Bending Steele (5 page)

The crackle and pop of the fire were the only
sounds in the room though. Hexe hadn’t moved for the stove and she
could feel him watching her, no doubt the same intense knowing look
in his eyes as always. As if he was trying to probe beneath the
surface.

“Fine, Steele,” he said. “Then tell me
something else about yourself.”

Not on his life. This whole conversation
thing had already proved how much he’d gotten into her head over
the past four days. She’d lived in silence her whole life before
now, she could damn well suffer another week in it. But when she
didn’t answer she heard the floor creak behind her as Hexe rose and
strode towards her.

A familiar tenseness filled her muscles,
suddenly ready to fight, but she didn’t
want
to fight him.
She was tired of fighting. Steele turned to face him before he
could finish closing the distance between them. Black hair fell
over his eyes, but she didn’t need to see them to know he was
trying to figure her out. Her tongue touched her lips, a hint of
nervousness playing through her, but it had nothing to do with fear
of him.

She was scared of herself.

Could four days really make a person crave
human interaction? She hadn’t thought so, not really, but she could
see the yawning hole of emptiness inside her now. The same hole
that had led her to hang around the fringes of the tribe, so she
could watch and live through them rather than have to open herself
back up to the possibility of getting hurt.

But Hexe was the first one who truly seemed
to give a damn. He’d wanted to get to know her right from the start
and as much as she’d hated his efforts, at the same time, he’d
given her glimpses of what it was like to have someone around
again. Those split seconds with him, even the fights when she’d had
to force him away, had given her enough human contact to make going
home alone again bearable.

Her hands fisted at her sides and Hexe froze
a few steps away, a slight grimace playing across his face. “Relax,
Steele.” He held up his hands. “Never mind. But it has to be
awfully damn lonely to not let anyone in. Ever.”

The words stung and Steele flinched, her hand
moving to her blade as she felt the familiar handle touch her skin.
Then the knife was out, glinting in the light of Hexe’s living room
as she turned to meet him. Hexe sat there, watching every move, a
sad look in his eyes. “Forget I said a thing. We’ll go back to our
silence.”

But she didn’t want that either. Hand
tightening over the handle of her knife, Steele sucked in a hard
breath. She stared numbly down at her mother’s blade, the cold
comfort of it in her hand was almost habit. Whenever she’d felt
cornered, fighting had been her solution. Her salvation. The knife
and her own icy resolve had kept her safely alone.

Safe, but
alone
.

Steele lifted her gaze to his. She could
always turn him away later. Swallowing hard, Steele put the knife
away and took one shaky step towards him. “It was the color of my
mother’s eyes.”

For a long moment Hexe didn’t say anything at
all, he just sat there staring at her, surprise flickering in his
eyes. Then he gave a soft huff of breath and leaned his head back
against the sofa, a small smile toying at the edge of his lips.
“What do you want to know?”

That one question opened a world between them
and Steele found herself stepping closer, curious, despite herself.
Looking around the living room she found her attention drawn back
to the images of vines carved into his ceiling. She pointed. “Where
did you learn to do that?”

“Back home. My father used to make all kinds
of carvings and I used to have him teach me.” Tension seemed to
leak from him as he talked, his voice becoming lower, a soothing
baritone that seemed to fill the room. Whatever he remembered, it
made him happy. Steele wrapped her arms around herself only to find
Hexe looking at her again. “At first I just did little carvings
here as a way to bring them back, then it was just a way to keep
their memories fresh.”

And as much as she didn’t want to, Steele
could understand that. Her mother had never had much, but every
memento Steele could find, she’d hoarded after her mother’s death.
As if holding those items could bring her mother back. Then, as
she’d grown older and let the lessons of that day sink in, she’d
realized she couldn’t afford to ever let someone in again. Trust
and love were so easily betrayed.

Her hand fisted at her side, remembering the
feel of the handle against her skin. To remind herself of the
reason why she couldn’t afford friends or lovers, she’d only fought
with one knife: her mother’s. Her fingernails bit into her palms, a
harsh reminder that she should still be fighting, not sitting here
talking with him, letting him in.

