His eyes filled with something new, and for the first time, his expression didn’t look like he wanted to kill her. The corner of his mouth lifted a little bit. “You shot me. Forgive me for reacting to pain.”
“You really need to get over it.” Myka shrugged. “It was mostly your fault, anyway.”
He tilted his head at her. “Mostly my fault?”
“Yes, you underestimated my abilities and needed to be taught a lesson.”
“You don’t shoot someone just because you’re offended.”
She placed her free hand on her hip. “Well, I do.”
A touch of amusement played across his expression. He shook his head, staring back at her in a way that said he wasn’t thinking about his injury anymore. That flirtatious stare in his almond eyes suddenly made her want to hide behind a tree or something.
Myka swallowed and cleared her throat. “Come on.” She grabbed her bag, placing the gun inside, and turned toward the house. “Joett has some stuff we can put on your arm.”
She walked to the door, bending down to retrieve the key hidden under the second stone step.
“How did you know where the key was?” he asked, behind her.
“I come here a lot,” she said. Myka turned the lock and opened the door to the house. The hinges creaked as she stepped in. The front room and kitchen were open, making the small house feel a little bigger than it really was. A beige-colored couch and two ratty chairs filled the space in front of the rock fireplace. A small rectangular table stood in the middle of the kitchen. Two large pots sat on the stove, and Myka could still smell the delicious scents of Joett’s potions.
“Hellooo?” she called out as she shut the door behind them.
“They’re not home,” Drake said flatly.
“I know that, but it’s a rule. You can’t enter someone’s house without at least making an effort to call out to them.”
“And what’s the rule about shooting complete strangers for no reason?”
Myka’s lips curled into a crooked smile. “I had a reason.”
Drake scrunched his nose at her, shaking his head. “A good reason.”
The action brought out a youthful side to him, which completely contradicted the entire manly vibe he was projecting. The action also made Myka’s heart trip all over itself in the most fun way, something that she’d rarely ever experienced.
There were a lot of young, good-looking soldiers at Tolsten House. Most of them smiled at her, but they NEVER spoke to her. Myka didn’t understand it. She didn’t feel like she was intimidating, but they all kept their distance. She’d decided that there must be some kind of rule about talking and flirting with the princess, like if a soldier disobeyed, he’d get his tongue cut out. That, or they didn’t think she was pretty or worth flirting with.
Myka looked back at Drake. He was better looking than any guard she’d come across at Tolsten House. He had long, brown eyelashes, and honestly, this was the first time Myka had ever noticed a man’s eyelashes before. Until now, it hadn’t been on her list of “must-haves” in a future partner, but it was quickly gaining momentum.
He lifted his eyebrows at her as if asking, why are you staring at me?
Why was she staring at him?
That was awkward.
She turned to the kitchen, needing a distraction. Otherwise, she might stand there smiling like a twitterpated dork. “I’m sure Joett has some creams we can put on your wound.” Myka began opening cupboards, looking through Joett’s medicines and bandages. The kitchen table jostled behind her, and she glanced over her shoulder to see Drake hoisting himself on top of it. There was something extra attractive about the shirtless stranger sitting on the kitchen table instead of a chair. Like at any moment, he might lay down on his side and prop his head up, accentuating his biceps and solid chest. But then Myka looked at his bloody arm and remembered that she’d shot him, and instantly the fantasy was over.
Nothing kills a fantasy like a gunshot wound.
Myka rummaged through the vials and bottles of medicine. There were so many, and none of them were labeled. The last time Myka had been there, she’d seen Joett use a pink salve on Rommel’s hand when he had cut himself in the garden. It was in a flat, round container with a blue lid. She would recognize it if she saw it again.
“You have no clue what you’re doing, do you?” he asked behind her.
She whipped her head around, glaring at him. First, he’d insinuated that she didn’t know how to handle a gun, and now he challenged her knowledge of medicine. As a princess, she wasn’t used to people questioning her competence. “Careful,” she said. “Last time you told me I didn’t know what I was doing, I shot you.”
“Does that mean you’re going to poison me now?”
