Your Knife, My Heart By K. M. Moronova NovelM80026 Your Knife, My Heart (Chapter - 7)

Your Knife, My Heart By K. M. Moronova

Despite my pride, last night was probably one of the best night’s sleep I’ve had in a long time. I fix my hair into two braids and toss them over my shoulder. A few pink strands border my face, my bangs crest just over my brow.

Cameron wasn’t in bed when I woke up.

It’s early, so I’m surprised that he’s already awake. Everyone else is still either lightly snoring or tossing and turning in a fit of unrest. I quietly get dressed in my tactical gear, including the vest. If there’s anything I learned yesterday, it’s that I don’t trust anyone down here. They’re all practically feral and ready to fight at a moment’s notice. I pull a black hoodie with DF embroidered on the left sleeve corner on over everything.

Everything down here is cold.

I think of how close Cameron was pressed against me last night. His arm wrapped around my center and his lips buried in the crook of my neck. My cheeks burn and I shake my head to clear away the dark thoughts forming in my brain as I recall his boner against my ass at some point.

A flash of movement draws my attention to the door leading to the arena. Cameron?

My feet are quiet as I slink across the vast cement room and peek around the corner. The heel of a combat boot slips from view and down a different hallway. I glance over my shoulder to make sure no one has woken up before following the person.

I didn’t get to explore by myself last night, so curiosity keeps me moving forward. I don’t remember this path being on Cameron’s little tour.

A beeping sound around the corner makes me pause at the edge before peeking. Two men stand at a metal door with a keypad next to it, just like the one leading into the Under.

The shorter man in front is without a doubt General Nolan, I’d know that pristine haircut anywhere. The taller one behind him is harder to recognize since he’s wearing a black hoodie with the hood pulled up. My eyes narrow as his head turns enough for me to see his dark brows and sharp jawline.

Cameron? Where is he going?

The two of them step through the door, and it shuts behind them. There are no windows to peek through or other ways to see where they went from this area. I even go as far as to search for a vent in hopes I can find a way to listen in and gain information, but this place is locked up tight.

What lies behind that door? If Cameron knew it existed, then why didn’t he include it on the tour yesterday?

Stop thinking about him, I tell myself as I pick through a bland bowl of cereal in the cafeteria. It’s been an hour and I still can’t get him off my mind.

This area looks identical to the barracks, minus the beds and filled with tables. I sit alone and try to ignore the glares that the girl with Damian is shooting me from across the room. I overheard one of the other cadets calling her Bree. She’s clinging tightly to Damian’s arm like she owns him. A loose smile spreads across my lips. I can’t help that I enjoy her ire toward me.

A tray slams on my table and scares the shit out of me. I blink up and immediately sour at the sight of Cameron. He slides into the seat beside me and gives me a wry grin. His sage eyes are clearer today. Did he run out of pills? His hood is still pulled up like it was earlier, but I can see his tactical clothes underneath. He’s wearing the vest too, so I feel confident in my decision to keep it on.

“Hey,” he mutters as he scoops cereal into his mouth.

I look around, everyone has fallen silent and stares at him with wary eyes. Quite frankly, I don’t blame them. Not after he kicked Damian’s face yesterday. But something tells me that it’s more than that.

“Why is everyone looking at you?” I whisper.

He isn’t fazed by my question, nor does he look up to see for himself. “I’m guessing word got out that I’m a soldier already on the Fury Squad.”

I don’t know why the idea that even the cadets may have heard of his little problem of killing people didn’t cross my mind before.

“That popular in the Dark Forces, huh?” I say in a playful tone, deciding that I’m going to show everyone, including Damian, that I’m not afraid of Cameron. He lowers his head to take another bite and as he does, I see a small needle mark on his neck.

He got a shot? More of those unorthodox medications, I’d bet.

“Popular isn’t the word I’d use,” Cameron says sarcastically as he pushes the rest of his cereal to the center of the table. He leans his chin against his palm and glances at me. There’s a sorrow so silent in his eyes that I almost don’t catch it.

“Hang on, does this mean we’re going to be targeted more in the trials? And you thought I was the liability between us?” I retort. One of the soldiers blows a whistle and everyone starts rising from their tables. We follow behind the group.

“I’m always the liability. You can handle being it while we’re down here.” Cameron nudges my arm and I glower.

“Are you going to be able to hold yourself back from killing me? That’s your real test after all, isn’t it?” I cross my arms so I stop bumping into him.

