Page 87 of Fortune's Blade

What I knew was that, when Ray was running on, giving me time for whatever reason he thought I needed it, his Brooklyn accent became more pronounced and his grammar worsened. I wondered why that was. Had it been easier, when he was with Cheung, if people underestimated him? Had it been safer?

He looked up at me suddenly, probably because he had heard that. I should learn to guard my thoughts better, but I was a sieve tonight. Everything was getting through.

Although he was so perceptive that he picked up much of my mental dialogue anyway. It was odd, after centuries of never being heard, even by those who had the ability to do so, to be around someone who could see every flicker across my brain. Most people would have found that disturbing.

I was strangely comforted.

“Good, ‘cause I’m not gonna stop,” he said, in a more normal voice. “And, yeah, sometimes I exaggerated the poor, dumb flunky routine; why not, if it got me out of a beating? Most people thought of me that way anyway.”

“They were wrong,” I said. “If you hadn’t done what you did in the arena, I would be dead. We might all be. Mircea and Marlowe will never say thank you, as it would offend their dignity, but I will. Thank you.”

He blushed—I saw it—a faint stain on his bronze skin. Then he went back to bandaging, although I was already wearing the equivalent of mittens. “Yeah, well, thank you for biting out that bastard’s throat. I swear I peed my pants a little when he came at us.”

“I think I did, too.”

He laughed, and his blue eyes sparkled when he looked up at me. “Liar. You were as cool as a cucumber. I never even saw—”

I kissed him.

I hadn’t planned on it, wasn’t even thinking about it. Didn’t fully realize that it had happened until our lips met. And I discovered that his were soft and strong and warm and sweet, and then harder and more demanding, more passionate.

He deepened the kiss, or maybe I did; I wasn’t sure, couldn’t think. Suddenly, the world had been reduced to sensation: silky hair and hard muscle under soft suede; sweet smelling tobacco mingled with the herbal soap the fey used and some cologne he must have gotten from his boys, as he had had none when we came here; the hungry sound he made deep in his throat as his hands gripped my arms and he pulled me close; the taste of fiery spirits on his tongue, or maybe they were on mine; couldn’t tell, didn’t care—

And then nothing, because he’d broken away, and was staring at me in shock, as if I had just plunged a knife into his ribs.

His hair was mussed, and it pleased me that I had done that, and his cheeks were flushed even more than before. That was not normal for a vampire, and I reached out and touched one. It was warm.

And then it was gone, too, as Ray scrambled back.

It was just a couple feet, but it was clear that he was trying to put more than just physical distance between us. I sat there on the floor, unsure about what I’d done wrong, as I so often was. I hadn’t interacted with people enough to understand even easy emotions, much less whatever this was.

And he knew that. He paused, having gotten to his feet, and stared at me some more. And then put a hand behind his neck as if it pained him. “Look,” he said, the blue eyes dark with emotion.

Then he stopped, as if he had run out of words when he never did.

“Is something wrong?” I asked.

“No! I just—that is, you need—” he stopped again.

“You are upset?” I guessed, after another pause.

“No, you’re upset! You’ve had a hell of a day, and it’s no wonder you’re a little—but I’m—and you’re—this isn’t—”

He seemed to be having trouble forming sentences, which was unprecedented. I got up, becoming worried about him, but that seemed to make things worse. Because I hadn’t even made it to my feet before he was moving away from me again.

“I gotta go check on the guys,” he said quickly. “You, uh, you get some sleep and—and you’ll be fine. I just gotta go check on the, uh—”

He turned around and ran into the wall beside the door, course corrected and fled, there was no other word for it.

Or, at least, he tried. But I reached into the mind of one of the guards, and had him push Ray back into the room and close the door on him. Which . . . did not make my companion any happier.

He whirled on me. “That’s cheating!”

“Then we are even.” I sat on the end of the bed.

“What? I haven’t cheated you out of a damned thing!”

“You think it fine, then, that you know all my secrets, every corner of my mind, yet I do not understand you at all? You take my thoughts but give nothing in return. How is that not cheating?”