Page 97 of Savage Hearts

He gives me a look that saysThink about it.

“Oh. Right.” My laugh is small and embarrassed. “How about that line of text going up your ribs? What language is that?”

“Cyrillic.”

“What does it say?”

“No past, no future.”

“Wow. That’s dark.”

“There’s not much humor to be found in my line of work. Except if it’s black.”

“Makes sense. What about that big redVon your left shoulder? That one looks fresh. Is it someone’s initial?”

“No.”

“Is it a Roman numeral?”

“No.”

“Then what does it stand for?”

Finished with removing the stitches, he sets the scissors and tweezers aside, balls up the bandage with the cut-up pieces of thread, puts it on the dresser, then looks at me.

“Vengeance.”

I open my mouth, then close it again.

“Well, well, well,” he murmurs, his gaze intense. “Look who finally got quiet.”

I bite my lower lip. His gaze briefly drops to my mouth, then he looks back into my eyes.

Honestly, I can’t think of a single thing to say. There is nothing to say. There are no words for this situation.

After a tense few moments pass, he says, “You haven’t asked me to take you home.”

There’s a question in there. The question isWhy not?

To avoid his penetrating gaze, I glance down at my stomach. Then I slowly pull the shirt down, covering my scar. “Okay.”

“That’s not an answer.”

I don’t have an answer, at least not one that makes sense. I feel him staring at me with blistering intensity, and my cheeks start to burn.

He’s about to say something when a sharp noise makes me jump. It comes from the window on the other side of the room and sounds like a person is standing outside in the dark, rapping their knuckles on the glass.

My voice turns high with panic. “What’s that sound? The wind? A bear? A serial killer?”

Cool as a cucumber, he says, “It’s Poe.”

“What’s a Poe?”

Rising from the bed, Mal crosses the room and slides up the windowpane. Cold night air rushes in. Onto the sill hops an enormous black crow, fluttering its wings.

The thing probably weighs twenty pounds. It has glittering black eyes, a razor-sharp beak, and a frightening air of intelligence.

It looks at me, squawking like Satan sent it for my soul. “Oh, god!”