Chapter 12 · Safehouse Secrets

"Stop bleeding on my rug, you oversized freak," Vera snapped, though her hands were shaking as she pressed a blood-soaked rag into the gash in my side.

I let out a wet, rattling hiss. Every breath felt like I was inhaling broken glass. The safehouse was a dump—a concrete basement that smelled like damp laundry and old copper—but it was the only place in the sector where the Guild's scanners couldn't find us.

"I'm... trying," I rasped. My voice sounded like two stones grinding together.

"Trying isn't cutting it. You're leaking all over the place," she retorted. She leaned in closer, her shoulder brushing against my chest. I could feel the heat radiating off her, the sharp scent of gunpowder and cheap soap clinging to her skin. She didn't pull away, even though I was a stitched-together nightmare of muscle and scales.

"Why'd you do it?" she whispered, her eyes searching mine. "You could've let that rubble bury me. You're a beast. You're supposed to be the prey, not the bodyguard."

I tried to shrug, but the movement sent a spike of agony through my ribs. "Don't... like... debts."

"Liar," she breathed.