Page 82 of Fire to the Stars

“Are you all right?” he asks.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“A bolt struck your leg, didn’t it?”

“I’m fine. It was close, but it only caught my skirt.”

He frowns. “Are you sure? My memory is hazy, but you flinched, and—”

“I don’t mind giving you a look.” I slip my skirt teasingly over my knee.

“Please be serious. I was worried. If something had happened to you…”

“I know, I know. Your funding would be gone. Our deal would be cut short.”

“Claire.Stop.”

My stomach clenches. No one has cared about my well-being since Papa died. I’ve forgotten how to respond to it. Unable to look at him, I watch Lucy snore, sprawled on the bed near Abel’s feet. The truth—the full truth—would be so much easier. I wouldn’t have to pretend around him anymore.

“I need to tell you something,” I say, my voice smaller than ever. A lump forms in my throat—words stuck on their way to my tongue, like the last time I tried to tell him.

“Claire?”

Abel frowns at me. His free hand twitches, as if he’s contemplating whether to reach for me. Or is that my wishful thinking?

Don’t wish anything. Go quietly. Be with Papa.

I open my mouth again. To my relief and dismay, a slew of other words comes out instead.

“The doctor said you’ll be out of work through the next Ignition. Unless you pace yourself with your recovery, you may never regain the range of motion you need to slay dragons.”

He runs his free hand through his hair. “Great.”

“Never fear. I’ll take good care of you while you heal. I’ll tend to Lucy, carry your things, help you dress”—I curl a lock of hair around my finger—“help youundress…”

At that, Abel doesn’t groan as I expect. Instead, his gaze lowers in thought.

“I think we’re beyond the terms of our deal,” he says.

I pause, finger stuck mid-twirl. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve done more for me than any client should. Tending to an injured slayer?” He shakes his head. “You don’t owe me that. I know you don’t know what to do next, but you have your own life waiting for you. Perhaps it’s time you look for it.”

“You can’t afford round-the-clock care. The law may cover your hospital expenses, but it doesn’t cover that. You won’t turn a profit if you spend your bounty on an injury.”

“That’s not the point.”

“I’ve got your next job lined up, remember?”

“I can send a dove once I’ve recovered.”

“A deal is a deal, and you’re going to accept my help whether you like it or not.” I’m rambling, but I shrug through it. “I’m staying.”

“It’s not your responsibility.”

My insides churn under the pressure of his attention, so I rise with a huff. “I know you’re eager to get rid of me, but—”

“I’m not. Why would I be? You’re resourceful. Empathetic. Perseverant. Even Lucy gives you her seal of approval. She’s a good judge of character.” He smiles at Lucy, who stretches in her sleep.