Page 75 of Dustwalker

His other hand slid beneath the blanket. Lara’s heart fluttered as he ran his palm along her thigh, around the back of her knee, and to her calf. It settled over a long, crescent-shaped scar there.

“We’ve all survived our own trials.” His fingertip brushed back and forth over the slightly raised skin.

Clutching the blanket, Lara curled her fingers against his chest and pressed her lips together, forcing herself to focus on his words. But her body was responding to his touch and the heat trailed in its wake.

“I was salvaging,” she said, “and I don’t remember if I slipped or tripped, but I landed on a broken beam. Didn’t feel it at first, but there was a sliver as big as a knife stuck in my leg. Then it hurt like a motherfucker. Tabitha got all the bits of wood out and we cleaned it up as best we could, but I still got sick.”

She lifted her knee as he continued to stroke the scar. “Like real sick. I can’t remember much of it, but Tabitha said I almost died. If it weren’t for her, I would have.”

“Bots were created to endure. Sometimes it seems like humans were created to suffer. I’m more impressed by your survival than by mine.”

Lara smirked. “You trying to flatter me?”

Ronin’s finger paused. “Flattery isn’t a function I perform. It implies a level of insincerity. I’m simply speaking the truth as I perceive it.”

“Flattery canbe true, if you meanit.”

“That wouldn’t be flattery. That would be a complimenting or praising.”

“Look, whatever you call it, it doesn’t hurt to tell a girl when you admire something about her. You should try it sometime. Maybe you?—”

“Everything.”

Lara blinked, heart suddenly racing. “What?”

“Everything I’ve come to know about you, I admire.”

“Oh.” From anyone else, she wouldn’t have believed those words. Part of her couldn’t even accept them now. What was there to admire about her? But there was another part of her that was melting at the praise. “You’re, uh, pretty good at flattery for someone who says he doesn’t do it.”

“If you say so, Lara Brooks.” Ronin wrapped his fingers around her hand on his chest and squeezed gently. His thumb traced a delicate path from the base of her pinky to her thumb. “How did your sister come by her scar?”

Lara swallowed, chest tight. Guilt had plagued her every time she saw that scar, and now that Tabitha was gone…

“I gave it to her,” she said softly.

“Sounds like a story to be told.”

“I—”

Don’t want to talk about it. Can’t talk about it.

But that wasn’t true, was it? Tabitha was dead, but Ronin had been right—she lived on so long as Lara kept her memories, kept her love.

“Not much of a story, really. She was teaching me how to use a knife, and I was frustrated and ready to give up. She came up behind me, I think to correct my grip, but I jerked away, insisting I could do it myself. I didn’t realize I’d cut her until I saw the blood.” Lara’s fingers twitched against his chest. “I was a lot more careful from then on, but she never held it against me.”

“She must’ve been an amazing woman.”

“She was.”

“You learned a lot from her. She would be proud of you.”

“There you go, with the flattery again.” She turned her face away so he wouldn’t see how his words affected her, and though she wanted to brush them off, they sank deep into her chest. Tabitha was gone, but…things could still be okay. Whatever Lara thought about herself, Tabitha had always had faith in her.

“Lara?”

“Hmm?”

Ronin’s hand on her leg retraced its path, sliding back up her calf, stopping high on her inner thigh. He brushed his thumb over the sensitive flesh. Holding her hand captive against his chest, he leaned forward. She turned her head toward him slowly to find his face only inches from hers.