Talon the Black (Dragonwall Series # 1)

Chapter 3 - Gold for Silence

He looked at her, eyes narrowed. Then, as if suddenly remembering something, he clutched at his neck and began looking around. "Where are they?" he whispered. "I had them here. Where..." His scowl depend. "Where are my belongings? Where is my Sverak—my sword?"

There was no, "Thank you for saving my life." No, "What happened last night?" No gratitude. There was only fear and distrust.

She humored him and held up her hands. "Look, chill. I've got everything inside."

He exhaled and gave a brief nod.

"What's up with those stone-things, anyway?" she asked after taking him inside and handing back the leather pouch he now tied around his neck. "They're pretty creepy. Wanna know what they did to me?"

"You looked at them?" What little color he had drained from his face.

"Duh. Why wouldn't I?"

"You should not have done that." He clutched the pouch firmly against his chest. The thought of her actions clearly agitated him.

"It was an accident. Nothing happened, all right?" That wasn't necessarily true. Strange things had happened, leaving her thoroughly freaked out. It took a moment, but he nodded, putting the subject to rest.

Since she'd trashed his clothing, she raided her dad's closet. She found a T-shirt and sweatpants large enough for a man of his muscular stature, even though the pants were about three inches too short. Once he was dressed, she escorted him into the kitchen to cook breakfast. At first he didn't talk.

"Can you at least tell me your name?" she asked after placing a glass of orange juice in front of him.

He drank half the glass in a couple of gulps before speaking, "Cyrus. My name is Cyrus."

"Nice to meet you, Cyrus. I'm Claire."

"Well met, my lady."

She snorted. My lady? This guy....

Cyrus drained the remainder of his orange juice before turning his regard to her. "Can I trust you, Claire?" His gaze was intense, as if he tried to glean the answer from the depths of her mind. Out of nowhere, her headache multiplied ten-fold.

She gasped, clutching her head. "Really?" she bit out through clenched teeth. "You want to know if I'm trustworthy after all this?" He was the one who couldn't be trusted. "If it weren't for me, you'd be dead."

As quickly as it'd hit her, her headache receded. At the same time, his eyes widened. He looked down at his bandages then back at her. "This was you?"

"Duh! Who else do you think chased you out into a cornfield in the middle of the night?"

"I—I did not think. I'm quite hungry."

"Yeah, yeah." She went back to the frying pan to stir the egg scramble she'd concocted.

At least he looked at her differently now, impressed by her kindness, or perhaps by her ability to save his life. All the same, he was a man of few words, so he said nothing else. It made him much more mysterious. Who didn't love a mystery man? Especially one so devilishly handsome.

As she cooked, she wondered what he was hiding. She wanted answers. It was a challenge, but she restrained herself from questioning him. If he was anything like her on an empty stomach, she didn't want to make him hangry.

His Sverak was reattached to his waist. Her mother would've had a fit seeing an armed stranger in their home. "You don't need to wear that around the house, you know."

"I do apologize, my lady. I assure you, it is for our safety that I wear it."

She opened and closed her mouth, then fell silent. Safety? What safety? Were they in danger? Was the coat rack going to come alive and strangle them? She had a feeling that if she pressed the matter, she'd receive nothing more than an incoherent grumble, so she rushed to finish her culinary masterpiece.