Free Reaper's Justice by Sarah McCarty Page B

clothes wouldn’t keep out the bitter cold. Damn, he should have shifted one of the pelts aside to cover her.
    “You live here?”
    He couldn’t blame her for the skepticism. She thought of him as human.
    “Yes.”
    “Why?”
    The unfamiliar urge to smile twitched his lips. It was just like her to ask why. “It suits me.”
    She shifted and looked around again.
    “This doesn’t suit anybody.”
    He shrugged. “I think it does.”
    He could tell she wanted to say more, but a belated sense of discretion kept her mouth shut. At least he hoped it was discretion. He was too tired to deal with more scheming.
    Through the material of her skirt, he could see her working the worry stone. He was tired. He was hungry and her being around kept his beast on edge. If he hoped to keep her in the dark about what he was, he needed balance.
    “Are you hungry?”
    She looked around again. He could see the “no” on her lips. She was a fastidious woman. No doubt she thought anything cooked here wouldn’t be safe to eat, but she was also a sensible woman and that common sense showed in the next second when she nodded her head.
    “Yes.”
    “Good answer.”
    She raised her brows at him.
    “You can’t escape without your strength.”
    She blinked. His admiration for her grew as she met his challenge head on.
    “I will escape, you know.”
    “I bet you will.” And it couldn’t happen soon enough for him. He stood and brushed the dirt from the knees of his torn, filthy pants. Her eyes followed the movement. He saw her flinch. She really did have a thing against dirt, even when dirt was the normal result of activity. He would like to know why. He wanted to know everything about her. He knew precious little, but there had been rumors about something in her childhood. A bad time that no one spoke of, just hinted at. She would tell him about it before he let her go.
    “I’ll get you something to eat.”
    She sat up. “Thank you.”
    He headed for the opening.
    “I’ll start a fire if you’ve got a sulfur.”
    That pulled him up short as he realized how far he’d slipped from civilized. He didn’t have a sulfur. He didn’t have many of the normal conveniences that made life comfortable. He could present her with a dead carcass but he couldn’t provide her with the heat to cook it. Shit. A foreign feeling tightened his muscles.
    “I’ll take care of it when I get back.”
    She glared at him, clearly offended. She always got offended when she thought someone thought her incapable.
    “I can build a fire without burning your house down.”
    He was sure she could if she had the proper tools. “I’ll handle it.”
    It took a while to recognize the emotion that flowed over him. Shame. He was ashamed.
    “I’m cold.”
    He turned around and stared at her, the humiliation lashing at him. He was sure there was a time when he would have carried sulfurs, would have lived in a house. Would have had something to put around her. But that was gone, stolen from him. He closed his fingers into a fist.
    “Use a pelt.”
    She flinched at the anger in his voice and his shame grew. He hadn’t meant to snap, but the truth was, he didn’t have anything to offer her. A blanket, a coat. Nothing.
    “I’ll take care of it.”
    “How?”
    “I said I’ll take care of it.” His claws extended. The beast unfurled, sensing her discomfort, demanding he alleviate it. As if he needed anything else pointing out his shortcomings.
    “When you get back,” she finished for him, her chin coming up.
    “Yes.” Somehow.
    She stood, then bent, grabbed up a pelt, giving it a firm shake before holding it out in front of her for inspection. “Then be sure you come back.”
    The pelt was old and none too clean. He wanted to snatch the pelt out of her hands. She deserved better. He refrained. Sometimes a man had to bow to common sense and the woman needed the pelt to survive. “I’ll be back.”
    She stood there, hair tangled around her face, a smudge on