Page 111 of Stealing Embers
“How did you find me?” I finally ask.
The sound that emerges from Steel is a bit like a laugh, but off. “I imagine the same way you found me.” Lifting my gaze, I find his pinned on me. “Flying sparkly creature. A bit of an attitude. Sound familiar?”
Ahh . . . “Tinker Bell.”
Steel’s eyebrows arch. “Seriously? What if it’s a dude?”
“What if it’s a figment of our imaginations?”
He tips his chin in concession and then takes a slow drink from his steaming mug as he continues to regard me over the lip.
“I knew you were following me. Once I found the cabin, I was on my way back for you anyway whenTinker Bellhelped me locate you faster.” A softness leaks into Steel’s gaze that I know I’m not imagining. It’s a bit like a layer of his armor has melted away. I wonder if he realizes it? He’s not the type to let anyone see his soft underbelly, most of all me. Which means it’s probably unintentional. “I know what I said before was . . . harsh. I was frantic to find Blaze and Aurora. Iamfrantic. But I’d never . . . or at least you should know . . .” He squeezes his lips together, obviously frustrated he can’t find the right words.
“I wouldn’t actually let anything happen to you.” He finally shoves the words out, breaking eye contact and looking everywhere but at me.
Maybe he’s suffering from a head injury? That’s a definite possibility.
I clear my throat for no other reason than to break the tension. “How long have I been out?”
Steel rolls the ceramic between his hands as he looks to the front door. “About ten hours. I found you some time in the middle of the night.” His attention swerves back to me. “I got tired of waiting for you to wake up.”
Standing in one fluid motion, he strides a few steps to the kitchen sink and places his cup in it.
“So you decided the best way to rouse me would be to hit me repeatedly with a pillow?”
The muscles beneath his shirt bunch as he grabs the edge of the sink and casts a glance over his shoulder. “It worked, didn’t it?”
I force a short burst of air from my lungs in a mock laugh. “What, you didn’t want to kiss me awake?”
Rotating, he leans back against the counter, arms crossed over his chest. A slow smile spreads across his face. “How do you know I didn’t try that first?”
It’s not until my fingers brush my lips that I realize I’ve raised my hand. Snapping it down, I clear my throat. An unwanted blush creeps up my cheeks.
I hate it when he messes with me.
“Right.” I play it cool as I place my half-empty mug of tea down on a tiny one-drawer nightstand, paying unnecessary attention to its woodgrain surface. “Did you find anything before you found me? Any sign of Blaze or Aurora?”
Flint sparks in Steel’s teal eyes and his face hardens, draining the levity from his expression. Beams of sunlight shine through the hazy half-window above the sink behind Steel’s head—but shadows block my view of most of his face when he tips his chin down. Moving with the speed and stealth of a panther, he’s at the rickety front door within a half-second and shoving on a pair of clunky snow boots.
“Finish your tea and grab your stuff. We have to go.” His voice drops an octave and warns against disagreement.
“Wait, what? Now? We?”
Sliding off the bed, I search the rust-stained floor for my boots while Steel thrusts his arms through the sleeves of an ugly brown hunting coat I’m positive I’ve never seen before—
I’d have remembered something that fugly.
Finding my footwear under the bed, I bounce on one leg and then the other as I struggle into each boot.
“Hurry up.” Steel’s impatient command irks me, and I straighten my spine. So much for whatever moment we may have been having. King Jackass is back.
“Hold on a second. You can take two minutes to explain to me what’s going on here.”
I’m well acquainted with the aggravated look that pinches his features. He shoves a frustrated hand in his hair, fisting the strands before letting his arm drop heavily to his side. His eyes dart to the window and then back to me.
“Fine. Come here.” He strides forward and pulls a wrinkled piece of paper out of his pocket. Dropping it on the table, he smooths it out and jerks his chin in my direction as if to ask,what are you still doing standing over there?
I move so I’m standing beside him, looking down at the aged paper. It’s browning and torn around the edges; if I had to guess, I’d say it was torn from a larger drawing. The crinkles on the paper distort the aerial view of the mountain range it depicts. The highest peaks are represented by blobs of white surrounded by green.