Page 53 of Kill the Beast
At least, that’s what she tried to tell herself. But beneath the relief was a layer of hurt, like raw skin chafing against a poultice.
He looked startled. “You were?”
“Yes,” she said, angry with herself. “Like I told you before, we don’t need to know anything about each other just because we’re stuck gathering ingredients together. Ragnhild’s bones said you had to come because of your personal connection to the Beast. That has nothing to do with me.”
The words felt wrong, after what had happened at the lake. He had shared too much of himself with her to take it back now, and in turn he had cracked open something within her that she had thought impenetrable. He had built a bridge with his honesty, offering her a way out of the lonely liminal realm she had locked her heart away inside. But she could not allow herself to cross it, even if she wanted to.
Alderic looked like he was going to be sick, and she thoughtthat maybe the words felt wrong to him, too. But he only nodded. “Right. I’m sorry I muddied things up, before.”
“It wasn’t your fault.” It was hers.Enlighten me,she’d said, opening the door for his past to come tumbling out while he stitched up her wounds. Her hand wrenching up his sleeve to reveal his darkest secret. She had instigated this dangerous descent as much as he had, because despite how much safer it was to build walls around herself, she could not seem to destroy her hunger for human connection. “I’m the one who crossed the line, last night. It was unprofessional, and it won’t happen again.”
He nodded, but the look of wretched misery didn’t leave his face.
“Feeling all right?” she asked, trying to sound brusque, but she was unable to mask the concern in her voice. “We can stay here for a few hours, if you need more sleep. It shouldn’t throw things off too much.”
“No,” he said. “I just want to get this over with.”
Her throat tightened as she remembered what he had been doing when she came up here—staring at the articles about the Beast. Seeing them must have upset him, must have made him think about his brother. She shook off that persistent impulse to comfort him, and turned her back on him instead.
“Then let’s get going,” she said, retreating down the stairs.
This time, when they left, Nadia was holding a rope looped through Brandy’s collar so that he couldn’t run after them. He barked, a look of utter confusion on his face.
Lyssa knelt down and wrapped her arms around his neck. “You have to stay here,” she told him. “For real this time. It’s not safe for you out there anymore.”
The bullmastiff yowled, insulted, and Lyssa kissed his muzzle in apology.
“He looks so sad,” Alderic said, and Brandy turned pleading eyes on his new friend, perhaps hoping that he might intervene on a poor betrayed dog’s behalf.
“I’d rather he be sad than dead,” Lyssa said sharply. Her nerves had already been stretched taut from the conversation she’d had with Alderic—the wrongness of it—and now, leaving Brandy behind, they were frayed to the point of snapping. “He’s too much of a distraction. I can’t afford to worry about him. I have a job to do, and I need to focus on doing it.” They met eyes, and quickly looked away.
“I completely agree,” he said.
“I’m glad we’re both on the same page,” she replied.
Ragnhild and Nadia exchanged another of those weighted glances, but this time there were no twinkling eyes or sly smiles.
Lyssa kissed Brandy’s muzzle one last time and stood. “I’ll be back soon,” she told him. “I promise.”
But Brandy wasn’t done with his goodbyes, limping in circles and barking expectantly until Alderic reached down and stroked the bullmastiff’s head. Satisfied, he let Nadia lead him away, while she told him all about the treats waiting for him in the house. He looked back at Lyssa once, and she dropped her gaze to the ground, the sharp ache of loneliness already piercing through her.
CHAPTER
FOURTEEN
THE TIME THEY’Dspent at Ragnhild’s had been a little under a week in Warham. As dusk settled over the city, Lyssa peered out at the moon from the window of the chophouse where she and Alderic had eaten a tense, awkward dinner.
Waning crescent—a few more nights until the black moon.
Alderic swilled his ale around in his glass. “What’s next?” he asked.
“We’ll need to get the grave dirt, soon,” she said. “Ragnhild told me that we should both gather some, from two different victims, in case we can’t find any iron with a personal emotional connection to either of us.” There was that clench of anxiety in her chest again.It’ll be risky,Rags had said. It could work… or the sword could fail. She wouldn’t know until the critical moment, and—unlike the Serpent of Ire—Lyssa had a feeling she wouldn’t get a second chance, this time. If the Beast didn’t kill her, the Hound-wardens would be waiting.
“Where is your dirt going to come from?” Alderic asked.
“Here in Warham,” she said, pushing her mushy peas around on her plate with her fork so that she wouldn’t have to look at him. True to their new business-only arrangement, she didn’t offer anything more than that, and he didn’t ask.
“Can’t you get coffin nails from the same grave you’re using for the dirt?”