Myka shrugged with a wry smile. “Maybe.” She turned back around, finding the dish with the blue lid, and opened it up. The pungent smell and pinkish hue gave her the confidence she needed.
“Okay, if you’re such an expert at everything, then what does that do?” he asked, pointing to a vial on the shelf with red liquid in it.
Was he going to play that game? Myka could play let’s-make-something-up all day long if she needed to.
“Uh...that right there is for…” She had to choose her words carefully. She couldn’t tell him it was for pain, or he might try to ingest it, and what if it was poisonous? She might have shot him, but she wasn’t trying to kill him. “Hemorrhoids,” she answered plainly.
He raised his eyebrows in obvious surprise. “Hemorrhoids?”
At that moment, she learned a valuable lesson. Never say the first thing that comes to your mind, but her answer was already out there. She had to sell it now.
“Yes, hemorrhoids,” she snapped. “You know the swollen veins in the…” Drake’s amused expression paused her explanation, and she cleared her throat. “Never mind. I’m sure you get the point.”
His lips jerked, and his eyes shifted to a long skinny tube with a thick creamy liquid inside. “What about that one?”
Myka scanned the bottle. “Breast milk.”
“And that one?” He gestured to the next jar, eyes dancing.
Myka scratched her neck behind her ear to buy herself some time. “That,” she pointed at the flask, “is good for excessive sweating. Just dab a little under your armpits.” She raised her arm, giving him a very unnecessary perspiration demonstration.
His eyebrow raised as he pointed to the last bottle on the shelf. “And that one?”
“It treats toe fungus,” she replied flatly, doing a very impressive job of keeping a straight face.
“I’d hate to be the person who needs all of those medicines.”
“Yes, it would be very tragic.”
Drake’s lips loosened into a full-on smile, and man, could his smile pack a punch. Straight, white teeth, soft lips, glowing brown eyes—Mr. Gunshot Wound was becoming dreamier by the second. Maybe Myka should purposely shoot men more often.
She walked toward him, dipping her finger into the salve. “This might sting a little. Actually,” she shrugged, “I don’t know if it will sting. That’s just what everybody says when they're treating wounds.”
He smiled again, squinting his brown eyes as he examined her. His gaze made Myka nervous but also excited, like he might be enjoying her company.
She spread the cream over the gash where the bullet had nicked the side of his arm. From the corner of her eye, she peeked at him. Drake’s strong jaw and brown eyes were inches from her face, and all of a sudden, this typical help-your-neighbor-out sort of thing started to feel not so typical. Myka’s heart began tumbling over each beat, and she had to look away. She focused on his arm like any good nurse would do. Myka had never seen a more manly arm in her entire life. His forearm was all tanned skin and muscle and prominent veins that ran up to his biceps. She wanted to take a peek at his bare chest, but it would be too obvious if her eyes dropped. She kept her gaze focused on applying the salve to the wound, hoping her periphera
l vision would step in and give her something good to remember him by.
“Sorry. Does this make you uncomfortable?” he asked.
“That you don’t have a shirt on?” Myka shrugged. “I’ve seen a naked man before.”
Not naked.
Why did she say naked?
That single word made this moment a thousand times more awkward.
She’d never seen an actual naked man—just men with their shirts off.
“Blood,” Drake laughed. “I meant, does the blood make you uncomfortable?”
Oh.
She shrugged again. “No, it’s fine.” Maybe he was going to skip right over the whole naked thing, or maybe she should explain. “Half-naked was what I meant to say. I don’t usually say the word naked.”
Except that in the last ten seconds, she had said it a hundred times.
He leaned back, making it easier for her to breathe. Her focus went to the wound again.
Nurse Myka was on the clock.
She rubbed the last of the cream into the deepest part of the gash, making Drake wince.
“I’m sorry I shot you,” she said as she met his gaze once again.
“I’ll probably never forgive you,” he said but there was a playful edge to his tone.
“Then I take back my apology.”
“You can’t take it back. I already heard you say it.”
She frowned. “Well, I don’t mean it then.”
“I never thought you did.”
