by S. M. Welles
“I don’t know what kind of threat you think the girl could possibly pose,” Daio taunted, fists raised and smiling once again. “She has so little time to prepare.”
“She’s none of your concern.” Aerigo raised both fists as well.
“What a stupid thing to say,” Daio said, sounding bored. “But in all seriousness, she does have you for a teacher…”
Why is some creepy guy interested in me, and what am I supposed to be taught? Does this guy think I’m some sort of secret weapon? It seemed frighteningly plausible. Before Roxie could ponder the situation further, Daio was a couple of feet away from her again, but this time with one of Aerigo’s arms clamped around his neck. Daio grasped for his neck with both hands as Aerigo forced him into the street. Roxie stood there watching with the same morbid fascination of seeing a fight break out in a school hallway.
Both men struggled to push or trip the other off balance. Finally, Aerigo swiped one of Daio’s legs out with one of his own. As they teetered, Daio jerked his torso toward the ground, causing them both to corkscrew midair. Aerigo hit the ground on his back with a ground-vibrating thud. Daio started elbowing Aerigo in his ribs and Roxie winced. Aerigo freed an arm and punched Daio in the head so hard he slid off him and onto the pavement. The impact sounded like the dull crack of a ball hitting a bat. Aerigo popped to one knee, cocked a fist, then stopped. Daio lay unmoving, his arms spread like a scarecrow. Aerigo glanced at Roxie, then got to his feet, draped Daio over one shoulder and headed over to Roxie. Neither man bore any cuts or bruises.
“Did he hurt you?” Aerigo asked.
Considering the fact that the only part of her that had sustained any injuries was her shirt, Roxie said, “No. Is he dead?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
Aerigo looked at her a moment, then said, “It’s a long, complicated answer. Stay there. I’ll be right back.” He solemnly walked past Roxie down the alley, and into darkness.
The death question seemed half fair, half harsh. Daio was a threat, yet he hadn’t tried to harm her on the first chance he had; he just ripped a perfectly good shirt. After that, he’d seemed ready to leave, but for some odd reason didn’t. What had he been planning to do to her if Aerigo hadn’t protected her? All possible answers made Roxie feel sick to her stomach.
Footsteps steadily approached. Roxie turned around. Aerigo paused before her, frowning, then retrieved his pack from the sidewalk. He returned to Roxie’s side, setting the pack on the ground as he unzipped it, and produced a white rolled-up shirt from the main pocket. He sniffed it quickly, then handed it to Roxie.
“Here.”
Roxie mumbled her thanks as she accepted the shirt, then sniffed it as well. “Pine trees.”
“I’ve been sleeping outside the last few days.”
Aerigo stood and rounded the corner of the building and out of sight. Roxie scanned the intersection, along with the dark alley behind her. Seeing no one, she shrugged out of her ruined shirt, and into the pine-fresh one. Sheesh, I’ve known him a whole five minutes and I’m already wearing his clothes. This better not be the start of a trend. Aerigo’s shirt was huge on her; it stopped just below her fingertips when she held her arms to her sides. Roxie was tall for a girl—five-nine—but the shirt was so long and baggy on her it reminded her of when she was small enough to use her grandma’s shirts as pajamas.
Roxie balled up her ripped shirt, figuring she’d throw it away in the nearest garbage, then picked up the half-full glass bottle. She peeked around the corner to find Aerigo leaning against the pawnshop’s glass window. He looked up at her, his expression pensive.
“Now what?” Roxie asked.
“Take you home to get some rest.” Aerigo drew closer and collected his pack. “But let me get my dagger first.”
Oh, this is going to be fun. Roxie was not looking forward to explaining to Grandma everything that just happened.
Acknowledgments
Thank you Quentin Whitfield for throwing me a lifeline, giving me a second chance as a writer, being my sounding board and therapist in things us creative types struggle with, and doing everything in your power to help me succeed as an author. Words cannot speak as loud as my continuous effort to learn and grow as a writer, and to keep pursuing my dream. Thank you, Kristin Jacques, who whipped this story into shape and saved me from writing bad romance. Anyone who reads this book is indebted to your editing and critiquing skills. Thank you, Simon Guajardo, for throwing me a different type of lifeline, one that’s allowed me to put forth the time, energy, and effort necessary to become a successful author, and for believing in me even on the days I don’t. And of course a big thank you to my friends and family, who’ve cheered me on over the years.
The Works of S.M. Welles:
Strength (Aigis Trilogy, Book 1)
Courage (Aigis Trilogy, Book 2)
To Ocean’s End
S.M Welles’ Blog:
http://smwelles.wordpress.com/
Facebook:
https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100004516564473&fref=ts
Goodreads:
http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5823070.S_M_Welles?from_search=true
About the Author
S.M. Welles has recently moved from New England to Arizona, where she’s now a full-time author and part-time online gamer. When her brain needs a break, she runs around killing people in League of Legends and Guild Wars 2. She’s finally retired from eight years of World of Warcraft and eagerly anticipates the release of Elder Scrolls Online.
Aaaaaaand I don’t know what else to put here.
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