Page 25 of Thunder's Reckoning

I moved closer, slow, easy. “What’s runnin’ through your head right now?”

She hesitated, then, “Nothing. I was just… surprised. Is this what they call a brothel?”

The word hit like a slap.

“What the fuck, Sable?” It tore outta me before I could catch it. “No. That ain’t what that is.”

She dropped her gaze, fingers bitin’ into her arms. “I didn’t mean to offend you, Zeke. What I saw… it reminded me of a teaching I once heard. About flesh. About the lust of men.”

Her tone chilled me. Too calm, too far away, like she wasn’t even standin’ there but recitin’ somethin’ burned into her bones. I’d heard voices like that before—folks that’d seen too much darkness and been told to call it holy.

“You talk like you’re quotin’ scripture,” I said, my drawl rougher than I wanted.

“I’m not.” A beat. Then softer, almost to herself. “Not exactly.”

I stepped in closer. “You wanna tell me what that means?”

Her eyes flicked to mine, then away. “No.”

The word dropped between us like lead. She exhaled slow, then added, “What I saw was base. Fleeting. Empty. No connection, no purpose. Just lust.”

I nodded once, jaw tight. “I’m a single man, darlin’. Ain’t hurtin’ nobody. But that don’t mean lust’s all I’ve got. There’s more to a man than that. Just takes the right woman to drag it outta him.”

Her face turned, steel in her voice. “Is that supposed to make it better? That you let yourself fall until someone else decides you’re worth saving?”

Heat flared in my chest, but I swallowed it back. She wasn’t talkin’ about me—not really. So I let it hang.

She studied me hard, then muttered, “You can dress it up in silk and excuses, but rot is still rot.”

That hit deep.

“That’s real damn easy to say when you ain’t told me shit about your own past,” I snapped, steppin’ forward, my voice sharp with the South in it. “You don’t know a goddamn thing about me, Sable. And sure as hell ain’t got the right to judge me.”

Her eyes flickered—fear? guilt?—then she let out a long, tired breath.

“I’m sorry, Zeke. This isn’t about you. It’s just… I’ve seen what temptation does. I’ve watched men twist it into a weapon. Bless sin and call it holy. Use flesh to wash away guilt and shame. Over and over. Same sickness, different names.”

“You runnin’ from a church?” I asked, though I already figured as much.

Her gaze cut to mine, quick as a blade, then shuttered again. “I wish it was only the Church. What I’m running from is worse than sermons.”

I didn’t push. Just nodded. “You can trust me, darlin’. Ain’t lookin’ to own you. Just wanna help.”

Her eyes searched mine like she wanted to believe, but couldn’t. “It’s too dangerous,” she whispered. “You don’t want the kind of trouble I bring.”

Moonlight brushed her face, catchin’ the faintest tremble in her jaw. Whatever hunted her, it was bad enough to still have teeth in her bones.

“You think I’m rotten,” I said, voice like gravel dragged low. “Maybe I am. But even rot’s got roots that run deep. Let me help you.”

Her mouth curved in the saddest damn smile. “I don’t think that, Zeke. I just… I can’t drag you into my problem.”

Then she turned, slippin’ back inside quiet as smoke, gone before I could stop her.

And me? I stayed planted, fists flexin’ empty at my sides, starin’ at the dark.

Damn woman had me offerin’ promises I’d never made to a soul. Wasn’t like me. Not at all.

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