Steele itched to reach for her blade, but
instead she found herself looking at Hexe, unable to tear her gaze
away. Those green eyes of his saw too much. Said too much. Looking
into them now, they whispered soft things, spoke quietly of his
grief for his parents, murmured of his pride in his work, and
lastly, they seemed to tell her how much he understood.

How much he cared.

In soft, firm tones, they told her of his
passion, the heat flickering in their depths unmistakable. Steele
gave a small gasp, bracing herself as Hexe pushed off of the couch
and stood. Hexe slowly closed the distance between them, each
stride slow and purposeful. She had plenty of time to run away but
she couldn’t get her legs to move. She wanted her icy resolve back,
the hardness that had shielded her the last time he’d been this
close. But all she could see was the sadness in his gaze when he’d
stared at that damned picture. Or those damned vines he’d carved
into the ceiling, the picture in his headboard—memories of loved
ones he’d lost and tried so desperately to hang on to.

And no matter how much she wanted to convince
herself otherwise, he understood.

Hexe reached a hand up to touch her cheek,
the calloused tips of his fingers dancing over her jaw. His thumb
skated over her lips. Once, twice. The third time it paused,
resting in the center like a ghost, hovering. Just barely there.
She couldn’t move and yet her heart pounded away in her chest.
Don’t
, she wanted to say but she couldn’t get her lips to
move. Not with his touch right there, his attention riveted on his
skin against hers.

Steele blew out a soft breath, shaky, and it
turned the air between his thumb and her lips to fire. Hot,
scalding, and Hexe shuddered, swaying forward even as he dropped
his hand. His breath touched hers, mingling, but he didn’t close
that last inch. Instead he pulled his head back.

“Why didn’t you…?” the words tumbled out of
her before she could stop them.

“What?”

Steele shook her head, unwilling to say it.
Why didn’t you kiss me?
It sounded childish. A teenage
girl’s dream. Not her. Nothing at all like her.

Hexe paused. “Why didn’t I what?”

There was a low insistence to his voice she
knew wouldn’t go away. He wouldn’t let this go. Steele started to
move when one hand found her waist, just as gentle touch but she
might as well have been naked for all the heat she could feel in
from his skin. Her stomach sucked in.

“Kiss me. You stopped.” She forced her voice
to be hard, to beat out the brittle edge that threatened to take
her. “Why didn’t you give me the excuse to—”

He cut off her threat with a lazy smile.
“Because you weren’t sure.”

That was the last thing she’d expected from
the man who’d laid a claim on her. From a man she’d seen cut down
every contender for the throne with such a ruthless edge she’d
considered him every bit as merciless as she was. He should have
stolen that kiss. Gone in and conquered. That was what men like him
did.

Except, they were words that made perfect
sense for the man she’d been living with these past four days. The
one who smiled and teased, who put so much time and love into this
house, who seemed so determined not to conquer, but instead to win
her friendship. This man was completely different than the ruthless
King he played in public.
This
was the real Hexe. After all,
this was his home, where no one else could see him. There was no
reason to play act here.

Steele swallowed, her eyes briefly closing as
she gathered back her strength, the familiar coldness at the center
of her heart. “This won’t work,” she said softly.

“What won’t?”

“You. Me. Whatever you’re doing.” Ice found
her voice again, that cold hardness that was so similar to steel
and stone. “I don’t want a mate. I don’t want a man. The moment
this mark is gone from my breast I’ll leave. And I won’t look
back.”

Hexe smiled a little at that. He lifted a
hand to her lips again, tapping his index finger gently at the
center. His head inclined just slightly.

“Maybe so. But I think you’ll look back.”

Chapter
Five

Hexe watched as Steele stiffened against his
words, against the soft dare in his voice. For a woman who didn’t
want a man or a mate in her life, she sure had a funky way of
showing it. Oh, he saw the steel cast of her mask when she had
everything under control. But he’d seen the pain in her eyes when
she’d told him why she loved the color blue, looking as wounded as
a lost child in the woods.

He’d seen the way she’d stared at the picture
of his parents, almost haunted.

