down, you’re afraid. You don’t know how to
ask me to stay, because you’re afraid of
admitting to yourself that you want it. You’re
afraid. Of yourself more than anyone else in
the world. You’re afraid.”
For several heartbeats, she just stared at
him.
Then she snarled, “You don’t know what
you’re talking about,” and stalked away.
His low laugh ripped after her. Her spine
stiffened.
But Manon did not turn back.
Afraid. Of admitting that she felt any sort of
attachment.
It was preposterous.
And it was, perhaps, true.
But it was not her problem. Not right now.
Manon stormed through the readying camp
where tents were being taken down and