Page 13

WINNOW

H arlan helps me climb into the so-called truck, which Gideon is supposed to steer us home in.

In Bellorum—my home realm and the only place I’ve ever known—outside of the majori wielders who readily utilize their ability to fold, we have a form of transport beyond horseback, but its only resemblance begins and ends with it having wheels.

Harlan spares me a worried smile, hesitating at the door of Gideon’s truck. “You gonna be ok, Ms. Ardelean?”

Since arriving in this realm, I’ve noticed that people tend to address each other in a rather formal fashion.

Each time Harlan spoke to his secretary, she almost always punctuated the end of every sentence with a sir, and he would address her as ma’am.

While I am a duchess, and it feels a little unpracticed on my tongue, I owe this man my life; the least I could do is offer him respect.

“Yes, sir.”

Harlan reaches into his pocket and pulls out a card, placing it in my hands. “If Mr. Kincaid gives you any issues—though I’m confident he won’t—don’t hesitate a second to call me. Night or day, rain or shine. Understood?”

I nod, my throat working around a knot of emotion. “Yes, sir.”

Harlan’s eyes lift to Gideon’s, already sitting in the seat beside me, watching us with keen eyes and a ticking jaw.

“I’ll be checking in. Regularly.”

Harlan studies me for a moment before giving me a sharp nod. “Watch your hands, darlin’.”

With that, he shuts the door, sealing me in with Gideon. The truck’s engine rumbles to life when he turns a key. The noise is followed by a pulsing, electronic bell-like sound that draws Gideon’s gaze to mine.

“Put your seatbelt on.”

“My what?”

Gideon’s brows pinch before he reaches across me, getting so close that I get a noseful of his leather, evergreen, and male scent.

With his face inches from mine, my breath catches at our closeness.

It also gives me a glimpse at the softness in his hazel eyes.

The faint peppering of grey in his otherwise dark beard and the beckoning curve of his lips.

His fingers grasp around something near my head, and he pulls a strap across my chest as his body shifts away from mine. The following click silences the dinging just before Gideon tugs on some lever beside the wheel. My breath catches as the giant vehicle rolls backward before coming to a halt.

The engine gives a loud, mechanical roar, surging forward and accelerating too fast for comfort as its wheels roll onto the road, making my nails dig into the surprisingly soft leather seats.

Gideon seems to detect my unease, and he steals a few glances my way—still wearing an expression that belies just how put out he is by my presence. Be strong. You are not a doormat.

“You can save that scowl for someone with a weaker constitution, Mr. Gideon Kincaid. It’s a wasted effort on me.”

Gideon’s eyes return to the oddly shiny black and yellow road. His voice is a low, gravelly sound.

“Better watch your mouth before I take you over my knee, woman.”

My breath hitches in my chest.

Normally, such a threat would arouse me. Instead, indignance and sorrow strangle me as I force myself to remain silent.