“It’s not like I shot you to get you to ask me out on a date,” she said with an air of arrogance. “I shot you because you were annoying, and you’re still being annoying.”
From the corner of her eye, she saw his mouth twist into an almost smile. “A date? Is that a pre-Desolation term for courting?”
She pressed a bandage over the wound as she spoke. “Yes, but I think it was more fun and relaxed than courting. Back then, people would go places together so that they could get to know each other better. I read about it in a magazine article—actually half an article, because one of the pages was missing.”
“And where did you find a pre-Desolation magazine?”
Right.
Myka couldn’t come out and say that she read it in the artifact room at Tolsten House.
She waved her hand in the air, trying to come off as casual. “You know, pre-Desolation artifacts are everywhere.” Drake nodded slowly like maybe he believed her, so she continued. “The article was about some guy named Bachelor. It was his job or something to take different women out on dates.”
He quirked his lips upward. “Sounds like my kind of job.”
Myka rolled her eyes.
“What?” Drake asked, flashing his heart-stopping smile.
“Ugh. Are you one of those men that has a million girlfriends?”
He leaned forward. “Is that a bad thing?”
“It is for the girls,” she muttered.
“I’m up front with every woman that I date. They know I’m not looking for anything serious, and they’re fine with it.”
“They aren’t fine with it.”
“They say they are.”
“They’re lying,” she said, tilting her head.
Drake shrugged.
“Are you scared of commitment?” she asked.
“No.” His neck kicked back like her judgment offended him. “I have other things in life that I’m focused on.”
“Like what?”
His eyes narrowed in on her. “You’re really nosy, do you know that?”
She straightened. “I’m just trying to get the full picture before I label you as a jerk.”
“I’m not a jerk,” Drake sighed. “I have a very demanding job that makes it almost impossible for me to have a lasting relationship with a woman.”
“Then get a new job,” she said.
“I don’t want a new job.”
“So you’re going to be the guy who goes from woman to woman?”
Drake’s smile turned crooked, and he leaned in close. “Sounds like a pretty good life. Are you interested in getting in line?”
Myka grimaced. “You can’t flirt with a girl right after you told her that you won’t ever commit. It’s bad form.”
“Who says I was flirting?” he asked.
Myka was inexperienced when it came to men, but she was smart enough to know what Drake’s cocky smile meant. She shook her head, turning to look for something to tie the bandage with. “Hold this,” she said. She went back to the cupboard but didn’t see anything useful, then she remembered the pink scarf wrapped around her bun.
“How do you know Rommel and Joett?” he asked.
How did she know them? How did he know them?
“I’ve known them for years,” she said, dodging the question. “What about you?” Myka asked as she uncoiled the tie from around her bun. Her long brown hair fell down, landing past her chest.
“Rommel and I are newer acquaintances,” he said as he watched her. His brows pulled together. “What are you doing?”
She wrapped the pink scarf around his bicep and tied it so that the bandage would stay in place. “What does it look like I’m doing?”
His finger flicked the tie covering his wounded arm; she’d finished it off with a big bow. “Colored?”
She was really terrible at hiding the fact that she wasn’t a simple working-class girl.
“Colored dyes are essential now.” She shrugged as she dropped her arms, examining her work. “There. Better than new.”
“I don’t know if it’s better than new, but it will work. You know, you’re the only person who has ever shot me.” He twisted his arm around, revealing a long scar that went down his forearm.
“But not the first person you’ve ever lost to,” she said, pointing to his scar. “What’s that from?”
“A knife.”
Her eyes widened. “What happened?”
“Like you said, I lost,” he said with a smile. “Now, it’s an ugly scar pushing me to be better.”
“I don’t think scars are ugly. They tell a story of who we are, where we’ve been, and how we became the people we are.”
Drake’s brown eyes moved back to hers, and he lifted his finger, pointing to the side of her face where a faint white scar went from the side of her eye down to her earlobe. It wasn’t a noticeable scar. In fact, no one had said anything about it in years, but he was awfully close.
“What’s this from?” he asked.
“I was climbing a tree when I was a little girl. The branch broke, and another branch cut my face as I fell.”
