Book Two: KOTLC One-shots and More

Nightfall 35 (Keefe POV)

Once he'd gotten Keefe as comfortable as was possible, Elwin went to let Foster know it was safe to come back in. Ro helped Elwin dispose of Keefe's melted skin, and Keefe couldn't help but be amused by Ro's obvious enthusiasm.

It was weird to think that he might've found an ogre he actually had the potential to like.

When Foster finally marched back into the Healing Center, she seemed even more irritated than before.

"You missed all the fun," Ro told her. "There was ooze everywhere!"

Keefe suppressed a grin as Foster cringed.

"Did it fix the problem?" she asked Elwin.

"Yes, and no," he admitted. "This is one of those injuries that's going to take some good old-fashioned bed rest before he's truly back on his feet."

"How long?" Foster asked.

"I'm guessing at least a week. Maybe more."

Um...no.

"Yeah, that's not happening," Keefe told him.

"You'll regret it if you don't," Elwin warned. "Play this smart and the most you'll have is a thin scar. But if you're not careful, you could end up with nerve damage."

Keefe wasn't sure he cared. He couldn't be out of commission for a week--Sophie needed him. But Elwin's words had caused her to worry and, for some reason, feel guilty.

It wasn't her fault he'd gotten injured.

But he knew her well enough to know that she blamed herself every time someone she cared about got hurt while helping her or helping the Black Swan.

"Easy, Foster," he told her in a soothing voice. "It's not a big deal. It'll make me look tough and soldier-y."

"He's right," Ro jumped in. "Scars are marks of honor. See this?" She pointed to a thick line curving down her back from the base of her neck to the dip of her breastplate, with thinner lines running along each side. "My dad gave me that the day I completed my training. It's a scar only his sword leaves."

"Wow, I thought my dad was harsh," Keefe mumbled. At least his dad had never hurt him.

Physically, anyway.

"It wasn't harsh—it was a gift. Yeah, it didn't feel good when he slashed me—and I totally kicked him in the teeth to make it even. But that scar tells any soldiers marching behind me that I've held my own against the king. It's the mark of a leader, and it's earned me respect I never would've had without it."

"Maybe so—but he didn't slice up Keefe for respect," Foster argued, her anger mounting again as she remembered what they had been through earlier. "He wanted to hurt him—and he enjoyed it."

"Hey," Keefe said, grabbing her arm as she paced past him. "Need me to calm you down again? Because I can."

"Is that really what happened?" She asked, curiosity puncturing her anger.

Keefe nodded. "You were losing it, so I tried to figure out which emotion was doing the triggering. And as soon as I took your gloves and cuffs off, I synced right into your emotional center. Somehow once I was in, I knew exactly how to shift your emotions a different way."

"That's . . . weird."

She stared at her gloved hands.

Weird, but wonderful. Keefe knew it was probably merely a result of her enhancing, but...it felt like more.

Like a unique thing that only the two of them shared because of their strong connection.

Like proof that they were meant to be something more.