The Hunt - Megan Shepherd Page 0,33
but he didn’t let her go. She had seen how Dane’s gaze had lingered over Lucky, when he tended to the animals with such care, and especially when he took his shirt off to wash himself in the water trough.
“So just keep to yourself,” Dane said. “And we’ll be fine.”
The ball of anger twisted harder in her stomach. If he thought he had a chance with Lucky, he was going to be greatly disappointed. Even if Lucky did like boys, he wouldn’t go for Dane in a million years.
“Right,” she choked, and pushed her way into the lodge.
FOR DAYS, CORA CHECKED the floor around the shower room drecktube obsessively, but there were no chalk messages from Leon. Maybe he had run into trouble finding Anya, or maybe he’d just abandoned them, like he had before. She could think of nothing but their plan, as she stumbled through her duties and rushed through her songs. On the days when Council members were there, her stomach curled. She watched them play cards and thought back to Queenie in Bay Pines and the Venezuelan girls they cheated together. Those girls never caught on. With luck, the Council wouldn’t either.
When Cassian finally returned, she couldn’t help but notice he wore gloves. She wondered if his palm was still wounded from the metal jack, or if he’d worn them as protection in case it happened again.
He spoke briefly to Tessela, who nodded and came to the stage.
“You can finish your shift early,” Tessela told her. “One of the patrons wishes you to play a game of cards.” She indicated the most private of the alcoves.
Cassian was already waiting for Cora there. She sank onto one of the benches, avoiding looking at the basket of jacks. Faint sounds came from the other side of the alcove’s wooden screen. Makayla’s tap shoes. Clinking glasses from the bar. The roar of a distant vehicle driving toward the savanna. She shifted, flustered and suddenly warm. Being alone with him always made Cora feel too hot, like standing outside on a summer day at noon—in danger of getting burned.
Cassian took a seat a safe distance across from her. “How is your head?”
“Better.” She picked at her fingernails. “How is your hand?”
He slowly removed his gloves. The skin on his palm had mostly healed, though it was still red. “It was my fault. I provoked you, though it was not my intention.”
She reached out and placed her hand over his, hoping the gesture would relieve any suspicions he might have. “It doesn’t matter. I agreed to run the Gauntlet, and I will.”
He looked up at her touch, and for a second she feared he’d sensed her lie. But then storm clouds in his pupils darkened, and he leaned forward as though gravity was drawing him closer. “I know it is not easy for you to trust me again,” he said, “But I knew you would agree.”
She tilted her head, curious. “Did you?”
“Forgiveness, mistakes, determination—all human values I have known and appreciated. But I’ve learned more about humanity after watching you. Something that I first observed on Earth but never quite understood until now. Perseverance. Or rather, perseverance in the face of the illogical.”
For a second, her mind turned back to being ten years old, standing bruised beneath an oak tree, and Charlie lecturing her about being stubborn.
“You mean not giving up?”
He nodded. “To us, that is an unfathomable trait. The decisions we make are carefully weighed. In the cage, you should have given up many times. You didn’t, even when it defied logic. And most incredibly of all, not giving up was the right decision.”
“It wasn’t,” she argued. “It didn’t work.”
“Your escape did not succeed, true. And yet not giving up was the right decision. It made you stronger. That is what fascinates me. If it had been Kindred wards, they would still be there, running puzzles for the rest of their lives. It makes me not want to give up either. Not just in my head, but also in my heart.” He pressed a hand to his chest, and she felt her own heart start to thump. “When I weigh this decision to train you to run the Gauntlet, logic tells me it is not the wisest choice. And yet I believe it is right.”
Another memory returned to her, this one from a year ago. Their father had forbidden Charlie to take flight lessons. Too dangerous for an eighteen-year-old, he’d said. So Charlie had gotten a job after school at