She wanted companionship so badly it
terrified her.

What he wouldn’t give to get that story out
of her. One look at her face, her gunmetal eyes warmer than he’d
ever seen them despite the edge of anger to them, and he knew
something dark lingered in her past. A memory she couldn’t shake.
Whatever man had hurt her so bad, Hexe wanted to go a round with
him.

“Well, then I guess it’s a good thing I
didn’t kiss you,” he said, just to break the silence before he
stepped away.

Hexe moved around her, the scent of the stew
filling the room and Hexe headed for the kitchen. He let Steele
have her silence, her alone time as he gave it another stir before
turning off the heat.

“If you’re hungry—”

He was reaching for a bowl when a scream
pierced the air outside the cabin, half eaten by the howl of the
winter wind. Instantly, he had his knife in his hand. One glance at
Steele, and Hexe could see her blade resting easy in her palm.

A loud thud struck his front door, enough to
rattle it down to its hinges. Another scream. Feminine. Terrified.
It lifted the hair down his neck and left him bone cold. Steele
sucked in a breath between her teeth and tensed beside him. She’d
gotten her feet solidly underneath her now and had moved up beside
him. Ready, watching, but she was letting him take lead.

It was his house after all. The thought drew
a soft smirk to his lips. Steele was a survivor, and she had no
reason to look after him. The woman outside pounded against his
door, shrieking. Her voice broke off in sobbing fits that tore at
his heart, but Hexe didn’t rush the door.

He’d fallen for the hurt kitten routine once
and had nearly gotten his throat slashed out. There were those who
would never fight fair. Instead he approached from the side, steps
slow. Steele matched him on the other side, calm. Her icy resolve
firmly in check.

“Please! Please!”

The door shook under the force of her fists
as the woman railed out another sob.

“Hexe, please!”

Her voice. Oddly husky, distinct. Almost too
gravelly for a woman’s. A memory clicked into place, the redhead
from last year. Odd, he couldn’t place her name but he could
remember her voice. Hexe reached for the handle. “Step back.”

Her sob broke into a small gaps and he heard
her stagger backwards. “Oh thank you. Thank you, thank you.”

He opened the door, Steele stepping up behind
him but the woman had dropped to her knees in the snow, her face
buried in her wind raw hands. Her knuckles were bright red against
the cold. Damn. Hexe reached out, grabbed her by the back of her
shirt and hauled her inside. She stumbled but didn’t fight.

Instead, she reached out with both hands and
wound her arms around his waist, collapsing against him. Steele
shut the door, a mocking lift to her brows. She would find this
amusing.

Hexe caught the woman under the chin, tilted
her face up. Tears streaked down her cheeks and he could feel the
violent hammer of her pulse. “What happened?”

“Liam...” She cried out, twisting her head
out of his grip and burying her face against his stomach. Open
mouthed, the heat of her breath twisted up his belly. Hot, sticky.
Tears left the fabric wet. What the fuck was her name?

Steele folded her arms over her chest and
leaned back against the door. She didn’t look at all inclined to
help. The woman kneeling before him groaned into his belly, but
before she could start crying again, he placed a hand on each side
of her face and forced her head up again. “What happened?”

He drew the words out slow and firm. Damn it.
Listen
.

“I was...I was with Liam. We’d decided to run
the mountains for a few nights, you know? See if there was
anything.” She shivered, one hand slipping into the hem of his
jeans. Not sexual. She just clung to him as if she needed
something,
anything
, to hold onto. His jeans just happened
to be it.

Her breath shook as she closed her eyes,
gathering courage. “We’d just been walking, Liam wanted a run, so
we shifted. Then I saw the man on the cliff, he had this big
rifle.”

Steele stood suddenly, her knuckles white as
she wrapped the handle of her knife in a death grip.

“He had to have seen us. Had to known what we
were. I mean we were
just
human and then…then he just shot
Liam.” Her voice broke on a sob. “It was silver. One minute he was
standing, the gun sounded, Liam jerked and then collapsed.” Her
voice trembled. “He didn’t get up.”