by Frost Kay
“You told me you lived in the forest before moving to Dotae, back when we first met,” he said. “I assumed you were lying, that it was part of your cover story.”
“It wasn’t.”
“So, what do you mean, shifters didn’t love your mum? What happened to her? You mentioned before that she passed away.”
Tempest realized she was far too close to crying. She didn’t want to share any of her life with him, but for her plan to work, she needed to gain his trust. A little information isn’t the end of the world.
She straightened her back and stood to face Pyre properly, though, in truth, the wiry, lean-muscled shifter towered over her. She tilted her chin up to stare at his face. Gone was any trace of laughter or arrogance, but Pyre’s ever-present curiosity was still there alongside something that Tempest dubiously thought might be concern.
A master of manipulation.
“What happened, Temp?” he pressed.
When Pyre reached out a hand for her shoulder, Tempest twisted to avoid it, just barely remembering to put on a limp as she walked away from the man to stand in front of the fireplace, instead. She couldn’t stomach looking at his face when it displayed such disarmingly genuine emotions.
He is playing you. That’s what he does.
“Did you cause them?” Tempest whispered, more to the fire than to Pyre.
“Cause what?”
“The deaths,” she said, louder this time, though she kept her eyes on the flickering, dancing flames in front of her. If she stared for long enough, Tempest could almost see her home being engulfed in them and her mum inside it. “The plague. Did you start it? Are you responsible for it?”
A tense beat of silence. Two. Three. And then—
“Why the hell would I be responsible for it?”
“I spoke with Briggs last night.”
“I heard,” he said, his voice slightly strained.
“I told him I don’t give blind faith ever. Not to him, not to you, not to the king.” The traitorous words were supposed to be a lie, but they weren’t. “I need to know you’re not part of the deaths—that you’re not supporting the Jester.”
Several seconds of silence passed between them.
“And if I was?” he whispered.
“Then I’d kill you.”
Even if what Briggs had said was true about the Jester not poisoning the people, all the horror stories about him couldn’t be wrong. Someone like that couldn’t be allowed to spread their corruption and terror and go unpunished for their crimes.
“And here I thought we were doing so well,” Pyre murmured, his voice cool and clipped. “You’re nothing but the king’s bitch. Rolling over to his every whim.”
Here comes the icy persona.
Tempest closed her eyes for the briefest moment at the slur. It wasn’t like she hadn’t heard something like it growing up amongst men, but she still hated it. “Please refrain from using such language or I will lose my temper.”
“You like to think you’re not blinded by lies, but you can’t think past the shite Destin fed you himself,” Pyre growled, from right behind Tempest.
She hadn’t even realized he’d closed the gap between them again. She could feel his breath tickling her neck. It was possible she’d pushed him a little too far. Tempest tried to move away, and Pyre grabbed her forearm and hauled her around to face him.
“Let go,” she said sternly, looking him in eye. Her strength was nothing compared to his, but she wouldn’t be cowed by his anger. “Pyre, let—”
“No, not until you listen to me,” he cut in.
The sharp points of his canines peeked from between his lips, and her brows snapped together as she realized that all of his facial features were growing sharper. Glancing down, she saw that the nails of the hand he’d used to grab her were growing longer, too. She needed to tread carefully.
“All this time you’ve let your prejudices blind you to what’s in front of you. You aren’t stupid, that much is obvious. So why do you still believe that my people are responsible for the deaths in the forest? That I’m responsible for them? How could you think such a thing?”
Pulling away was useless, and his rage was so palpable that it infused the air. If the kitsune wouldn’t be reasonable, Tempest had to be calm and collected for the both of them.
“I’m sorry I upset you,” she said softly. “That was not my intention—”
“Answer the question,” he demanded darkly.
“Do you trust me?” Temp asked. His lip curled, and she fought to keep from stepping back. “Do you?”
“I haven’t accused you of being a mass murderer. This isn’t about me.”
“Well, what would you have me believe?!” she fired back. “That everyone else in Heimserya has the wrong idea about the Jester? That it’s all a lie? Propaganda spun by the Crown? That he’s not as bad as he seems? That he’s really the good guy?”
“Yes!”
“You haven’t given me one single reason to believe that. I’ve only seen evidence on the contrary. Give me proof. Let me meet him.”
“And you haven’t given me one single reason to trust you with that information.”
“Then we are at an impasse.” She pointedly stared at his hand around her arm. “If you’d kindly release me, I’d be much obliged.”
“All you’ve done so far is act as a lapdog to your king, completely blind to the truth,” Pyre said, pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes for long enough to steady his breathing. Tempest watched in reluctant awe as his features slowly but surely returned to the way they usually looked, and the pressure of his pointed nails on her arm lessened. “Your king—the entire Crown, really—has hurt so many people. His own people, not just mine. He blames others for his misdeeds. Just look at how he’s using you as a puppet to act on his behalf. You think you are doing good when all you’re doing is aiding an evil man who owns you. The Hounds are assassins, nothing more.”
“Don’t you dare speak about my family like that.” A spike of anger flared in her chest that she ruthlessly stomped down. If she lost control of her emotions, it would spell disaster for them both. “You don’t know me. Think before you start to cast stones.”
