"Why are you afraid?"

"Well, let me think. We were chased out of town by both an angry torch-wielding mob and a graveyard full of undead. Gosh, I can't imagine what there is to be frightened of."

He pokes my face, an Aron attempt at being playful. "You are here with Aron of the Cleaver. Nothing shall harm you."

"Mmm. How come you're Aron of the Cleaver and I have yet to really see you wield an axe? Or wear an eyepatch?"

"Should I announce my presence to everyone, then? Demand that they come and try their luck killing my anchor?"

"Good point." I settle back down against him. "Will we be safe at the Spidae tower?"

"No."

"You could sugar-coat it for me, just a little."

He continues to toy with my hair. "Why? I will never lie to you. That is another Aspect's job."

Har de har. I shift against him again, not entirely sure where to put my hand. I want to rest it on his chest or his thigh, but that seems a little too intimate. "So why isn't it safe? Is the countryside full of people waiting to kill us, then?"

"Not at all. It is the wildlands." Aron grows thoughtful. "No mortals live there. The mountains are full of foul creatures and ruins of places long overtaken by them. None dare to cross into those lands, so that is why the Spidae are there. They are safe from all those save the most foolhardy of pilgrims."

I shiver, thinking of “foul creatures.” I can only imagine. "So what you're saying is that we shouldn't go there, either."

"It is the place we will get the answers we seek."

“Yay.”

He grunts agreement and pulls me closer to him, tucking fabric over my exposed skin as if to keep me warmer. "It will not be an easy journey. Go to sleep."

I close my eyes obediently. "What do you do while I'm asleep?"

"I think."

"What about?"

"Many, many things."

I poke him again, yawning. "Such as?"

Aron sighs. "How I am going to leave this mortal realm behind. How I will be free of our tether. Where my other Aspects are and how I can best ambush them to ensure victory, because it is clear you will not be much of a fighter."

"Wow, I'm so glad I asked." I should learn at some point to stop while I'm ahead.

"I mostly think about the other Aspects, though. They will be thinking of ways to defeat me, so I must be ready. Your life depends on mine." And he plays with my hair again.

That soothes some of the irritation I'm feeling. I notice that he mentions me, and for all his arrogance, that's sweet, in an Aron sort of way. I know he's trying. I know it's against his nature to think of anyone but himself, and I should be more patient with him, but I'm only human, and man, Aron can be a real pain in the ass. But I move a little closer to him, because he's warm and because I'm feeling a little more affectionate toward the man. "You need to teach me how to fight," I tell him between yawns.

"I did not take you as my anchor because you were a fighter." He sounds amused, as if the thought of me with a sword is extremely funny.

I poke him in the side again. "You act like you had a bunch of options. If I recall, I was the only volunteer and your brain was still foggy from being booted out of Heaven." I put my hands over my eyes and assume a deep voice, mocking him. "Oh look, I'm Aron and I don't know how to sleep like humans."

He pinches my side and I bite back a squeal, but I can feel the laughter rumbling through his chest. "You are full of fire to me, I see."

"Well, sure. You can't do squat about my sassy attitude," I tell him sleepily, and this time when I put my hands down, I do put one on his chest. Why not. "You're stuck with me."

Aron grunts.

"I'm serious, though," I tell him. "I should know the basics of how to fight. Nothing fancy. Just enough to protect myself. This world's way more dangerous than mine. And if you were on Earth, I'd show you how to drive a car and use a debit card. You should do the same for me."

"I will think on it."

I pat his stomach. "Don't strain yourself."

His laughter rolls through the trees and I go to sleep, smiling.

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34

Something hard nudges me awake, and I groan, rolling over only to get a mouthful of leaves. Sputtering, I sit up, wincing at sore muscles and wiping detritus from my cheek. We’re still in the forest, and somehow I managed to fall asleep and crash for several hours. Judging from the pale light wafting through the trees, it’s incredibly early. I grab a handful of Aron’s tunic and press it under my cheek as a pillow, lying back down.

The hard thing nudges me again. I turn over and glare. Aron stands over me, his boot nudging my backside. I swear, this man. “What the hell is your problem, Aron?”

“You wanted to learn how to fight. I have decided to show you.” He flicks his wrist, making an entreating gesture. “Get up.”

“Right now?”

“Was there a time you had more in mind? When we are surrounded by another mob? Perhaps when the dead finish crawling out of their graves and arrive?” He pulls a sword from its sheath and admires the blade, running his thumb along a sharp edge.

“God, you are such an ass,” I mutter as I manage to get to my feet. I’m covered in dirt and leaves from my sleep under the trees, and I ache all over. Last night, I wasn’t keen on the thought of stealing horses but today? Today I am all for it if it means I don’t have to walk any longer. “Fine. I’m up. Show me how to use weapons.”

His lip curls as if I’ve said the dumbest thing imaginable. “You cannot learn it all in one day.”

Like I’m stupid. I put my hands on my hips, my irritated pose nullified by the leaf that chooses that moment to flop from my hair onto my forehead. “I know that. Just show me what you can today.”

“First, show me your hands.” He flips the sword casually in one hand and then stabs it into the dirt, then approaches me.

I stick both hands out, palms up, and wait for the next round of insults. This is Aron, after all.

He takes one of my hands in his and lifts it closer to his eyes, studying it. His thumb skates over my palm, sending ticklish sensations all through me. I want to jerk away, but I don’t. I just go very still. “What are you looking for?”

“Callus. You have none.” His mouth quirks in a half-smile as he meets my gaze. “I don’t know why it surprises me.”

“My world’s really, really different. No one works with their hands if they don’t have to. We have desk jobs. Like…clerks and scribes and stuff.” It’s a huge generalization, and I don’t want to get into an argument about farmers and laborers, who really do still work with their hands. Even they wouldn’t have the callus built up that he does, I think. Even now, where his hand brushes against mine, I can feel the hard pads of his hand where he’s used to gripping weapons. Instead of feeling disgusting, though, I’m oddly aroused by how weathered his grip is.

And that makes me look around suspiciously, just in case Tadekha’s waiting in the trees. But she’s not, and Aron only gives me a curious stare. “Something wrong?”

“Nope.” I slip my hand out of his. “So do I get to use your sword?”

He shakes his head, and I notice that despite an evening of roughing it under a tree, Aron looks as glorious as ever, his smooth black hair pulled back in a loose tail. His clothes aren’t even wrinkled, the bastard. “No sword for you. Your wrists are far too delicate. We’ll start with daggers.”