Free Temper by Beck Nicholas Page A

overconfidence, the high pitch of her voice, I’m guessing she couldn’t be much older than Zed was when he died.
    The anger that has been building inside me releases on a long breath.
    “You could slit my throat,” I say calmly. “But throat slitting is really messy, and your mattress would be stuffed afterwards. The blood would be impossible to remove.”
    There’s a moment of silence and then the blade drops away. She doubles over, laughing.
    I fight a smile. “It’s not that funny.”
    Her head lifts, and I see her properly for the first time. She’s painfully skinny, with long dark knotted hair, dark brown eyes, skin a deep brown beneath a layer of dirt and wearing rags of indeterminable color. She holds out a hand “The name’s Rael. And this is my place.”
    I shake. “Asher.”
    “Hi, Asher.” Rael jerks her head into the shadows in the corner. “Is that yours?”
    Thanks to the gloom and the early hour, it takes me a second to make out the hunched shape of a dog. Familiar eyes watch me from the other side of the room. “Nice to see you again Brown Dog.” He trots over at his name, his paw clicking across the floor. I pat him on the head where his short fur is least matted. He tenses at first, but as he relaxes into my touch, his tail swishes in wary happiness.
    Rael hesitates and then touches a fingertip to his side. Her whole hand follows when he doesn’t growl. “He’s not much of a guard dog.”
    “He’s not mine. I fed him yesterday, he’s probably looking for more of the same.” I study her. “Why didn’t you let us know you were here?”
    A shadow crosses her thin face. “You’re not my first visitors.”
    She says nothing more, but my stomach cramps and the usual anger flares inside me. Not at her but whoever was here last. “I wouldn’t have hurt you.”
    “Maybe. Anyway, I hid and I watched and I didn’t sleep on my mattress.”
    “Sorry again.”
    She waves away my apology. “I saw your friend, although I guess I shouldn’t call him that since he’s left you here. Snuck out about an hour ago, and I figured I’d come and investigate.”
    “With a knife?”
    “You’re bigger than me. And on my mattress.”
    I blink hard, wishing my eyes weren’t so heavy. I’m trying to think, but it’s like somebody filled my head with glue.
    She’s a little obsessed with the mattress. “Would it help if I sat on the chair?”
    “I don’t know. Depends how long you’re planning on staying. You’ve been abandoned. What are you going to do about it?”

Chapter Six
     
    [Samuai]
     
     
    I’m not lame enough to get up before dawn to watch them leave.
    But I think about doing so. I wake without any need for an alarm and lie there on my uncomfortable camp bed, listening. Imagining I can hear the scrape of feet on the rocks as Asher and Davyd meet up. I can almost hear them talking to Keane right up until the last minute to get details on New City and the best route to get there—details that will likely ensure Davyd goes a different way. Then the camp is still and silent again, and my gut cramps and fists clench as in my head I see them riding off into the sunrise together.
    In the darkness of the tent, I toss and turn, too hot to sleep despite the chill in the air, and I torture myself with images of Asher’s arms wrapped around his waist. The same arms that held me last night. Her body pressed against his the way I held it against me last night. The curve of her breast, the softness of the inside of her wrists where I can feel the way her pulse races when we kiss.
    I could have begged her not to go. I didn’t. And not because I know someone needs to do something about the violence of the Lifers. It was fear. Fear she’d go anyway no matter what I said. The moment we shared on the lookout was a beginning, but I can’t stop thinking I might not get a chance to see what could happen between us.
    Worse, I might not get a chance to tell her the truth.
    Finally, the late night