“Why do you look so disappointed?” Cameron says emptily, reaching up and brushing his finger down one of my braids like he finds it amusing. “This will be fun.”

Cameron opts out of the morning jog around the gym. It’s not really fair that he gets to skip out on things he doesn’t feel like doing, but I’ll take the small reprieve. It’s a chance to gather information from someone other than him.

Reed’s warning echoes in my mind. “Never trust the words of only one person.”

Cameron watches me run a few laps from where he leans against the far wall, speaking with Drill Sergeant Adams. His gaze shifts to mine frequently as he’s talking, and I have to force myself to stop looking.

I get shouldered a few times by other cadets I don’t know yet. I make it a point to memorize their faces so I can ensure their demise in the trials. One looks back, eyeing me up and down with a scowl. Arnold, from what I’ve heard the others call him. He’s intimidating. Flag him.

Damian jogs up to my side on the final laps. I ignore his widening grin the longer I refuse to acknowledge him. Bree flanks my other side, boxing me in between the two of them. My eyes dip down to Damian’s metal teeth that were implanted to replace the ones Cameron knocked out of his face yesterday.

They really do treat us like test rats down here, I note as I take in how his face is hardly swollen. His eyes are bloodshot with whatever high he’s on, and his skin is extremely bruised, but he doesn’t seem incapacitated at all. I doubt those teeth are permanent, but they’re in place and he doesn’t seem to be in pain.

It’s astounding. I realize I’m staring and force my attention back forward.

“What is Mori doing down here?” Damian asks with a clipped tone.

I debate on conversing with them. What’s the worst that can happen? We already hashed shit out yesterday, so it can only go up from here…I hope. “He’s in boot camp just like the rest of us,” I mutter, keeping my focus solely on the ground.

“I see that, but why?” he says, already losing his patience.

I glance at him and raise a brow. “I wasn’t born yesterday. I’m not going to tell you whatever it is you want to know just so you can use it against me later.” I fume over Cameron’s loose lips comment again. I’m not about to let him be right.

Damian laughs. “At least you’re keeping your mouth shut. I’ll find out why from another source then. We still have a few weeks down here, so it shouldn’t be too hard to get information from an officer.”

“Why is everyone so scared of him?” Obviously, I already know why, but I’m hoping for something more specific. What exactly has this man done that’s so heinous it makes his name known even to the newbies who’ve yet to get on a squad?

Bree huffs. “You seriously don’t know?” I give her an innocent stare and shake my head. She studies me carefully before her eyes flick to Damian’s. “He’s the equivalent of a campfire slasher story down here. The guards use his name to scare the shit out of us. He’s torn men apart with his bare teeth.” She shudders and looks over at Cameron.

I don’t buy that. Cameron? The same guy who didn’t want me to sleep on the floor? No fucking way.

I follow her gaze and no matter how long I stare at him I don’t see what they do. I don’t see a monster, I see something hurting and wounded. Feral and rabid from a cruel world, only trying to protect what’s left of himself.

“His teeth, huh?” I say skeptically.

Damian tuts. “You don’t believe us? Have fun finding out the hard way. He has no morals. Though I guess you’ll need someone like him to carry your ass through the trials.” His eyes flash with the threat. They really think I’m getting a free ride with Cameron. That must mean they don’t know that he specifically kills his partners. They just think he’s deranged in the way he kills his targets.

Bree chuckles at his jab. Honestly, Damian is the least of my worries, I’m more concerned about Bree and the way her eyes don’t give away any ideas or plots she may be devising.

Changing the subject, I ask, “Do either of you know anything about the metal door down the hallway from the barracks?” They’ve probably been down here for a while, so one of them should know something.

Damian’s eyes widen and he shakes his head. His hair is slicked to the side with sweat. Our breaths are loud between the three of us as we jog around a corner. “I’ve only heard rumors that some soldiers went in there a few weeks ago and never came back out. Why?” He studies my features like I’m withholding information.

“Just wondering. I accidentally went the wrong way this morning and found it… But back to the trials. Anything specific I should know since I came in late?” I inquire.

Bree sighs as her eyes turn cold and her expression goes flat. “They really didn’t tell you anything before dropping you in here, did they?” she says, almost sounding sorry for me. I shake my head. We round another corner for the last lap. “The missions they send the Dark Forces out on are highly dangerous, and they don’t have time or resources to waste on the criminals who can’t keep up. So before the graduation they hold the Under Trials. From what we’ve heard, it’s a set of three obstacle courses, and all of them require us to try to kill each other.”