“Wise council from a glass house,” Pyre retorted.
Wicked Hell. She was going to slap him. “I think it’d be best if you leave.”
His brows rose almost to his hairline. “You’re not the mistress here.” He leaned down, his nose brushing hers, his gold-amber eyes glittering. “Don’t ever presume to command me again.”
“Understood. But if you ever touch me like that again, I will cut your heart out,” she said simply and meant every word. No one touched her without her permission. If she had to use her bare hands to rip his heart from his chest, she would. “Release me.”
She jerked her arm from his grasp and took a step away from the kitsune, trembling with anger, fear, and a touch of unwanted attraction. What was wrong with her?
“I didn’t mean to make you feel unsafe,” he growled.
“You didn’t.” No way would she admit such a weakness to him.
“Whatever you say, luv.” He eyed her, shook his head mockingly, and touched the tip of his nose. “I’m Talagan, I can smell it all over you. A predator can always smell the fear of prey.”
He. Did. Not. “Come closer again, and I’ll show you a predator,” she hissed, baring her teeth.
“Such a little bloodthirsty thing,” Pyre crooned. “No wonder the king likes you. You may think you’re in control of your destiny, but make no mistake, King Destin owns the Hounds. He owns you.”
She hated that he was right.
“But he doesn’t have to,” Pyre added.
“And what is that supposed to mean?”
“We’re going for a walk tomorrow morning.”
“What?”
“You heard me,” Pyre said, stalking over to the front door as he spoke. Despite the air of calm he was clearly fighting to keep in place, Tempes
t could see his shoulders were shaking. She had riled him up even while trying to calm him. Tempest didn’t like how that made her feel, like she’d failed somehow.
“What does a walk have to do with anything we just talked about?”
Pyre smirked, but there was no humor behind it. “You’ll see,” he replied, infuriatingly vague, and then he thrust open the door and was gone, leaving the door wide open. No explanation. No goodbye.
“That—that no-good fox!” Tempest huffed, at a loss for any words that could form a more appropriate insult. She stomped to the door and slammed it closed before storming back over toward the table. In her frustration, she kicked one of the stools sitting innocuously by the kitchen table; it toppled violently and broke into several wicked-looking shards of wood. She bent down to inspect them and ran a finger along the edge of the sharpest piece. It cut her skin and she winced.
“Briggs won’t be happy about this,” Tempest murmured. She sucked on her finger, tasting salty blood on her tongue as she thought long and hard about what Pyre’s walk was really all about. She stared at the broken chair then, slowly, pocketed the piece that had cut her finger open.
A Hound always needed a weapon. She tossed the other broken bits into the fire and stashed the sharp piece beneath the mattress. Who knew what the kitsune had planned for the walk tomorrow? He wanted her trust and yet he hadn’t given her a good reason to trust him.
It was better to be safe than sorry.
She was the only one she could trust, after all.
Tempest
“I hope you’re ready to have all your prejudices turned on their head, city girl.”
Tempest scowled at Pyre, who had barged into her cottage, unannounced, as if he owned the place. She supposed he did.
“I could have been getting dressed,” she complained.
Pyre’s resultant smile spoke volumes, and the way he jokingly leered at Tempest spoke even more. Ass.
Tempest half-snarled at him. “You’re disgusting.”
“Only to rile you up, Lady Hound. You know I would never creep upon you while you were in a state of undress. That is most ungentlemanly behavior.”
“Oh, and mentally undressing me with your eyes is so much better?”
“Having thoughts is not a crime,” he pointed out, wagging a fake disapproving finger at Tempest as he did so. His nose wrinkled. “Plus, a man does not wish to pick flowers that are venomous. There are prettier flowers in the world to decorate a man’s table.”
She sighed and brushed off his calloused words that pricked her. Tempest had always known she wasn’t some great beauty. Suitors were few when one wore a pair of trousers and fought more fiercely than most men themselves did. Not to mention she lacked certain feminine graces that men seemed to find appealing—like simpering. She didn’t simper well.
At. All.
But at least Pyre seemed to be back to his usual, easy-going self, as if the argument the two of them had engaged in during the previous afternoon had not happened at all. The man was ever-changing. She could handle his playfulness, but when he let his darkness peek out, it unnerved her. She couldn’t figure him out and that’s what bothered her the most. Normally, she was excellent at reading people, but it was impossible to get a read on the kitsune. His masks were flawless. Tempest could probably learn a few things from him.
She shoved the last piece of bread into her mouth and traced a swirling pattern on the table with her finger. Last night, she’d been too restless to fall asleep and had replayed their confrontation over and over. Her gaze slid to the kitsune. Had Pyre even been half as bothered by their fight as she was? Did it matter? It shouldn’t have. Going by the way he’d lost his temper yesterday she’d thought yes. Perhaps she was wrong. Perhaps his anger was all a ruse to get inside her head and—
“Why do you do that?”
Tempest pulled herself from her thoughts, frowning. “Do what?”
“That,” Pyre said, waving a hand toward Tempest’s head. “Get lost in your thoughts mid-conversation. Am I really that uninteresting to you?”
