18. Felix

18

FELIX

T he monsters' red eyes stare at us, unnaturally bright in the dark night.

"Felix." Cat touches my arm. "It's ceramic, isn't it?"

"Yes?" I say, unconvinced. "It's probably someone's idea of a joke."

"Get rid of it."

"Isn't it your turn?"

"As your master, I command you to do it."

The eyes continue to stare at us. And something…feels off.

A noise behind us makes us freeze.

Cat's fingers dig into my arm as we both slowly turn.

Three more immobile redcaps sit on the stairs, one on each step, wearing matching grimaces.

I swear under my breath, reaching for my pistol. At the same time, Cat lifts the hem of her skirt and pulls a dagger from her boot.

A gremlin cry sounds from behind us, and I turn just in time to see the stone-still monster come to life and heave the broken head at my face. I duck, and it crashes against the porch support, shattering before it falls to the wooden planks.

I shoot the monster, hitting it dead in the stomach. It gurgles an unnatural cry and then leaps over the rail. Behind me, Cat battles the other three demons. I whirl around as she grasps one by the scruff of the neck and heaves it at its companions. They all go rolling down the stairs, squealing and screeching.

As soon as they find their feet, they freeze, looking down the dark street. Ears perked, one hisses. Then the trio takes off, disappearing into the night.

"What in the world?" Cat mutters.

"I warned you," Frida says from the street, stepping into view. "The redcaps come out at night."

Cat doesn't answer. She looks just as spooked as I am to see the woman.

I stare at Frida as she approaches us. She steps up to me, offering another one of her ceramic statuettes. "Don't break this one."

Disconcerted, I accept the gift. "What are you doing out at this time of night?"

"This is when they come out." She continues down the street. "I walk the village to keep my friends and neighbors safe."

We stand in uneasy silence. When she's gone, I turn to Cat. "Since Greg is unwell, and it's already after midnight, how about we call it a night?"

She slowly nods. "I think that might be for the best."

I close the door to our apartment, frowning when I spot the gash along Cat's cheek. It's been a long night, and it's not over yet.

"You're bleeding," I tell her.

She touches her cheek, growling when she sees the blood on her fingertips. "It had better not scar, or I swear I will hunt down every one of the miserable beasts."

I lead her to an armchair and press on her shoulders. "Sit. I'll take care of it for you."

"You don't know how to tend a redcap wound," she sighs.

"You use an alcohol tincture to cleanse it." I walk into the bedroom. "Then you apply a salve made of broadleaf plantain, yarrow, coneflower, rosemary, and calendula."

"You actually remember?" She sounds flummoxed, and then she narrows her eyes. "Did we even cover that?"

Without answering her, I rummage through my trunk, pulling out my personal collection of supplies. They're in a roll like the one Benjamin gave me, but this one isn't from GHOST's stock.

When I return after washing my hands, Cat eyes the roll. "What is that? It's not guild issued."

I kneel in front of her. "Are you afraid I'm going to poison you, bluebird?"

"Not on purpose…"

I pull a cork from a bottle and soak the tincture on a clean scrap of cloth. She winces when I dab it over her cheek, her eyes flying wide.

"Sorry," I murmur. "Redcap scratches sting worse than others. It's the toxin in their claws."

"How do you know that?" she demands.

"I'm a hunter."

"You're an apprentice."

I meet her eyes as I open a tin. "That's what I meant."

Her attention drops to the green salve. "That's not guild-issued either. Where did you get it? How can you be sure it's safe?"

"I make it."

Her lips part with her surprise. After a moment, she asks, "And you know what you're doing?"

"I haven't died yet."

"Felix," she says as I apply the salve over the shallow scratch.

"Yes?"

She contemplates me as I sit back on my heels, looking unsure of herself. "Why am I getting the feeling I don't know you as well as I thought I did?"

I smile, pushing the lid onto the tin as I stand. "Probably because you don't."

I feel her eyes on me as I return the tincture and salve to my kit. A few seconds later, she joins me in the bedroom. Setting her dagger on the bureau, she says, "I wish I'd had my swords with me tonight."

"Do you think our local werewolf will become suspicious if you walk around the village with your twin blades strapped to your back?" I smile at the image of Cat in a sweet country dress, armed like an assassin.

She laughs softly, trailing her finger over one of the steel blades. "It's possible."

"You know what the presence of redcaps means, don't you?"

"That Frida's ceramic statues aren't working?" She smiles at her joke.

"That, and it's possible the random attack on the coach was our werewolf despite the lack of a body."

"You think the redcaps took off with it?"

I set my pocket watch and cuff links on the bureau and then unbutton my waistcoat. "It's what the filthy scavengers do, isn't it?"

She nods solemnly, keeping her eyes averted as I unfasten my shirt collar and pull the linen fabric over my head. The shirt still reeks of Millie's perfume, making me wonder if she bathes in it. Maybe I'll burn it.