I swallow, looking around at how many other recruits there are. There must be around a hundred of us. This sounds like it will be utter chaos.

“What happens after the trials? General Nolan told me there were only four squads. There’s not enough room on them for what’ll be left of us, is there,” I say more as a statement than a question, taking into consideration that the squads are probably made up of less than eight soldiers each.

Damian chimes in. “The death rate is high. Almost three new recruits are needed monthly to replace what’s on the existing squads. Sometimes soldiers are promoted to officers, but it’s been awhile since the last one. Those who are left over get recycled here. ” He nods at the men in uniforms holding M16s as they watch us do our rounds. “But you already have your destination set, don’t you?” His eyes narrow with his wry smile. I don’t miss the way his gaze flicks to Cameron.

I deflate. I’m going to be killed by my own squadmate. “Yeah. I’m Mori’s new partner.” The words come out before I can stifle them. My hands fly to my mouth, and Damian’s eyes flicker to Bree’s with satisfaction.

They just fucking played me.

“There’s the confirmation I was looking for,” he says in a gleeful tone that makes my jaw tick. “Wait until the others hear about this.”

Bree giggles at his words, but all I feel is hopelessness.

A whistle rings through the air and we come to a stop, trying to catch our breaths. I ignore the two of them the best I can, fuming at myself for spilling. Cameron was right, I have loose lips. I groan at the thought.

“Don’t beat yourself up. Our specialty is getting intel out of people.” Damian winks like this isn’t life or death for me.

Bree grins. “We need to prove ourselves any way we can. They’re always watching, and they’re always taking notes on our strengths. So don’t let yourself be so easy to manipulate,” she lectures like she’s actually trying to help me out.

I can’t really be upset with them when I’m the one who needs to sharpen up.

These two are going to tell their buddies and soon the whole Under will know. We’ll be the main targets.

My gaze finds Cameron’s from across the room. He’s going to be annoyed that I just made our predicament harder.

The drill sergeant shouts over everyone and orders us to get into our lines. The cadets move with instinct, knowing exactly where it is they’re to go. I get lost in the frenzy, but find a spot between two people before a hard hand grips my shoulder and pulls me back.

“This is my spot,” a man snaps and takes my place.

I look around the group, everyone is in perfect lines. Oh God. Cameron never told me where I’m supposed to stand. I frantically look for him, but don’t see him against the far wall anymore.

“Go to the back,” Damian hisses from a few people over.

I turn on my heels, heading to the back when my nervous gaze shifts to Drill Sergeant Adams at the head of the group. His dark brown eyes find me quickly and he blows his whistle so loud that it rattles through my bones. “You, come here right fucking now.” His voice is booming and sends a chill down my spine.

Eyes from every direction dart toward me. I carefully weave between bodies until I’m standing before him.

“What’s your name, Cadet?” he snaps. I stare at the ground with my hands fisted at my sides.

“Emery Maves, sir,” I say much softer than I was going for, but my voice won’t steady. Adams is even more horrifying up close than he is far away. His baseball cap is low, casting shadows over his dark brown eyes. His black tactical jacket is sharp, the gold insignia of the Dark Forces clipped to his armband and another to his chest. Deep scars line the side of his neck, I try not to stare. How is he even alive after something like that? I swallow.

“Cadet Maves, are you having a hard time finding your place here?”

That’s hardly fair. “Um…I haven’t been instructed⁠—”

He cuts me off with his booming voice, making me flinch into myself. “Cadet Maves, it’s no one’s responsibility but your own to find your place here in the Under. Now fuck off to your spot in the back and stay there. I don’t want to see you out of line again, got it?” A few chuckles sound from my peers, making my jaw flex.

“Yes, sir,” I choke out before turning and heading to the back of the group. In the sea of black uniforms, a flicker of blond catches my attention. Cameron slowly glances at me, he’s standing in the rear of the group. Our eyes meet briefly, then he starkly looks away. I can’t be mad he didn’t tell me one of the hundreds of things we’re supposed to know. It’s not like he’s in his right mind after all.

