Page 36 of Ember Rising

“I don’t need it.”

He shakes his head, scrubbing a hand down his face. “Then just be quiet for a few hours.”

I’ve been told I’m too much. More than once. That my quips and sarcasm aren’t appreciated. But I’m not shrinking myself to make anyone more comfortable ever again.

“I’ll go get water.” I stand up and brush pieces of straw from my pants.

“No, you won’t.”

“Oh, Brandon.” I arch a brow, holding his gaze. “This is why the carpet business went tits up. You’re bossy and stubborn. Does someone need a thorough pegging to remind him this is an equal partnership?”

I don’t know if it’s anger or annoyance swirling in his mahogany eyes. “I’ll pass, Jessica.”

“Do you not trust your own wife to get water?”

He crosses his arms. “I don’t think my wife should be hauling water when I’m twice her size.”

I’m struck silent by the words my wife. I started this game, though.

“You sleep,” I say. “I’ll take watch.”

He’s trying to gauge whether I mean it or not. I glare at him.

“I won’t leave,” I snap. “I’m not a liar.”

Something flickers in his eyes. “Fine. Wake me up in two hours.”

I’m still off balance from hearing him say “my wife” while looking at me. Almost nothing is within my control here, and I need to regain a shred of an advantage.

“If you plan to jack off to those pictures of senior citizens again, keep it down, dear husband. It’s weird hearing you yell Take it all, Granny right before you come.”

He already has his back to me, but I catch a slight freeze of his shoulders before he drops them again. I check that my bow is right beside me where I left it, with an arrow ready, before blowing out the candle that’s providing our only light.

12

“Hangar Eight was bombed by New America today. There were no people there, which is most important, but we lost another fifteen planes. We have teams out looking for more planes, but I’m not optimistic.” Decoded message from ILF handler Hiro Tanaka to ILF leadership

Evander

I shove away whoever’s trying to suffocate me, inhaling hard as I scramble around in the darkness for a weapon.

My gun. It’s holstered at my waist, where it’s supposed to be. How did I get it back?

No time to think. I take it out and point it, keeping my finger indexed on the frame and not on the trigger. “Back the fuck up or I’ll shoot.”

My gravelly warning freezes my assailant’s movement.

Something’s not right. The air smells like sweet hay and something wet and earthy.

“Evander, don’t shoot. It’s me.”

Amira’s panicked plea brings me back to reality. Fuck.

“I’m sorry.” I lower the gun and reholster it, hearing her ragged exhale.

“You were having a nightmare,” she whispers. “You were screaming. I couldn’t wake you up, so I tried to cover your mouth because⁠—”

Because we can’t draw attention to ourselves with loud noises.