Page 17

So We Meet Again

Callum

It was her.

The Arryvian.

There, curled on the ground, caked in a layer of grime, lips chapped and cracking.

She looked so different from when he’d last seen her.

Her face was pale and her tattoos contrasted so sharply it looked like someone had taken fresh ink from an inkwell and just painted them on.

The swirls skirted her brows, and those eyes…once they’d had such passion and fight in them; now they were glazed over and barely glanced at him. It didn’t look as if she recognized him without the uniform. The shades on his eyes probably didn’t help, and he was due for a shave and a haircut.

Gavin was the one who had spotted her half-crawling through the dirt away from the lefiin forest, palms and feet caked in blood, the sun sapping her vitality at the same rate it evaporated moisture.

Why was his heart racing? Callum absently rubbed at his chest, the linen shirt rough beneath his fingertips.

Probably in anticipation of her stabbing him again.

She wore an oversized military jacket and her hands and feet were bloodied, but beyond her knees and the rags that must have once been her white dress, he couldn’t see enough of her to fully assess the shape she was in.

But seeing her there, still as death, barely breathing, something in his chest slid sharply against his lungs and for the second time in as many days, he couldn’t catch his breath.

Guilt, perhaps.

It was ultimately his fault, he supposed.

How had she escaped again? Whose jacket was that? Had she killed him? Callum didn’t realize Weston was speaking again until he was moving toward the Arryvian—too late to warn him against her penchant for stabbing.

The older man bent down and gently lifted her to her feet, whispering in her ear while he led her up the steps and into his house.

Her legs wobbled, but she straightened as best she could and Callum recognized the desire to appear stronger.

To retain her pride.

Melba, curious about what had the men gawking, came into the room, gasped, and hurried back out.

“Why doncha sit here in this chair, eh?”

Weston said, setting her in a rocking chair in the corner.

Melba shuffled back into the room and carefully slipped a cup of water into the woman’s trembling hands.

There was no hesitation—the Arryvian guzzled the water.

Callum knew how she was likely feeling, the way the water tasted after a while without, especially after whatever she’d been through.

She looked rough.

She wasn’t meant for these parts. The blazing sun was hard enough on people who were accustomed to it. His gaze was drawn to her slender neck as she swallowed, imagining the cool liquid trickling down her throat as it bobbed. Her skin was dusted with dirt, which made her paleness that much more pronounced. She looked in need of a good meal.

After downing the drink, her dark eyes watched the men with an intensity that sucked all the light from the room.

Weston refilled her cup without her asking.

Her slight fingers still clutched the ceramic mug, the tremble making little ripples inside.

“Now, darlin’, we don’t intend ya any harm,”

Weston began again, slowly articulating each word.

Her silence thus far didn’t bode well, and Cal could tell Weston was beginning to worry she didn’t understand their language.

“Let’s start with yer name, eh?”

Should Cal say something? The way she flinched at the simple question raised the hair on his neck.

What had happened to her?

Weston crouched onto creaking knees before her chair and waited patiently for her to speak.

The air shifted as the other men attempted, poorly, to appear busy, but they all watched the strange newcomer with wary expressions.

The older man eventually gave up, heaving a sigh and placing his hands on his thigh as he stood.

“Maybe yer just shy…Well, I’m Weston, and this ‘ere is James.”

He motioned toward the shaggy haired man who stood by the door.

“Gavin’s the one losin’ his hair, Dirk the brown curls, Fyn’s the redhead, and Goldilocks here’s Cal.

Robbie’s in back—he’s missin’ an eye, but don’t mention it, and Melba broughtcha water.”

Her nearly black eyes flicked up to follow along as he jerked a thumb toward the other men loitering behind him.

“A couple more boys’ll be around, but that’s the lot of us.”

He turned his gaze back to her, his eyes twinkling with a cunning that belied his age.

“You look awful hungry.

When’s the last time yer belly had somethin’ init?”

