Free Perfect Assassin by Wendy Rosnau

had a job to do.
    I think you need to eat. A stiff wind could blow you over.
    “I’m small,” Pris whispered, “but I’m strong in body and mind. You have no idea how strong.”
    “Did you say something?”
    “No, nothing.”
    “I’ll be in the kitchen cleaning up.”
    She didn’t answer. After supper he had carried her to the couch near the stone fireplace. Pris drew the blanket up around her where she sat, wishing that earlier in the day she had struggled into a pair of jeans. But she’d been so weak and sore, all she had wanted to do was sleep.
    She watched Matwau enter the living room. He stalked to the couch and boldly climbed up and settled beside her. She let him sniff her hand, then stroked his head. She closed her eyes, and suddenly she was drifting off to sleep again. She had no idea how long she slept until she got the overwhelming feeling that she was being watched. When she opened her eyes, Moon was sitting in a chair a few feet away.
    “Vic says I need to change the bandage on your leg morning and night. We should do it before you go back to bed.”
    “I can change the bandage myself.”
    “But you don’t need to because I’m here. I was the one Vic left the instructions with.”
    “It can’t be that hard to change a bandage,” she said, still angry with him over his comment about her size.
    He stood and reached for the blanket wrapped around her. She grabbed it back, startling Matwau, and he came awake with a sudden growl.
    “Don’t ever move fast around wild animals.”
    “I’m not ready to leave the couch. And when I am, I’ll change the bandage. It’s my leg. And I’ll get myself back to bed, too.”
    “Like I said, you don’t need to. Did I say something wrong? Offend you?”
    “You didn’t,” Pris insisted. “That would mean I care what you think of me, and I don’t. I’ll carry my own skinny ass to the bathroom, and anywhere else I need to go, thank you.”
    “Skinny ass?”
    “Forget it. I appreciate the shelter and food, but you know nothing about me. Let’s just keep it that way.”
    She had tried to insult him, to back him off, but it hadn’t worked. Instead of backing away, he stood his ground, a small smile parting his lips. He motioned for Matwau to get off the couch, then quickly scooped her up along with the blanket before she could push his hands away.
    In his strong arms once more, pressed against his chest, she endured being carried back down the hall. To keep her balance she was forced to wrap her arms around his neck.
    “Billy was going to come by to talk to you tonight. We had set it up for seven. He must have gotten held up. Maybe he’ll show tomorrow.”
    And maybe he won’t, Prisca silently hoped, but she didn’t voice her thoughts. She was still angry with Moon, and so she let that hurt color her words.
    “Does my weight bother your weak leg?”
    “No, why would it?”
    “Vic said you had a bad accident, and now you’re…what would be a good word? Disabled.”
    “What else did Vic say?”
    He had stopped in the darkened hall, the soft living-room light backlighting him in a warm glow. She saw that her comment must have struck a nerve. His jaw was tight, his dark eyes narrowed.
    Good. Let him see how it felt to be fit into a mold and labeled.
    “I asked what did he tell you?”
    “That your leg injury required surgery and physical therapy. I saw the wheelchair, and the picture in your bedroom yesterday. Is that how it happened? Were you in a motorcycle accident?”
    “Why would you think that?”
    “I don’t know.”
    He was staring at her—at her mouth, and so she stared back at his. She didn’t want to like him, especially not after he’d pointed out her flaw that she was too thin and shapeless. He probably liked big breasts, too.
    “I used to ride that bike years ago.”
    “Who is the other man in the picture?”
    “My brother, Tate. We joined up together. You’ll probably meet him one of these days.”
    “Joined