I yank my hand away, but not before it catches me. Pain flares across my palm. “Damn it.”

A red line opens up beneath my thumb, stinging, then my fingers start seizing, trembling. My nails on both hands blacken in a heartbeat, lengthening, sharp and wrong. My heart is in my throat as panic claws at me.

Not here, please. Not where he can see.

My hands twist into something wicked and don’t feel entirely mine. My bones ache, the skin on fire.

Then, just as fast, it’s all gone in seconds. My breaths are racing even if my nails are normal again with dirt packed underneath them.

Pain radiates from my cut, and I clamp my fist shut, tucking it against my stomach. For a moment, I want to convince myself I imagined the whole thing, except it’s not the first time this has happened. It comes whenever I’m hurt, and now I’m left wondering who my real parents were.

Years of memories living in Moonstone Village, and I remember nothing before arriving here. Yet, I still seem to know things like how to stitch too finely for a village girl. The food I crave I haven’t found here, and sometimes there are hums of songs in my mind that aren’t from here. Nothing I do brings back those memories, but it’s clear I’ve lived elsewhere before this village.

Kazak had apparently found me alone in the woods all those years ago. My family must have abandoned me after discovering I wasn’t normal but broken. Or perhaps I got lost and hit my head. All I remember is my name, Dawn.

Maybe that’s why Kazak is kind to me. He pities me.

“Dawn,” he calls out, already at my side, crouching down, and I flinch at how fast he moves. “Told you that you could lose a finger if you weren’t careful.”

“Yes, thank you, Mr. Obvious, but it’s just a small cut.”

He takes my wrist into his hand without question, his touch rough but soft against mine, and closely inspects the injury. “It’s a shallow cut,” he whispers, his thumb resting on the thumping pulse of my wrist.

I nod, noticing the size of his hand compared to my small one, his nicked knuckles, and the scar that cuts across several fingers. He’s always been the man who looks out for me, and even sneaks me honey cake when I’m forced to copy punishment notices after mouthing off to the Barons.

“It’s nothing,” I say, hating how easily my voice shakes.

He lifts those moss-green eyes. “So, you bleed for nothing often?”

“Only when I have an audience,” I say softly, trying to tame my breathing. I clear my throat because my heart isn’t calming down, and I’m convinced he hears the thump, thump, thump pounding in my ears.

Kazak, at twenty-six, is eight years older than me, yet when he smiles, I swoon.

“Could have been much worse,” he says, reaching over to trace my jawline, leaving me covered in goose bumps. “Might have cut your pretty face.”

And so much for not fawning, because if I weren’t kneeling, I might have fallen over. Instead, I laugh before I can stop myself. Then we stare at each other, his thumb now inches beneath my lips.

I can’t breathe, can’t move.

“Do you enjoy me looking after you,” he asks, his words surprising me.

My heart drums out of control because he’s never touched me this way before.

“I-I…” My cheeks flush. “Usually, you’re making fun of me.”

He grins and pulls his hand away, murmuring, “That too.” Suddenly, that magical moment vanishes as he reaches into the inner pocket of his jacket and draws out a strip of clean cloth. He gently takes my hand once more, the bridge of his nose pinching as he concentrates on wrapping my wound.

What is wrong with me? Yes—that’s all I had to say, and now I’ve spoiled the moment.

He works quietly, his touch impossibly gentle. As he ties up the fabric, I lift my attention to the corded muscles in his neck, the sharp line of his jaw, and his full mouth. I admire the stubble and the healed scar that cuts through his lower lip. How can this man be so beautiful?

Gods, I’m torturing myself.

“Does it hurt?” he asks softly, leaning in closer.

I’m on fire. Is he going to kiss me?

“The injury, Dawn.” His voice lowers. “Any pain?”