Chapter 76: He Knew What Gunfire Meant

"You’re my wife," Thorne said, still holding her hand in the warm room above the garage. "We’re bonded for life, silly. Did you think I was just staying until you got bored with me?"

Dove stared at him while someone clattered a pan against the stove downstairs. She had known the bond lasted, but she had kept calling him her boyfriend, as though she might wake up back home and find this had only been a strange few weeks. He had been calling this their life. His thumb kept moving over her fingers, giving her time to catch up.

"You could have led with that before I started planning your murder," she said, settling against his chest. "And you still have to bring me breakfast tomorrow. I didn’t marry you to start sharing my bacon."

"I wouldn’t risk it," he said, kissing her hair. Edrik passed her the oatmeal without interrupting, and she thanked him before hiding her warm face over the bowl. For once, neither man demanded that she explain what she was feeling.

After their late lunch, she checked Edrik’s dressing at the table beside the washstand. His shirt kept catching near the cut, so she told him to take it off before he reopened something she had spent yesterday fixing.

"You keep finding reasons," he murmured, easing the fabric away with his good hand. "You could just ask if there’s something you want to see."

"I wanted you to stop bleeding. Showing off is optional, although I see you’ve made your choice." She meant to sound bored. Unfortunately, he pulled off the shirt before she finished speaking.

His shoulders were broad enough to make the room feel badly designed. Hard muscle ran down his chest into a clear six-pack and a narrow, V-shaped waist above his pants. White hair fell across his forehead, and pale stubble roughened his jaw. He looked handsome without trying, which was deeply unfair when she needed both hands and several threats to manage her hair.

When he turned toward the basin, ink covered his back. A dark koi curved through blue waves, with red peonies spread across his shoulders and disappearing beneath his waistband. She had only seen the edge before. The full piece moved with muscles she was trying very hard to treat as a medical concern.

"Those are Japanese designs, right?" she asked. Edrik glanced back and told her that he was Japanese, then waited while Thorne studied the ink without reaching for his cup.

"You worked for a family before the contracts," her mate said. "Do they still get to tell you what to do?"

"I worked for one. They don’t have a claim on me now," Edrik replied. "Nobody from that life decides where I sleep or who I protect."

Thorne placed the clean water beside Dove. "Be good to her. Anything else can wait until it becomes our problem."

"Lovely, but the woman holding your bandages would also enjoy being included," Dove said. Edrik turned back, giving her a view that made concentrating considerably harder. He explained without pretending that his old work had been harmless.

Before becoming a mercenary, he had collected debts and protected an organized crime family’s interests. Afterward came armed escorts and security work in places where gunfire had been common long before Michigan froze. The man who had taken their prisoner outside hadn’t appeared overnight because the world ended.

"Tell me anything that could put us in danger," she said, fastening his dressing. "You can save the full list of bad decisions until we have snacks. Mine could take a while."

"I’ll find some," he said. Sprout awarded two Favor for his pleased surprise and another for Thorne’s amusement, bringing her to nine hundred ten. Ordinary conversation still paid after a target was met. Dove told it to count quietly.

A knock came before Edrik put his clean shirt on. The keeper entered with a road map, caught sight of the ink across the bear’s back, and stopped with his hand still on the door. His eyes moved to Edrik’s face. Then he shook his head and laid the map on the table, apparently deciding the roads were enough trouble for one morning.

Pine Ridge School was open, but flooded ground blocked the direct road south. A farm road around an old orchard rejoined their route. Two drivers downstairs also claimed to know about a military base farther west. Edrik asked whether anyone had checked the driveways near the empty industrial buildings, and the keeper promised to ask his guards.

Dove stepped back beside the washstand to let the keeper pass. When the door closed, she noticed Thorne watching her pink cheeks with open delight. She turned on him, trying to look stern while he clearly enjoyed every second of it. "Bad boy. You could stop laughing at me and help."

He looked unbearably smug as he drew closer. Before she could recover, Edrik stepped beside her and planted his good arm against the wall above her head, carefully keeping the injured one down. "Who’s a bad boy?" he asked, with a hint of complaint that did absolutely nothing to hide his smirk.

Thorne stood on her other side, warm against her shoulder. Neither touched her, which somehow made it worse. She had a wall behind her and far too much attractive man on either side, both waiting to see what she would do.

"Move, handsome. You can both be a problem after I find us a road." Her cheeks burned, but she poked Thorne’s chest until he stepped aside. Edrik lifted his arm when she reached it, smiling as she passed. "Put your shirt on before you come downstairs," she added. "I’m trying to finish a conversation today."

Downstairs, she found the drivers at a folding table beside the stove. A man scrambled to offer his chair, and she thanked him while trying to cool her face. Thorne joined her moments later; Edrik followed wearing his clean shirt, which improved her chances of remembering why she had come down.

The drivers described a base run by military and government workers, with guarded housing, stores, and a clinic. Getting there supposedly took a month on foot. Neither had walked the full route recently, and neither had slept inside its walls.

"A very flexible month," Dove said. "We could grow old following directions that start with somebody’s cousin. Who knows whether merchants can actually get in?"

One had carried supplies partway there. The other knew someone with relatives inside. She asked about entry rules and whether residents could leave, unwilling to choose a month of travel because somebody promised hot showers.

At the next table, a tired man in a patched coat lowered his spoon. He looked toward the drivers before leaning close enough for her to hear him over the stove. "Before you walk that far, ask whether the supply gate is the one they’ll let you through."