FORTY-ONE

A pensive frown gracing his lips, he leaned back against the nearest tree. Folding his arms across his chest, he watched her pace. Muttering to herself—though he could hear every word clearly—she moved in quick, precise steps. Her gaze darted about the road beneath her feet and she alternated between shaking her head and nodding.

Rather than letting on that her conversation with herself wasn't as private as she might believe—he wasn't attempting to eavesdrop, after all, and he didn't want to destroy her illusion of being able to have a moment to herself around him—he cleared his throat to get her attention.

She halted and looked up, meeting his eyes. "Hmm?"

His mouth curved up at the corners ever so slightly, a smile that wasn't quite a smile, as he said, "I'm still here."

"Right, sorry." With a sigh, she gave another headshake. "It's just … a bit much to take in, you know? Some swarm of unknown creatures having this sense that finding this book is … well, if not imminent, at least within reach?"

Crimson eyes narrowed. "You're wondering if they want to stop you or steal it for themselves?"

The witch shrugged. "That'd be the question. I mean, that's not what you're planning, right?" Her heart twisted a little at the notion. She hadn't considered it before and she wondered if that might be because he seemed so changed, or because she simply wanted to believe he'd changed. "To use me like that?"

Antonin hated her wounded tone, hated more that he couldn't blame her for such suspicions.

Pushing off from the tree, his arms fell to his sides as he stepped close to her. "No. And, if you'll recall, our whatever it is began before I was even aware that was your purpose for being here."

"But that's just it, isn't it?" Hermione chewed nervously at her lower lip as she sorted her thoughts before speaking again. "We've been wondering what this is, and what if it is the book causing this? Just like how those other creatures somehow sense that I'll find it?"

He very much did not like this question. Was it possible? Of course. Troublingly so, in fact. But why did it have to mean something darker?

"Perhaps it is." Wearing a lopsided smile, he lifted a hand to cup her face. "But that doesn't mean I'll steal the book from you. I was under the impression we would be working together to break my curse. That's my only interest in that damned thing, anyway."

She nodded relieved by his assurance even as a doubtful little voice in the back of her head reminded her that he could very well be lying. The motion rubbed her cheek against the cool skin of his palm.

"Are you thirsty?" she asked, the question seeming abrupt, but he'd understood the moment he touched her again that one of them was going to come around to this.

Yet, in the way her nearness calmed him, in the way it seemed to draw upon his senses so that everything was sharp and crisp and easily remembered, he noticed something.

Seeming unaware of his temporary distraction, she went on. "It's getting late—or early, whatever—and I hate to think of doing … that and then just sending you off to Lychakiv again, seems heartless, but—"

"Shhh," he murmured, trying to be certain of what his senses told him.

Though she inwardly lamented that he didn't take the opportunity to silence her by pressing a finger to her lips, she answered with a nod.

His fingers slipped from her cheek, along her throat, across her shoulder, to trail down her arm and finally capture her hand in his. "This house right here, моя кошеня?" he whispered, nodding in the direction of the squat little abode that occupied the road across from Oksana's. "Seems to be abandoned."

"Oh, well—" she started, hardly putting up a fight as he started toward it, tugging her along—"suppose it wouldn't hurt to check."