He reluctantly returns his gaze to me. I hold his intense stare for as long as I can, waiting for him to look away first. Of course, he doesn’t. There’s a storm of secrets and dreary thoughts behind those eyes, and it makes my heart light on fire. I wish he wasn’t so handsome, literate, and mysterious. It’d be easier to fear him if I didn’t find many of the traits I admire most within him.

I stop at his side and face forward like everyone else.

“Have I told you how much I loathe your lack of awareness?” Cameron whispers.

Asshole. I take it back. There’s nothing I admire about him.

Staring straight ahead, I whisper back, “And have I told you that your opinion is delusional at best? I saw that mark on your neck at breakfast, you’re likely as lucid as a drunken pig.” It’s a jab I didn’t need to throw in, but I can’t help the satisfaction in the way my remark draws his chin to tilt my way.

His gaze sears into the side of my face.

“You sure you want to try to piss me off? I’m Mori, remember? The guy who kills all his partners.” His tone has dropped.

I wouldn’t mind dancing with death.

“Mori, as in to die. You’ll kill yourself before you do me.” My voice is light but sharp.

He actually chuckles, and the sound is so lovely as it reverberates through me. The cadets standing in front of us shift uncomfortably. “Mori, as in to conquer, love.” His voice is cold and smooth all at once, holding the weight of his promise to kill me, but with a trace of endearment.

A flash of heat warms my center. I snap my eyes to his, but words die on my tongue as my attention is drawn to the stream of blood running down his nose and dripping off his chin. The blood is so dark it almost looks black.

Alarm races through me, and he must see the panic in my face because his body twitches before he blinks down and quickly wipes his nose with his sleeve.

“Cameron,” I whisper urgently.

“It’s nothing.” He looks forward and dismisses me. I hesitate to look away, the smear of blood under his nose makes my chest twist. He’s not okay.

I hate that I yearn to fix broken things. Things that aren’t mine to fix.

It’s not my problem. If he croaks, it will be a good thing for me, I chide myself, but the worry clings to my rib cage.

The drill sergeant speaks over the group. “Trials start in three weeks, Cadets. As you know, most of you are going to die in the first trial. Half of what remains on the second, and the rest of you on the last. I expect only a handful at best as a result, so don’t be too chummy with anyone. I’ve seen some of the most ruthless terminations in these trials by recruits who swore their loyalty to each other, but let that be a testament to those who survive. Even your own squadmates can take you out.”

I swear his eyes bounce between me and Cameron to make his point before skirting over the rest of the heads. Now that I think about it, he looks about Cameron’s age. I wonder if they were in boot camp together. They seem to know one another well with the way they were talking casually earlier. That would explain Cameron’s silence last night when I asked about the drill sergeant.

“We will continue to have routines and exercises up until the day we ship off for the trial grounds,” Adams explains sharply. He drones on about daily matters, but my mind is stuck on his comments surrounding the number of us that will die in the first trial alone. A pit forms in my stomach.

After the assembly, Adams orders us into the weapons room to train for the afternoon. It’s made of bulletproof glass on all four sides. The wall adjacent to the hallway is the thickest, protecting the higher ranked officers observing from behind it. Cameron has his hood pulled up and stands between Adams and a few other officers as they watch the recruits and write stuff down on their notepads.

Bree was right, we’re constantly being assessed for our strengths. They want to see our tricks.

There isn’t a doubt in my mind that Cameron doesn’t need to train with us because he can probably kill every single person in this room without even blinking. The unsettling thought brings a grimace to my face.

It would be beneficial to see him in action. I could learn his movements and mannerisms. The sparring match with Damian didn’t count because Cameron literally kept his hands in his pockets the entire time. All I gained from that match was how easily he can take someone out without using his hands.

I guess that would be convenient in a hostage situation. I picture him with his hands tied behind his back and still terminating all hostiles. Why is he shirtless in that vision? I pinch my thigh to clear the image from my head.

The worst part is that I don’t think it’s unreasonable to believe that he could do it.

My stomach drops as I watch four massive men take the biggest KA-BARs they can find off the weapons rack and bury the blades into ballistic dummies. They’re the ones I used to see when Reed would put on the show Forged in Fire. They have clear, soft fleshlike material on the outside and plaster skeletons on the inside. My frown deepens as fake blood gushes out from the dummies’ necks and stomachs.

It’s not looking much brighter on the shooting range. Everyone goes for the M16s and M15s, emptying their clips at the targets down range. I cringe at the accuracy of most of them. The centers of each wooden board are ringed out and hollowed.

