Defy the Sun (Beware the Night #2) - Jessika Fleck Page 0,18

won’t give up a word.

We’re a few paces from the cell door, and Dorian unties my wrists, motions I follow. I take a single step, then stop dead when something occurs to me.

Once Dorian realizes I’m no longer behind him he stops too, turns to face me. “Cold feet?”

“I need you to hit me.”

He shakes his head in confusion. “What?”

“Hit me.” I step forward. “I look too clean, too taken care of, to be a prisoner.”

“I’m not gonna hit you. Mess up your hair, rub some dirt on your face…” He turns and keeps walking and it’s clear, if I want this to be believable, I’m going to have to provoke him. I march double time right up to him, shove him in the back so he stumbles forward, nearly falling face-first onto the stone floor. He stands, squares his shoulders, then strides close so we’re nearly nose to nose.

“Come on!” I shout in his face.

“I’m not hitting you, man.”

“It’s for your own good.”

“What?”

And I punch him square in the jaw.

His eyes flash red and, as expected, as I hoped, he returns the hit. Four knuckles slam into my left cheekbone. I stumble backward as, instantly, it throbs like a special headache concentrated within a three-inch radius of my face. Blood rushes the spot, and I can already imagine the purple bruise blooming under the surface. When I place my hand there, I find the slick warmth of fresh blood.

I stare back at him, his expression part satisfied and, I suspect, part pissed I got him to actually go through with it. “My Sun, was that so damn hard?”

Dorian swears loudly but there’s a satisfied grin on his face. “I suppose we’re both playing the part, eh?”

Without another word, he unlocks the cell door.

* * *

THE MINUTE I lay my eyes on Arlen, there’s no doubt Dorian hit him with equal passion. His face is swollen and dried blood stains the underside of his newly crooked nose down to his chin. He’s tied to a metal chair, hands and legs bound. He definitely won’t be spitting in anyone else’s face unless they offer it up before him.

“Five minutes, Denali,” Dorian says before he shoves me in. “I’ll be right outside the door.” He says this to the both of us. Neither I nor Arlen acknowledge it.

Once Dorian’s gone and the door is definitely latched closed, I walk up to my old friend, sit in the empty chair before him. “What happened? How did you end up here?”

He lifts his eyes to meet mine and only stares. He’s wary, thinking, probably playing out his options, by the way he’s tapping his fingers against the rim of his chair. The guy always fidgets when he’s thinking, more so when he’s spinning a good lie. Growing up with him, witnessing him lie at least a hundred different times to get himself out of trouble and consequence, you begin noticing these seemingly small quirks.

Like Veda … When she’s nervous, she works her bottom lip with her teeth. And when she’s angry, it’s infuriatingly endearing how she avoids my eyes. When she wants to kiss me …

“I was going to ask you the same questions.” Arlen breaks into my thoughts like a bad joke.

I motion toward my freshly broken face. “I didn’t have much choice in the matter. At the time, I was passed out from an arrow to the back.” Truth.

He breathes a laugh. “At least you have that. I was caught during a raid. Made a wrong turn and found myself surrounded by Night soldiers.”

“I see you received a similar welcome?” I narrow in on his bloody, askew nose.

Arlen nods. “What do they plan to do with you?”

I shake my head, being fairly honest with my answer. “I don’t know. I think they’re hoping to use me in some way … me being heir to Bellona and all … They’re cooking something up.” It’s not a complete lie.

“They’ll keep you alive long enough to get what they want out of you. It’s why I’m not giving them anything. They’re going to kill me anyway.”

I scoot forward, seizing the moment. “Maybe not, though. They told me…” I glance over my shoulder at the door as if I’m about to reveal some top-secret information. “If I can get you to talk about where Veda is, they’ll consider sparing you.”

The moment I mention Veda his position changes from leaning forward, as if caught up in nostalgia and camaraderie, to pushed back and closed off like several