Page 13 of The Midnight Death Match

“So I gathered.”

“Not just to watch your back. To keep you from doing something reckless.”

I flick a brow. “Since when do you stop me from that?”

He steps closer, his voice dropping. “Since it stopped being amusing and started scaring me.”

The air shifts. Heat pulses between us—unspoken, unresolved.

I look away first, then pull up my hood. “Let’s go.”

He hurries, staying at my side. We make our way back toward the farm, and I watch for movement in the distance. My sisters said Gunnar went to the market today. It’s nearing midday, sohe should be on his way back. The man wouldn’t ever be late for lunch.

Harek and I hide near the edge of the property, where we can easily watch the dirt road he would take back home. We don’t have to wait long.

Gunnar appears at the edge of the orchard path, a sack over one shoulder, his limp more pronounced than after I bit him in wolf form. He walks like he’s pretending not to hurt, with his back too straight, jaw too tight.

He doesn’t see us at first, but when he does, he freezes mid-step. The sack drops to the dirt with a soft thud. His eyes narrow. “You’ve got some gall coming back here.”

I step between them. “You and I need to talk.”

“No.” He turns away.

“Please.”

He hesitates, his features scowling and calculating. Then he jerks his head toward the old barn by the edge of the field. “Five minutes. That’s all you’re getting.”

“Perfect.”

Inside, it smells of hay and dust and old iron. Light slices through the slats, catching motes dancing in the air. Gunnar slams the door behind us, the thud a warning.

He doesn’t look at me right away. “You should’ve stayed gone. You’ve already done enough damage.”

“I came to ask for peace.”

He laughs sharply. “You want peace, you can start by telling me the truth.Whatare you?”

I meet his eyes, my muscles tensing. “You already know.”

His jaw clenches. “You’re a wretched halfling.”

I don’t bother correcting him. “I didn’t ask for any of this.”

“You think that matters?” He takes a slow step forward, cruelty in his eyes. “You’ve gothisblood. That cursed fae who left you and your mother in my hands.”

I shake my head. “It wasn’t like that, and you know it.”

“Excuse me?” He goes still, not blinking or breathing.

“He didn’t abandon us. She fled. Hewantedme. Both of us.”

Gunnar scoffs, his nostrils flaring. He looks like I’ve punched him. His face twists with revulsion, confusion, and maybe even grief. Then it hardens. “So itistrue. You’re not just fae. You’re worse. Born of a monster, raised like a secret, and now walking around like you’re the gods’ gift to war.”

I stare him down. “I came here hoping you’d remember who I was to you. Who my siblings are.”

He doesn’t answer.

Outside, a wind picks up. The barn creaks.