I had no idea how skilled the competition would be down here. I walk to one of the tables in the center of the room with smaller guns laid out for use. My eyes catch on a compact handgun. It’s black and has the letters DF engraved on the bottom corner. The last time I held a gun in my hands was a few months ago, before I was detained. I have to shut my eyes at the electric sensation that buzzes through my bones as I hold the weapon.

I’ve missed this feeling.

Bree lets out a short laugh loud enough to snag a few people’s attention, including mine. She looks me up and down, judging me for grabbing a handgun while everyone else is peacocking to garner solid teammates in the trials.

“You’re in my way, runt.” One of the larger male cadets shoulders me aside and grabs what looks like an ACE 32 assault rifle, but this line has a few more enhancements around the muzzle, which I’m assuming are suppressors. There’s an attachment on the side for a combat knife to click into as well. A nice addition, considering that the body of the gun is made for long-distance. This thing is a fucking beast. I glance at the label on the rack. Raze 48.

I’m really not that short. I’m like five foot five. Everyone else here is just abnormally tall. I glower at the guy, who is the embodiment of how I picture musclehead douchebags. His name is tossed around in whispers as he passes the others.

Wraith. I doubt it’s his real name, but I commit it to memory, I’m adding him to the list of people I plan on disposing of in the trials. Like Arnold, who I’m certain I’ve seen hanging around with Wraith in the short time I’ve been here.

He struts across the room like he has a stick up his ass until he reaches the firing range. Everyone stops what they’re doing to watch him, so I join them and wait to see what’s so worth observing.

Bree stands beside me and sighs. “You can tell he’s going to have a heyday killing people in the trials.” Her comment goes unanswered, but I absently nod as I watch him.

Wraith lies on the ground and fires off a bullet at the farthest target, at least five hundred feet away against the wall. It blows straight through the wood and cracks the cement. He does it four more times to four succeeding targets. He’s good, I’ll give him that, but if that’s his one secret talent, then he’s outing himself as a one-trick pony. Wraith stands, knowing everyone is watching him as he shoots me a nasty smile.

His eyes are basically saying I’m going to kill you in the trials. Great. Cameron was right in assuming we’d be targeted. I’m the weak link of the two of us, at least in everyone else’s eyes.

Two can play this game. I’m actually quite good at it, and I don’t need to out my best methods of killing either.

I walk nonchalantly to one of the ballistic dummies and look straight at Wraith, making sure our eyes are locked as I lift my arm until the muzzle of the gun meets the temple, the tender part of a skull. Not only is that where the superficial temporal artery lies, but it’s also a junction point for multiple bones in the skull. A lethal flaw in our design. I squeeze the trigger, and the dummy’s fake brains blow all over the left side of the weapons room.

The entire room falls silent.

“I don’t need to be far away to blow your head off. I’ll be right by your side, whispering something distasteful as I send you away,” I say with a sweet smile. I’ve said some crazy shit before ending my targets with the pull of a trigger. Executioners have personalities too.

I take in the gaping mouths. Did they assume I’m not capable of killing someone? How do they think I earned a ticket down here? It makes me want to laugh. Just because I’m small and have pink hair doesn’t mean I’m weak.

Cameron’s eyes are filled with a new curiosity. Bree grins and elbows Damian whose jaw is slack at my audacity.

Wraith flinches, and fury fills those dark eyes. “You won’t even know what hit you,” he spits back at me. I don’t miss the unease that flashes through his expression. Usually people like him don’t like when they misjudge their prey. He’s so easy to read it’s laughable. He’s definitely going to be a force to be reckoned with, but his cockiness and ego will be his downfall.

I walk back to the gun table and put the pistol back in its place, deciding it will be better to observe for today and save my training for early mornings before anyone else is awake. It’s stupid to give up your edge when you’re going to be fighting everyone else around you.

I try to focus on the people using the combat knives the most, following their patterns and how they fight. Close combat isn’t exactly my strong suit. A window across the street with a sniper rifle? Great. An assault rifle while taking down a group of guards? Splendid. But knife fighting is where I’ve always lacked. I’m starting to regret all those times I told Reed I didn’t need to practice it because I’d always have a gun.

I’ll never forget the way my mom’s eyes changed after seeing my work. She wasn’t supposed to be at the warehouse for another hour at least, and I’d just finished pulling names from the guy. I sliced his mouth open on each side from lips to his mandible. Severing his jaw so it hung like the silver-tongued snake he was. I thought it was fitting, poetic in the way he’d be remembered and found. That’s the day I lost her love. Her husband’s wicked little killer.