"I don't suppose you know how to launder clothes?" I look over when I realize Cat's been silent longer than usual. She focuses intently on our collection of weapons, careful not to look at me—a strange reaction considering a good portion of the male trainees lose their shirts in her practice arena daily.

"I do," she mumbles, showing great interest in the intricately etched handle of my sword.

"Cat," I say with a grin. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine."

"Is there some reason my bare torso is more scandalous than every other hunter's you've gazed upon?"

Irritated, she takes the bait, facing me as if to prove she's immune. But her eyes sweep over me, going wide, and her jaw softens.

Her raw appreciation is a boost to my ego.

But then she narrows her eyes, looking miffed. " Felix. "

Confused by the sudden irritation that sweeps across her face, I raise my brows. "Yes, Mrs. Cunningham?"

She doesn't answer me right away, and when she does, she lifts one of her swords. "You wanted to spar. Let's do it now."

"It's nearing one in the morning. What's gotten into you?"

"Your sword, Felix."

"All right…" I pick up my weapon, raising it to match her stance. "But we'll have to play careful. Unlike the practice swords in your arena, these toys are sharp."

She comes at me hard, forcing me to block her sooner than I expect. Our blades clash, the sound shockingly loud in the confined space. Cat forces me back, around the bed, her expression growing incredulous as I block her with ease.

"Tell me what you'll give me if I best you," I say, repeating my comment from earlier.

"You may kiss me," she says breathlessly.

"You'll ask me to kiss you," I counter.

"Fine."

I grin. "My training would have progressed far more quickly if you'd used that brand of motivation before."

She lets out a startled peep as I lunge forward and push her back. Running out of room, she bumps into the bed. Swords clashing, metal against metal, it's a battle of strength now, and Cat is in an awkward position. Losing her balance, she stumbles, falling back-first to the bed.

I press my knee to the mattress beside her hip, covering her with my body. The edge of her blade is dangerously close to her chest, with mine holding it in place.

"Surrender, bluebird," I command.

Her eyes flash with anger, satisfaction, and desire. Her strawberry blonde hair is disheveled, splayed on the patchwork quilt below us. Even with the angry scratch along her cheek, I've never seen her look more beautiful.

"You win," she breathes.

I release the pressure of my blade and push myself back. She relinquishes her sword, and I set both safely at the end of the bed before my eyes return to her face. Cat breathes hard, the skin above the neckline of her bodice flushed.

Grasping my arm, she pulls herself up to a sitting position, forcing me to stand, though I don't move my knee that's on the bed next to her hip. The new position puts us close.

"You can fight," she accuses, breathless.

"Of course I can fight. You've been training me for the last eighteen months."

But she suspects the truth—that I learned long before I entered her practice arena.

Her eyes drop to my chest. "And you're strong."

"Thanks to the sandbags you have us throw around, no doubt."

"All this time, you lied to me."

I lift a brow. "About what?"

"You wanted me to think you were inept and unmotivated—lazy even."

Absently, she strokes her hand up and down my bicep. I don't think she even knows she's doing it.

"No, Cat. I wanted my father to think those things."

"Why?"

"At first? To annoy him. And then, so I could stay close to you."

She lifts her brown eyes to my face.

I finally give in to a lopsided grin. "It worked out rather well."

"You shot the redcap," she accuses.

"And that's…a problem?"

"No, what I mean is, you actually hit it."

I chuckle, wondering what she'd do if I moved my hand to the curve of her side. "It was a close target."

"Benjamin once told me you fought well when I wasn't around." She says it more to herself than to me. "I didn't believe him."

"Cat?"

"What?"

"I think you owe me something."

She swallows, her fingers tightening around my arm. Then she closes her eyes, tilting her face toward mine, and offers her lips.

Smiling, I slide my hand under her hair, cradling the back of her head. "You have to ask me."

Several seconds pass. My thumb rests at her rapidly thrumming pulse point. She's nervous. So nervous.

"Kiss me, Felix," she finally murmurs, the words the softest, most vulnerable plea.

Cat draws in a ragged breath when I brush the pad of my thumb over her soft, full bottom lip. I'm entranced, savoring this moment I've waited for since I returned to Valette. For almost two years, I've imagined this, wanted this.

Softly, slowly, I lower my mouth to hers, my heart racing in time with her pulse. Her lips are warm and soft. They yield under mine, hesitant but eager.

When I pull back, her eyes flutter open. Her cheeks are flushed; her eyes are bright.

"You're so beautiful." The words are dragged from my chest, painful. The last time she allowed me to get close, she pushed me away. I prepare myself for her rejection—waiting for her to nudge past me and pretend she doesn't want this as badly as I do.

But instead of rolling her eyes and shoving me aside, her fingertips flutter to her cheek. "Surely not like this."

I take her hand, pulling it away from her face and closing it in my larger one. "Yes, like this. Even if it scars, to me, you'll always be perfect."

Then I kiss her hand and release her. Heading to the door, I say, "I'll let you get ready for bed."