If either of them forced a fight, she would kill him, and she would regret not knowing why. Dealing with William was like playing with fire: no right way to do it.
“What would happen if you caught me?” Besides her slicing him to ribbons. Or losing all her sense.
“Run and you’ll find out.”
William took a small step forward.
Cerise jerked back. If he touched her, she would have to make a decision: to cut or to seduce, and she didn’t know which way she would go.
The fire in his eyes sparked and died a little. “Nothing . . . untoward.”
Cerise swallowed. She was wound so tight, the muscles in her legs hurt. Untoward? What the hell did that mean, untoward? “Can you just answer the damn question straight?” Her voice vibrated a note too high. Damn it.
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. She was scared enough as is. He would have to hide who he was until she was used to him.
He didn’t mean to scare her, but damn, she would be fun to chase. He would give her a head start. And when he caught her, he would make sure she wouldn’t want to run away again.
But she didn’t run. She just stood there, waiting for his answer.
The Mirror would have to be kept out of it as well. The Hand was one rock, the Mirror was the other, and her family was caught in the middle as they clashed. Cerise would think he would use her—and he would—and she knew that in the greater scheme of things, a few Edgers mattered very little.
He had to lie.
That’s what spies did—they lied to get what they wanted. He had to be slick about it, because if he failed, she would wander off into the Mire, leaving him holding the severed end of their conversation, and he wouldn’t do a damn thing about it. It would be a low thing to hurt her. She was protecting her family. If he had one, he would do exactly what she was doing.
He had to convince her that he was working for himself, out on his own personal goal of revenge. And that he was human.