Her lips tightened, and her brows furrowed slightly, the tattoos that laced along her brow bone wrinkling.

She glanced up beneath thick lashes to peer at Weston, measuring his trustworthiness.

Callum was far too familiar with that particular expression.

There.

At least some of the spark was still there, it seemed.

She still refused to answer Weston’s questions with a stubbornness that made the corner of Cal’s lip curl into a smirk.

“Jamie, can ya find somethin’ for our friend here?”

Weston raised an eyebrow as he looked over his shoulder, as if daring someone to object.

Sure enough, the weasel-eyed man called Dirk tensed and shook his dark head as James scuttled off toward another room.

The sounds of cabinets opening and closing captured her attention, her neck craning slightly to peer toward the kitchen.

Cal waited on the balls of his feet, ready for her to dive into action like she had before.

“Wes, we don’ even know her.

We gonna hand out food to the sandcats next?”

Dirk whispered loud enough for everyone to hear.

Weston straightened and rose to his full height, casting a long shadow over the smaller man.

“I ain’t about t’let a lady starve on my watch.

Friend or nah.

You better getcher head on straight.

If you got a problem wit’ me, then take it up later.

For now, go see what Robbie got up to.”

Dirk grumbled beneath his breath and raked his hands through greasy, golden-brown hair before stomping out the front door.

Callum met Fyn’s eyes from across the room and gave a small shake of his head.

This was trouble.

Nothing but fucking trouble.

“‘Ere, miss,”

Jamie said, appearing in front of her with a plate boasting a small bit of jerky that smelled strongly of pepper, a couple slices of an apple, and some sort of sliced and salted tuber on a hunk of bread.

She surveyed the plate with eagerness that had Cal a bit concerned.

More than a bit, if he was being honest.

How long had she been alone in the desert? Then her nostrils flared and she paused, her gaze sliding back to Weston.

“Is it poisoned?”

she rasped, the words scraping from her throat, her lilting accent elongating the vowel sounds.

“Sedated?”

At first Weston’s eyes widened, then he tossed his head back and laughed.

It was a full, throaty laugh that garnered her full attention, her almond-shaped eyes never wavering from the man before her.

Cal couldn’t help but feel a little guilty that she’d ask something like that.

Here, perched on her chair and obviously hungry, but still hesitating.

“Whoo! Yer a funny one, I’ll give ya that! I ain’t about t’ waste perfectly good food when a knife would do just fine.

It ain’t poisoned or tainted in any way besides lookin’ a little dry.”

He nodded encouragingly and turned away, whispering something to James that had him running off.

She sniffed at the jerky before taking a bite.

Cal’s lips tightened with irritation as he watched her eat, remembering the arduous process it had taken to get her to eat on the ship.

Why did she eat so readily for Weston? The apples disappeared soon after, followed by the bread with crispy tuber slices and the rest of her water.

She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and whispered a thank you.

After a moment, her eyes widened and she set the plate down and reached into her pocket.

Callum cursed under his breath as he stepped forward, readying himself for the blade that was sure to follow.

His warning froze in his throat as she withdrew two apples, followed by a chocolate treat.

The others present looked at Callum with slight confusion, while this infuriating woman had the gall to grin, a knowing smile on her dirt-smeared face that vanished almost immediately.

Callum felt his own face begin to flush, but he shrugged off their stares, using the momentum to step forward and take her offerings, as if that had been his plan all along.

As she dropped them in his waiting hands, he glowered at her momentarily before turning and presenting the items to Weston.

Weston took them graciously, as he said with a slight bow to the Arryvian, “Melba’ll make us a fine dessert with these!”

The others focused their attention away from him, though Callum’s remained on the woman.

They wouldn’t be so confused if they knew who she was, what she had done.

What she did to Callum himself.

He noticed the way her gaze shifted around the room, taking note of every detail.

Yeah, the spark was still there, all right.