Page 8

Evander

I lower the lantern as she shuts the door, smiling to myself and sliding into my room across the hall.

When I first arrived at the camp a little over a year ago, Bria wouldn’t even speak to me.

She would set me with a seething glare any time I walked into a room and if looks could kill, I wouldn’t be standing right now.

We may have been friends since childhood—all of us—but it was my father who betrayed her family.

Betrayed her . My father is to blame for the death of hers.

I had taken her behavior in stride. Or at least tried to.

I didn’t push for her to listen to me or try to explain myself in those early days.

I just lowered my head and let her be. This was her camp, her home, and her people, and I was the son of a monster.

The monster who ripped her world apart. I owned those actions as if they were my own, taking every dirty look and curse word she threw at me.

It wasn’t until Quinn and Ash became fed up with Bria’s misguided anger and sat her down one night that she acquiesced.

They explained what occurred over the four years I was gone, the years I spent in the capital with my father.

And while Quinn and Ash spoke with her, Bria had looked at me with pity in her eyes.

I had remained silent throughout, having no problem with her anger despite how it pained me.

But she softened toward me after that, turning back into the girl I knew before it all.

Once, she asked me why I never told her myself, why I never tried to explain and endured the shitty treatment.

But I shrugged and told her that she needed an outlet for that anger, and I was glad to play the role for her, happy to accept any fate she deemed appropriate for me.

I remember the puzzled look that spread across her face that day.

Both of us changed so much in the years apart. We had hardened from our individual burdens, our journeys. We were children no longer and had been forced to grow up in harsh, difficult ways.

Though, I couldn’t imagine the suffering she experienced daily and was in awe of how she kept going.

Despite what I endured, I’m still not sure I could have survived that , could keep surviving like she does.

Anyone else would have broken by now with the pressure—broken just by thinking about their future—yet she thrives with the weight of the world on her shoulders.

Pulling the tunic over my head, the memory of my earlier conversation with Quinn filters in. My face contorts with a grimace as I recall telling him I would be more careful. Because that’s not what I’m doing at all.

I was lucky Quinn was distracted by the mind-numbing ale tonight and tormented enough from the village we found to drink like he did.

It’s rare for him to let go or lose any sense of control over himself.

And if he hadn’t tonight, I would be facing yet another lecture in the morning. For distracting her. For touching her.

I’m not quite sure what came over me, but I couldn’t help myself. Maybe drinking made me a bit bolder, but it’s not like that was the first time we’ve all been drinking together. I think I’m just sick of waiting. Sick of pretending that I don’t care for her. That I don’t want her.

That loose strand of hair was like a ribbon of silk between my fingers, and I longed to run my hands through her hair.

To free it from the braid and let it cascade down her toned back.

To fist my hands in it and yank her head back.

.. I let out a groan at the depraved thoughts running through my head before I need to sink into an ice-cold bath, then throw myself face-first into the bed, stifling the noise with the pillow.

Turning my head to face the window, I gaze at the half-moon that shines through the parted curtains and will myself to sleep.

I close my eyes tight, hoping for darkness, but all I see is Bria.