Divine Rivals: Part 2: News from Afar: Chapter 26

What was she supposed to do with him?

Iris had no idea, but her stomach was in knots as she pushed away from Roman’s lithe body, standing with a wobble. She crossed her arms and watched as he rose with a slight groan. It felt like she had swallowed sunlight—there was a warm humming in her body that intensified the longer she regarded Roman—and she realized that she was actually pleased to see him. But her pride remained in place like a shield; she would never let him know such a thing.

“Do I need to ask you again, Kitt?” she asked.

He took his time brushing stray grass and dirt from his jumpsuit before he glanced up at her. “Perhaps. Profanity is quite becoming on you.”

She gritted her teeth but managed to hold back another curse, cracking her neck instead. “Do you have any idea how much danger we were in? Because you decided to walk across a field during a siren?”

That sobered him and he gazed at her. A cloud passed over the sun. Shadows fell again, and Iris flinched, as if an eithral’s wings were the cause.

“Those were eithrals, weren’t they?” Roman’s voice was thick.

Iris nodded. “You’re familiar with the old myths?”

“A few. I slept through most of my mythology classes.”

She had a hard time imagining that. Roman Competitive Kitt, who wanted to be the best at everything.

“I take it the siren warns of their approach?” he asked.

“Yes, among other things,” she answered.

He stared at her for a long, heady moment. The wind gusted between them, cool and sweetened from the crushed grass. “I didn’t know, Winnow. I heard the siren and thought it meant to hurry into town. You shouldn’t have risked yourself for me, running into the open like that.”

“They would have dropped a bomb on you, Kitt. It would have most likely leveled the town.”

He sighed and ran his hand through his dark hair. “Again, I’m sorry. Is there anything else I should know?”

“There are other sirens and protocols, but I’ll let Marisol tell you about them.”

“Marisol? She’s my contact.” He began to look around for the luggage he had dropped. He retraced his steps and retrieved his typewriter case and leather bag, returning to where Iris stood waiting for him like a statue. “Do you mind introducing me to her?”

“I’m not doing anything until you answer my question,” Iris said. “Why are you here?”

“What does it look like, Winnow? I’m here to write about the war, same as you.”

He wasn’t squinting, but she still struggled to believe him. Her heart continued to pound. She couldn’t tell if it was from the close brush with death or the fact that Roman was here, standing before her and looking just as good in a jumpsuit as he did in his pressed shirt and trousers.

“In case you forgot … you beat me, Kitt,” she said. “You won columnist, just as you always wanted. And then you decide it’s not good enough for you and your highbrow tastes, and you decide to hound me here as well?”

“Last I checked, they needed more war correspondents,” Roman countered, a dangerous gleam in his eyes.

“They couldn’t send you to another town?”

“No.”

“Being columnist too much pressure for you?”

“No, but Zeb Autry was. I didn’t want to work for him anymore.”

Iris thought about the last conversation she had had with Zeb. She stifled a shudder, but Roman noticed. She could hardly believe her audacity, but she had to know …

“What about your fiancée, Kitt? She’s fine with you reporting this close to the front?”

His frown deepened. “I broke the engagement.”

“You what?”

“I’m not marrying her. So I suppose you could say I’m here to escape the death wish my father had for me upon realizing I’d vastly disappointed him and disgraced the family name.”

That took the fun out of vexing him. Iris suddenly felt cold, and she rubbed her arms. “Oh. I’m sorry to hear that. I’m sure your father will be worried about you.”

Roman smiled, but it was skewed, as if he was trying to hide his pain. “Perhaps, but not likely.”

Iris turned, glancing at the town. “Well, come on, then. I’ll take you to Marisol’s.” She led the way through the field, Roman following close behind her.

Attie was pacing the kitchen, a furious expression on her face when Iris opened the back doors.

“Don’t you ever do that to me again, Iris Winnow!” she cried. “Or else I’ll kill you myself, do you hear me?”

“Attie,” Iris said calmly, stepping over the threshold. “I need to introduce you to someone.” She moved aside so Attie could get a clear view of Roman, entering the B and B for the first time.

Attie’s jaw dropped. But she quickly recovered from her surprise, her eyes narrowing with slight suspicion. “Did the eithrals drop a boy from the sky, then?”

“Another correspondent,” Iris said, at which Roman glanced at her. “This is Roman Kitt. Kitt, this is my friend and fellow writer, Att—”

“Thea Attwood,” he finished, and he set down his typewriter case to extend his hand to Attie, reveling in her renewed shock. “It’s an honor to finally meet you.”

Iris was confused, glancing between the two of them. But Attie’s own surprise melted and suddenly she was grinning.

She shook Roman’s hand and asked, “Do you have a copy with you?”

Roman slid the leather bag from his shoulder. He untethered it and procured a newspaper, wound tight to ward off wrinkles. He gave it to Attie, and she viciously unfurled it, her eyes racing across the headlines.

“Gods below,” she murmured, breathless. “Look at this, Iris!”

Iris moved to stand at Attie’s side, only to stifle her own gasp. Attie’s war article was on the front page of the Inkridden Tribune. A major headline.