bag?”
When Creed had grabbed her this time, he hadn’t bothered restraining her arms, knowing she could do nothing about the energy encasing her head and trusting his superior physical strength to retain her. She hadn’t felt so vulnerable in a long time. She wasn’t going to let it happen again.
Kai’s lips dipped at the corners, but he moved toward her discarded bag without argument. She listened to the sliding of the zipper and the soft rustling of supplies, not worried that he wouldn’t recognize the intricate hilt when he saw it. The zipper sounded again, swift and smooth, and moments later Kai obligingly rested the unassuming hilt at her side.
“When did you start carrying this?”
She couldn’t help but wonder if her carrying a weapon on their mission struck him in his pride. Nor could she decide whether she was truly okay with that or not. He’d deserve it, some stubborn part of her consciousness insisted. Maybe that was true, but she had never intended to go for a blow to the ego like that. So she shoved the thought, and the hope that he didn’t feel that way, aside.
“A few decades ago,” she replied, reaching over to finger the carvings.
The hilt was elaborate, carved with ancient symbols of power and grace. The man who’d given it to her insisted it had once belonged to a beautiful, powerful angel. He said that angel had given it to him when he was young—less than thirty—in exchange for his agreement to become the parent her young infant needed. It was that handsome, though foolish, Nephilim Belle had come to heal when she met the previous owner of the blade. The blade itself was retractable, forged from some sort of heavenly steel. If she pressed on the small marking at the base, the blade and two pointed halves of the guard would pop free. And for a retractable blade, she’d always found it quite sturdy.
“That’s a blade?” Gwen asked from Kai’s side, drawing Belle out of the moment.
Belle drew a breath to respond, but Kai volunteered.
“Yes,” he said. “A retractable sword forged in the High Kingdom. They were popular a few hundred years ago.”
Gwen whistled and perched her butt on the edge of the mattress, grinning down at Belle. “Well, for being at least a few hundred years old, you don’t look a day over twenty-five.”
Belle rolled her eyes, grateful her headache was gone. A few more minutes and she’d be ready for travel. “I’m not, thank you. The blade was a gift.”
“Not what?” Gwen pushed curiously. “Not over twenty-five?”
Belle could swear she felt the vibrating rumble of Kai’s laughter to her core and all of a sudden she became hyper-aware of the fact that she was lying on a bed with him barely beyond arms’ reach. If it weren’t for Gwen’s presence, she would probably have had a hard time not reaching for him out of an old, delicious reflex. Instead, she did her best to ignore the amusement she sensed in him, and the way it made her insides warm, and turned her attention back to Gwen.
“Not several hundred years old,” she clarified. “Not yet, anyway.” She didn’t personally feel that two hundred counted as “several.”
Gwen arched a brow at this. “Not yet? Wait, are Nephilim seriously immortal?”
“Partially,” Belle replied. “Eventually, we die of old age, like humans. But we’re as vulnerable as humans, too. We get sick, we develop cancer or break bones, and all those things are just as capable of killing us.”
She couldn’t help but notice that Kai’s amusement vanished as she explained her type of mortality. When she glanced his way he’d averted his gaze, but from his profile, she could tell he was glaring at the window. As if he didn’t like the reminder. But that made no sense. Come to think of it, he’s not making a lot of sense at all.
Before this mission, their resentment of each other, or at least their dislike of the other’s company, had always felt mutual. And though in her more honest moments
When Creed had grabbed her this time, he hadn’t bothered restraining her arms, knowing she could do nothing about the energy encasing her head and trusting his superior physical strength to retain her. She hadn’t felt so vulnerable in a long time. She wasn’t going to let it happen again.
Kai’s lips dipped at the corners, but he moved toward her discarded bag without argument. She listened to the sliding of the zipper and the soft rustling of supplies, not worried that he wouldn’t recognize the intricate hilt when he saw it. The zipper sounded again, swift and smooth, and moments later Kai obligingly rested the unassuming hilt at her side.
“When did you start carrying this?”
She couldn’t help but wonder if her carrying a weapon on their mission struck him in his pride. Nor could she decide whether she was truly okay with that or not. He’d deserve it, some stubborn part of her consciousness insisted. Maybe that was true, but she had never intended to go for a blow to the ego like that. So she shoved the thought, and the hope that he didn’t feel that way, aside.
“A few decades ago,” she replied, reaching over to finger the carvings.
The hilt was elaborate, carved with ancient symbols of power and grace. The man who’d given it to her insisted it had once belonged to a beautiful, powerful angel. He said that angel had given it to him when he was young—less than thirty—in exchange for his agreement to become the parent her young infant needed. It was that handsome, though foolish, Nephilim Belle had come to heal when she met the previous owner of the blade. The blade itself was retractable, forged from some sort of heavenly steel. If she pressed on the small marking at the base, the blade and two pointed halves of the guard would pop free. And for a retractable blade, she’d always found it quite sturdy.
“That’s a blade?” Gwen asked from Kai’s side, drawing Belle out of the moment.
Belle drew a breath to respond, but Kai volunteered.
“Yes,” he said. “A retractable sword forged in the High Kingdom. They were popular a few hundred years ago.”
Gwen whistled and perched her butt on the edge of the mattress, grinning down at Belle. “Well, for being at least a few hundred years old, you don’t look a day over twenty-five.”
Belle rolled her eyes, grateful her headache was gone. A few more minutes and she’d be ready for travel. “I’m not, thank you. The blade was a gift.”
“Not what?” Gwen pushed curiously. “Not over twenty-five?”
Belle could swear she felt the vibrating rumble of Kai’s laughter to her core and all of a sudden she became hyper-aware of the fact that she was lying on a bed with him barely beyond arms’ reach. If it weren’t for Gwen’s presence, she would probably have had a hard time not reaching for him out of an old, delicious reflex. Instead, she did her best to ignore the amusement she sensed in him, and the way it made her insides warm, and turned her attention back to Gwen.
“Not several hundred years old,” she clarified. “Not yet, anyway.” She didn’t personally feel that two hundred counted as “several.”
Gwen arched a brow at this. “Not yet? Wait, are Nephilim seriously immortal?”
“Partially,” Belle replied. “Eventually, we die of old age, like humans. But we’re as vulnerable as humans, too. We get sick, we develop cancer or break bones, and all those things are just as capable of killing us.”
She couldn’t help but notice that Kai’s amusement vanished as she explained her type of mortality. When she glanced his way he’d averted his gaze, but from his profile, she could tell he was glaring at the window. As if he didn’t like the reminder. But that made no sense. Come to think of it, he’s not making a lot of sense at all.
Before this mission, their resentment of each other, or at least their dislike of the other’s company, had always felt mutual. And though in her more honest moments
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