Page 9 of Powerful

I glance sidelong at her. ‘Self-taught.’

The deep breath she takes is audible even over the constant bustle belonging to Loot. I almost smile. Because I’m a horrible person who doesn’t believe that anyone could possibly be so happy. And maybe she truly is, though it’s likely because she hasn’t yet gotten to know me.

I might just crack her, seeing that I may be her worst nightmare – her opposite. And I’d be doing her a favor, really. Widening her range of emotions. Get her to embrace any other feeling besides permanent, unbearable perkiness.

Glancing over, I watch as she tilts her head towards the sky, skin glowing in the warm rays stroking her face. The light purple shirt she wears is falling down her arm, revealing a delicate collarbone and dark shoulder. My eyes trail over the black curls bouncing in time to each of her steps. Wind-blown bangs bleed into hazel eyes,bright with a sort of serenity that doesn’t belong in the slums.

There is not a single cynical thought to deny the fact that she may be the most beautiful woman I’ve ever had the pleasure of laying eyes on. She’s intimidatingly peaceful – a contradiction in itself. And I almost want to despise her for it. Because I fear there is a chance that I may begin to enjoy her.

‘Soooo.’ She draws out the word, giving me enough time to stop staring at her before I’m caught in the act. ‘Where is it you’re taking me?’

‘Somewhere that will likely have you sneezing all over me.’ Blandly, I add, ‘So I’ll be keeping my distance.’

She shrugs. ‘So long as you’re close enough to keep me company.’

This, unfortunately, piques my interest. ‘I don’t remember that being a part of the deal.’

She looks at me as though this is common knowledge. ‘That’s because it is a part of the deal that is knowing me.’

‘Do you come with any other rules I should be made aware of?’

The expression she wears is the embodiment of a shrug. ‘I don’t like carrots. So none of those, please.’ Shetaps a thin finger against her lips as though pondering something of far greater importance than our current topic. ‘Oh, and I get scared very easily when I’m focused on my sewing, so don’t sneak up on me or anything. I may poke you with a needle, so consider yourself warned.’

‘Noted,’ I sigh. ‘Any other demands?’

A mischievous grin pulls at her lips. ‘I expect a sticky bun every day. For my hard work, of course.’

I run my eyes over the length of her lean frame. ‘Well, that’s one way to get some meat on your bones.’

Turning my attention back towards the crowded street, I’m forced to dodge several carts along with the scrambling children weaving between them. Which, in turn, means I’m also guiding an alarmingly oblivious Adena.

‘What are you looking at?’ My tone is accusing. ‘Because it certainly isn’t the street in front of you.’

She smiles slightly at our surroundings. ‘We clearly see the world quite differently.’

‘See the world however you’d like, but at least watch your step while you do it.’ I pause long enough to take in my own words. Then I’m glancing over at her with a surprised quirk of my brow. ‘That was good advice. You should write that down.’

She laughs, though I’m certain it is at my expense. Nevertheless, I still get to enjoy the sound of it washing over me. ‘Yes, very wise.’

I nod in the direction of a merchant and his cart of colorful fabric. ‘How much do you need for the uniform? Couple of yards?’

I’m heading for the display of dizzying colors when a hand clamps round my bicep. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ she blurts, exasperated. ‘I need to get your measurements before any fabric can be bought.’

‘You can’t be serious,’ I say dryly. ‘Why don’t we get some now, and then—’

‘We are doing this my way, Mak.’ Her sudden sternness is almost startling. ‘Or not at all.’

I raise a palm in mock surrender. ‘Fine. I’m shocked you could stop smiling long enough to tell me off.’

She smiles at that, further proving my point. After several more steps down the street, I nod towards the alley on our right. ‘This way.’

She follows me closely, like a too-short shadow attached to my heels. I lead her down the alley, stalling outside one of the many shop doors surrounded by crumbling brick. After fishing a key from a pocket decorating my leathers, so begins the routine of forcingthe toothed iron into the lock.

It’s only after me ramming my shoulder against the wood that the door swings open on squealing, rusty hinges. I brace an arm against it, gesturing for her to step inside. After she’s offered me a quick smile, I watch her take in the entirety of my life with a single sweep of her eyes.

She paces around what can generously be described as a glorified shed. It’s odd, watching someone take in the mess that is me.

She runs her fingers along the various tools and metal carelessly cast about the room. A thin layer of coal dust coats anything in the vicinity of the massive fireplace, staining half the room in grime.

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