His lips lifted a little. “Impressive.”
“The scar or that I fell out of a tree?”
“Both.”
She smirked. “That’s not even the most impressive one.”
Why did I say that? This isn’t a job interview.
“Well, now I’m going to have to see the most impressive one.” He smiled.
She hopped up on the table next to him and lifted her knee. She pushed the hem of her gray pants up, revealing a long white scar that started at her knee and zigzagged to her ankle.
“What’s that from?”
“This time, I was climbing some pre-Desolation ruins. The cement wall I was scaling broke into little rocks, and I slid down the side of it, cutting my leg on some kind of metal wire. My dad was so mad at me. He’d told me not to climb the ruins...that I would get hurt, but I didn’t listen. I had to see what was at the top.”
“What stories do these scars tell about you?” he asked.
She smiled, leaning back against her hands. “I like adventure. I’m brave. I love a breathtaking view from the top of something, and I sometimes disobey my father.”
“Someone like you might be safer on the ground,” he said.
Myka smiled at him. “Where’s the fun in that?”
He lifted his right hand, pointing to a pink scar in the middle of his palm. “This is from an arrow that went through my hand.” Then he l
ifted his arm up, showing off a long scar on the side of his torso. “And this beauty,” he pointed to the purple skin, “was from my friend Trev when we were sparring with swords as teenagers.”
“Your scars tell me that you are a soldier and terrible with knives, arrows, and swords.”
Drake smiled. “Do they say anything else?”
“That your friend Trev is mean and overly aggressive when he spars with you.”
He laughed. “I wouldn’t say that’s entirely accurate.”
“And what about this new wound?” She nodded to where the bullet had nicked his arm. “What will be the story about that?”
Drake squinted back at her. “Oh, that’s easy. I met a charming, crazy woman—” Did he just call her charming? No, that couldn’t be right. He must’ve said farming. He’d met a farming, crazy woman. That definitely made more sense. “—who didn’t know how to handle a gun or what basic medicines are used for.”
“I know how to handle a gun. I could have shot you in the heart if I’d wanted to. And”— she lifted her index finger up—“I got the salve right.”
“That’s the only thing.”
“No, I’m pretty sure I was dead on with the hemorrhoid medicine as well.”
He smiled as they stared at each other for a moment, and the trippy thing in her heart started up again. It was all Myka could do not to ask him a million questions about who he was and why he was there. She wanted to know all those answers, but for every question she asked about him, he would ask one about her. She could easily lie—make up some story about how she was a dairy farmer or something like that, but for some reason, she didn’t want to lie to him.
His smile widened, and a strand of his brown hair fell across his forehead, dangling above his eye in the most tantalizing way. He looked all hypnotizing and handsome, and Myka was ready to give him any information he wanted—her personal medical records, finances, and every deep, dark little secret she had, including the fact that she was really enjoying her time with him...like too much.
Drake
Drake stared back at Mya’s big blue eyes. Long brown hair that used to be in a bun now fell straight past her shoulders, matching dark eyebrows and lashes. She was a beautiful woman, but there was something extra attractive about her. It was in the way she carried herself—how she didn’t let anyone push her around—and the way she wasn’t afraid to say the first thing that popped into her mind, even if it made her sound strange. Her personality had been entertaining…cute, even, and Drake would like nothing more than to sit there and listen to her talk, but he couldn’t. There wasn’t time to stay and flirt with Mya, even though that’s exactly what he wanted to do. This short trip to Tolsten wasn’t about fun. He was only in Denton for a day, gathering information for the operatives’ mission, then he needed to head back to Albion. Trev was planning a surprise wedding for Renna, and he would kill Drake if he wasn’t there for it. And Lizanne was traveling to Albion with King Bryant and Queen Mariele. A couple of weeks ago, Lizanne’s visit had seemed like a good idea, a fun distraction before he had to leave for the mission, but in this moment, Drake wished it was Mya who was coming to visit him and not Lizanne.
The Stolen Princess: A YA Dystopian Romance (Desolation Book 3) Page 4