Tempest chose her tried-and-tested route of saying absolutely nothing. Pyre was baiting her once more, trying to see if she’d play his game. Either way she answered, she’d look like a fool. Tempest rested her chin in her hands and gazed at him with a bored expression plastered across her face. He’d have to try harder than that to get a rise out of her this morning. She was too tired for games.
“Let’s go, city girl.”
Pyre smiled disarmingly and opened the door, waiting expectantly for her to join him. Her heart skipped a beat and an answering smile touched her own mouth as the winter sunlight poured into the cottage. She barely noticed his stunned expression as she stood and fake-limped to the door, pausing at the threshold. Her fingers twitched as the temptation to sprint from the cottage enticed her.
She took her first step outside and onto the porch, gazing at the greenery. It would be easy to stab the shifter with the wooden shard hidden in her pocket and escape. But escape would not help her find the Jester. The king’s face flashed through her mind and she shivered. Her captivity in the cottage would be nothing compared to her confinement at court if she failed the king and her sovereign got his way.
“Honestly, Temp, what’s the matter?”
She abandoned her escape fantasies and allowed a small smile to curl her lips as she focused on the kitsune. Pyre cocked his head to one side. Like a fox, Tempest had worked out rather quickly, when she wondered why he did it so often.
“I thought you’d be happy to get out of here for once.”
“I am,” she replied, draping a cloak Nyx had lent her over her shoulders before taking a few, slow steps toward the stairs leading from the cottage into the woods.
He thinks you’re still injured. Do not slip up now.
“But?”
“But I am decidedly wary of why you are taking me on a walk,” Tempest said, smiling slightly at Pyre’s astuteness. He was, perhaps, the most observant person Tempest had ever met. She’d had to be so careful over the past three weeks not to let anything show on her face that Pyre could read. Even then, she was not sure if she had managed to do such a thing successfully. For all I know he’s worked out everything about me by now.
“You look like you’re thinking I’m taking you into the forest to murder you, Temp,” Pyre said, throwing his head back to laugh as if the idea were ludicrous.
“Well, you might.”
“But I won’t.” He shocked her by pushing a piece of her hair behind her ear.
“But you could,” she insisted, putting more space between them.
“I’d wager that you could do the same to me, so we’re even.”
Tempest blinked in surprise, taking far too long to respond with, “If I wasn’t still recovering from my injuries, perhaps.”
The expression on Pyre’s face was almost knowing, though Tempest was not sure if she was reading too much into it or if her brain was seeing things that simply were not there. He sidled closer and indicated outside with an outstretched arm. “Perhaps. After you, my lady.”
“How many times do I have to tell you.” Tempest scowled, “I’m not—”
“A lady. Yes, you may have told me half a hundred times. But you don’t like me calling you Temp, either. And you always look like you might murder me when I call you Lady Hound.”
Though Pyre snickered at his comments, and he’d clearly meant them in good fun, a chill ran down Tempest’s spine as she took a few genuinely unsteady steps to the edge of the porch. It was a gloriously warm and sunny morning, but the mere mention of Lady Hound kept Tempest feeling freezing. The thought of King Destin’s uncomfortable advances made her shiver, but hearing the name he’d used to address her sent Tempest straight back to the night he’d ordered her up to his chambers.
Tempest followed Pyre down the rickety stairs and trailed behind him into the woods, lost in her thoughts. That night changed everything, in more ways than one. If she escaped
today without completing her assignment, the king would be waiting for her and her dreams of adventures as a Hound were over.
She examined the woods for danger when a prickly sensation ran up her neck. Tempest flicked a look in Pyre’s direction and ignored how he stared at her. The kitsune shifter’s ears were flat against his head, a frown of concern shadowing his brow. How long had he been studying her? Had her expression given away any of her thoughts? She needed to be more careful. He wasn’t her friend even if he was beginning to pretend he was.
“What?” she barked, feeling like she needed to scrub the king’s lingering attention from her skin.
“You’re a strange creature, luv. I can’t figure you out.”
“What every girl wants to hear,” she muttered, picking her steps carefully. “I hear men like mystery.”
“There’s some appeal, I’ll admit. But I have a feeling I said something wrong.”
“It’s got nothing to do with you. I’m fine,” she mumbled. And then, though Tempest wasn’t sure why she felt the need to say it, she added, “Well, I’m not fine, but it doesn’t matter. It’ll all work itself out in time.”
Pyre weaved a little closer and risked the lightest touch of her shoulder. “So, I haven’t offended you?”
“Oh, you’ve offended me many times, but it’s no matter. Water under the bridge.”
“What put that haunted look in your eyes?”
He was studying her, and she’d let her guard down. Damn it. Just how much had she revealed?
“I said it didn’t matter,” Tempest replied coolly, increasing the pace of her walking as she realized how stupid she’d been to let some of her emotions leak onto her face. Her jaw clenched as she remembered that she should not have been able to walk that fast, so she slowed down far too quickly and tripped over her own feet.
Pyre clucked his tongue. “You are not nearly so graceful as I thought you’d be, given the fight we had the day we met.”
