Bayou Moon - Andrews, Ilona [64]
William sighed. The feral edge slipped away. His shoulders dropped slightly. He put the crossbow down. “I won’t hurt you. Don’t be afraid. If you have to go, go. I’ll be good and won’t chase you down. Straight enough for you?”
He meant it, Cerise could see it in his face. He thought she was scared of him and he backed down.
Tension leaked out of her. Suddenly she was tired. “And what will you do here, alone in the swamp?”
He shrugged. “Find a way out.”
Yeah, right. He would wander for days in the Mire. She had no doubt he would survive, but he wouldn’t make it out anytime soon.
“Here is what I know: you’re fast, you know about the Hand, and you’re trained to kill with your bare hands. You look like you’ve been doing it for a while and it doesn’t bother you. I think you like it. And your eyes, they ...” She raised her hand to her face.
“What?”
“They glow.”
He blinked. “I’m wearing lenses to keep that from happening.”
“Well, they aren’t working.”
“No?”
She shook her head. “You got screwed.”
“No point in keeping them in, then.” He sat on a log, pulled his lower eyelid down, fished a lens out, and tossed it into the mud. The second followed. He raised his head with obvious relief, like a kid who was told he could get out of his church clothes. His eyes were actually light hazel, and when he blinked, the amber glow rolled over his irises like fire.
In her head, Cerise walked over to him, put her arms around his neck, and kissed him, looking right into those wild eyes. And in her head it would have to stay. For now.
“Better?” she asked.
“Much.” He sat there, blinking, crushed that his scheme had fallen apart. He looked . . . sad. One moment he was some sort of hellspawn with glowing eyes, the next he was a sack of gloom, and all of it looked and felt completely genuine.
She should’ve walked away, except that he knew the Hand, knew it better than anyone she could think of, probably better than anyone in the Mire, and she needed his knowledge desperately. Yes, that was it.
Stop, she told herself.
The path to becoming a flash fighter was paved with years of training, but it started with one simple rule: never lie to yourself. It meant accepting your true motivations, owning your emotions and desires without pretending they were noble or evil. It was easy to understand but hard to follow. Just like now.
She had to admit and accept the reality: William with his amber eyes and his wolfish laugh, crazy, lethal William, made her head spin. He was like a dangerous puzzle box full of razor blades—press the wrong switch and the blades would slice your fingers to ribbons. And she was the fool who couldn’t wait to press the switches and find out the right one.
Cerise exhaled. She wanted him, fine. No use denying it. But that alone wasn’t enough to let him into the house. Now that she admitted it, she had no trouble putting it aside.
“A man like you wouldn’t be out in the Mire looking for some trinket, William. You lied to me, and I almost took you to my house, where my family lives. I can’t afford to be lied to.”
“Fair enough,” he said.
“Still, you could’ve killed me when I slept. You didn’t. You helped me hide from the Hand, and you saved my cousin. Level with me, William. Why are you here? Are you working for somebody? Tell me.”
Tell me because I don’t want to leave you in this swamp. Tell me so I know we have a chance.
“If you can’t, no hard feelings. We’ll go our separate ways from here. I’ll even draw you a map to get you back to town. If you can’t tell me why you’ve attached yourself to me, just say nothing. But don’t lie to me, or I swear, you’ll come to deeply regret it. I may work together with you, but I won’t let you use me or my family.” Cerise raised her chin. “What will it be?”
HE had to lie.
Cerise was a granddaughter of Louisiana bluebloods. They killed his kind in Louisiana. To her, he was an abomination.
In his head, William had somehow managed to gloss over that fact. But now it stared back at him. He would have to be very careful, William decided.