Heart of Iron by Bec McMaster Page A

to do something she’d never forgive him for.
    Maybe Blade and Honoria were right. Maybe he couldn’t be trusted?
    “Will,” she whispered. “You’re shaking.”
    He looked down at his hands. The tremble started there, swept all the way through him. “You were right,” he said hoarsely. “Maybe I did exert meself.”
    “Perhaps I’d best go?”
    It seemed some sense of self-preservation had come over her.
    He nodded, struggling to hold onto himself. What the hell was wrong with him? What did it matter if she’d found…someone? Instantly the anger was back, thick and choking, a red haze threatening his vision.
    “You shouldn’t have come. This ain’t your world now.” The words were harsh and he’d meant them to be.
    Silence. “I know. I thought you wouldn’t be here. You’re never here at midday.”
    Which was why she only visited at those times.
    “Then why don’t you go?”
    “My letter?”
    Soft footsteps shuffled behind him. Her skirts brushed against his legs and then her hand slid down his arm, closing over the letter in his grip. A letter she was so desperate to regain.
    There was only one reason she wouldn’t want him to see it.
    Suddenly he couldn’t stop himself. He had to know, even if the answer was one he wouldn’t particularly like. Lena cried out, fighting him for it.
    It tore in half and both of them staggered apart, left with a piece each. Will unrolled it, his gaze darting over the piece of paper. Not letters. Not writing. His gaze sharpened. He’d seen this before. The same bloody cipher he’d found on the men who’d fired the draining factories.
    His stomach dropped. “What the hell are you doin’ with this?” he whispered, his voice filled with a cold, inexplicable dread.
    Lena gave a strangled cry and darted for the door. Will grabbed her skirts almost as an aside, shock running its icy fingers down his spine. “Don’t think you’re goin’ anywhere. Not until you tell me where the bloody hell you found this!”
    “I picked it up,” she lied, the bitter smell of it all over her.
    Will grabbed her by the shoulder and spun her toward the stool she’d almost toppled. “Sit,” he growled, shoving her into the seat. “And explain. And if I were you, I wouldn’t dare tell me another lie.”

Four
    Will towered over her with a glower. All nearly seven feet of him.
    “Explain,” he demanded.
    His eyes glowed that eerie amber color that showed he wasn’t quite human. Lena fell back, holding onto the bench to keep herself upright. She didn’t dare move, even as the stool teetered beneath her.
    But she didn’t dare tell him.
    “Or?” she asked, tipping her chin up and meeting his furious gaze. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears. He wouldn’t hurt her. Yet her gaze dropped to the quiver in his hands. Maybe it was exertion. Maybe not. She’d never seen him like this before.
    His nostrils flared and he turned and slammed both hands on the bench. Head bowed, he sucked in a deep breath. Then another.
    “I—”
    “Don’t speak.” A gravely rasp. “Give me a moment.”
    Lena swallowed. What was wrong with him? She eased herself upright, setting all four legs of the stool on the ground. The clock on the wall ticked out the seconds. Each tick seemed to stretch out, time slowing as the tension settled in the room. She could hardly stand it.
    As suddenly as he’d turned, Will lifted his head and pushed away from the bench. His golden-brown hair was long enough now to touch his collar, and he raked it out of his eyes with a sharp gesture.
    “No lies,” he warned, pointing a finger at her. The piece of letter was still crushed in his other fist. “Where did you get this?”
    “I can’t tell you.”
    Will put both hands on the bench behind her and leaned closer. Trapping her. “Don’t make me tell Blade.”
    If Will talked to Blade, he would talk to Honoria and then Honoria…well, she would probably scream at Lena about how stupid she’d been, getting involved in