She never looked at me the same, and I made sure to be more careful, so she never had to see it firsthand again. I’d gotten too used to Reed’s compliments for putting my passion to use while on the job. His advice was sound, because it did make me feel better.

Two birds with one stone.

After closely observing the knife fighting, I find a place to sit along the wall and focus on watching the others to learn what their strengths and weaknesses are. Memorizing them will be difficult since there’s so many of us. I try to keep it to only the cadets I think will stand a chance out there, since most of them will be goners in the first trial anyway. Myself potentially included. I frown at the intrusive thought.

It doesn’t take long for my eyes to find Damian.

He selects a black combat knife the length of half his forearm. The light glints over the glossed edge of it before he starts striking a dummy with it. He handles the blade divinely, with movements as smooth as waves. A matter of five seconds has passed and he’s already finished and breathing heavily. The dummy is left completely bled out from all the major artery points and the ligaments controlling the legs and arms have been severed. If that was a person, they wouldn’t be able to move their limbs.

Damian is intelligent in knowing the body’s parts and psychologically getting information out of people. Noted.

Bree isn’t too far away, talking sweetly to a group of cadets that seem entirely smitten by her smile. She knows how to manipulate others well. Her lovely features and smooth compliments toward them go a long way too. A charmer.

He and Bree make a pretty scary team. I bet they’re already in an agreement to stick together during the trials and have a pretty healthy number of options to add to their team too, considering how many cadets chat so casually with them. Surely spilling secrets, as I did before realizing it. I groan at my own foolishness.

“Makes you wonder what they all did in the real world, doesn’t it?”

My shoulders tense at Cameron’s unexpected presence. I must’ve zoned out because I didn’t notice him coming in. He presses his back against the wall and slides down until he’s sitting beside me. Our arms brush and the warmth from his thighs spreads to mine. I bristle, but remain still and try to keep a smooth expression. There are way too many eyes on us, and we need to appear like a good working unit.

I wrap my arms around my knees casually so we aren’t touching anymore, and study him. The stories Damian and Bree shared earlier definitely made me more wary of him, but I feel safe with all the people in the room. Not that I think they’d help me if he attacked, but Cameron seems like more of a private killing kind of guy.

Cameron finally has his hood down. His hair is styled and out of his face for once. He got a French crop haircut this morning along with his shot? I try to picture what the hell a Dark Forces barber would look like, and for some reason only Sweeney Todd comes to mind.

The lower half is fade cut shorter than it was yesterday and reveals tattoos on the side of his head. “MORI” is spelled out in all capitals right behind his ear. The tattoo is so small that it could fit on my index finger, but it suits him.

Cameron tilts his chin up and lets his head fall back against the glass. It makes his Adam’s apple more prominent as he leisurely watches the other cadets practice. He pulls out a black Zippo lighter and sparks a cigarette. I focus on his tattooed fingers, a few inked in rings around the middle and thumb, as he opens and closes the lighter a few more times. The clicking sound that the metal makes is oddly satisfying.

“How long have you been in the Dark Forces?” I don’t expect him to tell me much in detail, but I’m curious.

A low hum rolls from his throat in thought. “Around seven years and trust me, you don’t want to know what I did to get here.” His British accent makes it sound almost harmless. I want to see what he’s truly capable of. Cameron inhales slowly and holds the smoke in his lungs for a moment before blowing it out and turning his attention to me.

I don’t look away from his steely gaze. Instead, I search for what would make such a handsome, intelligent man become this. Does he think the same when he looks at me?

“Are you really going to kill me out there in the field? It’d be a shame if I make it out of the trials just to fall prey to your hands on a mission,” I mumble against my arm. His eyes narrow, making the dark rings beneath them more prominent.

“I don’t know.” He pauses and takes me in, eyes tracing the edge of my lips and the curve of my throat. “I hope not.” He holds the cigarette out to me and places the end his mouth just touched between my lips.

A strange flutter moves through my chest at his words and gesture.

I consider him for a moment before I inhale slowly and taste the bitter tobacco that has a woodsy hint to it.

I blow out the smoke, never letting my eyes leave his. “Why?”

A gentle smile grows across his lips. “I’m not sure yet. It’s just a feeling.”