Scarlet (The Lunar Chronicles, #2)

by Marissa Meyer

She did not know that the wolf was a wicked sort of animal, and she was not afraid of him.

Scarlet’s world was crashing down around her and nobody noticed. Her grandmother was missing and nobody cared.

She recognized Émilie’s handsome street fighter immediately, partly due to an array of scars and bruises on his olive skin, but more because he was the only stranger in the tavern. He was more disheveled than she’d expected from Émilie’s swooning, with hair that stuck out every direction in messy clumps and a fresh bruise swelling around one eye. Beneath the table, both of his legs were jogging like a windup toy.

Oh look its the loml

Table legs screeched against tile and then the fighter had one hand wrapped around Roland’s neck, lifting him clear off the floor. The tavern fell silent. The fighter, unconcerned, held Roland aloft like he was nothing more than a doll, ignoring Roland’s gagging.

Yasss

“Hey, let him go!” a man yelled, leaping off his stool. “You’re going to kill him!” He grasped the fighter’s wrist, but he might have grabbed an iron bar for as much as the limb budged. Flushing, the man let go and pulled back for a punch, but as soon as he swung, the fighter’s free hand came up and blocked it.

The fighter still seemed angry, but now there was also the tiniest bit of amusement in his expression, like he’d just remembered the rules to a game. He eased Roland’s feet back to the ground, simultaneously releasing him and the other man’s fist.

Turning away, the fighter dipped his head in what almost looked like an apology and shuffled toward the exit. Scarlet couldn’t help thinking as he passed that despite all signs of brutality, he looked no more menacing now than a scolded dog.

She wrinkled her nose at him.

He stood a dozen steps from the nose of her ship and his expression seemed more hesitant than dangerous, but then, it hadn’t seemed dangerous when he’d nearly strangled Roland either.

“Well, they call me Scarlet. Yes, like the hair, what a clever observation.” His expression softened. “What hair?” Scarlet settled her arm on top of the door, resting her chin. “Good one.” For a moment he seemed almost pleased with himself and Scarlet found herself warming to this stranger, this anomaly. This soft-spoken street fighter.

She blinked. Thorne smiled. The girl frowned.

Thorne cleared his mind of the image of her opening a plate in her skull, once again calling up the personification of a gentleman, and attempted to make small talk while she worked. He asked what she was in for and complimented the fine workmanship of her metal extremities, but she ignored him, making him briefly question if he’d been separated from the female population for so long that he could be losing his charm. But that seemed unlikely.

Wolf was tall, but he looked like a child next to Hunter. Nevertheless, he was all composure in his corner of the platform, radiating arrogance with one foot up on the ropes, practically lounging.

He shook his head in an oddly doglike manner, wild hair flying, and then crouched with his big hands poised at his sides, staring at Hunter with that peculiar grin. Scarlet wrapped her fingers around her sweatshirt’s zipper, wondering if that tick was how Wolf had gotten his nickname.

A relieved grin filled up Thorne’s face. “We’re having another moment, aren’t we?” “If by a moment, you mean me not wanting to strangle you for the first time since we met, then I guess we are.”

Little Red was a tender young morsel, and the wolf knew she would be even tastier than the old woman.

“Don’t come any closer!” Scarlet yelled. The chicken clucked and dawdled away. “I will shoot, you know.” “I know.” A flicker of kindness passed over him and he pointed at his temple. “You’ll want to aim for the head. That usually makes for a fatal shot. Or, if you’re feeling shaky, the torso. It’s a larger target.” “Your head looks pretty big from here.” He laughed—the expression changing everything about him. His stance relaxed, his face warmed.

Scarlet strode toward him, then ducked and froze as a wrench sailed by her head. When a crash didn’t follow, she glanced back to see Wolf gripping the wrench a foot from his face, blinking in surprise.

But it was impossible to feel threatened by the semi-stranger across from her. Wolf was entranced by the rolling farmlands passing by, gaping at tractors and cattle and decrepit, crumbling barns. His legs jogged ceaselessly the whole time, though she doubted he realized it. The almost child-like fascination was at odds with him in every way. The fading black eye, the pale scars, the broad shoulders, the calm composure he’d had as he nearly strangled Roland, the fierce brutality in his gaze as he’d nearly killed his opponent in the fight.

He nodded and his ticking legs switched to a new rhythm, alternating in time with each other. Unable to take it, Scarlet reached over and firmly pressed her palm onto one knee, forcing his bouncing leg to still. Wolf skittered at the touch.

Wolf slinked forward,

With a start, she felt Wolf’s warm fingers pressing into her back. They were steady against her, calming, as she watched the android’s light scan back and forth, darting into the forest canopy. She risked the slightest tilt of her head until she could see Wolf beside her, immobile, every muscle taut—except the fingers of his other hand, which were tapping, tapping, tapping against a large rock, expelling the nervous energy that had nowhere else to go. She watched the fingers, half mesmerized, and didn’t realize that the light had flickered away until the pressure of Wolf’s touch lifted from her back.

“So,” she said, disrupting Wolf in another backward glance. “Who would win in a fight—you or a pack of wolves?” He frowned at her, all seriousness. “Depends,” he said, slowly, like he was trying to figure out her motive for asking. “How big is the pack?” “I don’t know, what’s normal? Six?” “I could win against six,” he said. “Any more than that and it could be a close call.” Scarlet smirked. “You’re not in danger of low self-esteem, at least.” “What do you mean?” “Nothing at all.” She kicked a stone from their path. “How about you and … a lion?” “A cat? Don’t insult me.” She laughed, the sound sharp and surprising. “How about a bear?” “Why, do you see one out there?” “Not yet, but I want to be prepared in case I have to rescue you.” The smile she’d been waiting for warmed his face, a glint of white teeth flashing. “I’m not sure. I’ve never had to fight a bear before.”

Wolf inched closer to her, keeping himself as a block between her and Ran even though his face was tinged red from being so close to the flames.

He blinked up at Scarlet. “Did you just shoot me?” “You didn’t leave me much choice.”

Releasing a strangled breath, Scarlet glanced back up at Wolf. He hadn’t moved, but his expression had shed the maniacal anger for something akin to admiration. “When you greeted me with a gun on your doorstep,” he said, “it’s nice to know you meant it.”

She heard his grunt—bordering on a roar—and felt herself being hauled up. She beat her feet against the train’s side, struggling for any traction, before she was heaved onto the roof. Wolf rolled her away from the edge, landing on top of her. His hands hastily brushed the curls from her face, gripped her shoulders, rubbed her bruised wrist, every ounce of his frenetic energy devoted to checking that she was there. That she was all right. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I lost focus, I slipped—I’m sorry. Scarlet. Are you all right?”

She sat down with her legs dangling over the side. “Showoff,” she said, reaching out and letting him catch her as she jumped down. His hands were achingly gentle as he lowered her to the platform, and lingered a second too long after her feet were firmly planted, or not nearly long enough.

She hesitated. When he still didn’t move, Scarlet leaned forward and kissed him. Softly. Just once. Barely able to breathe around her hammering heart, Scarlet drew back enough for warm air to slip between them, and Wolf dissolved before her, a resigned sigh brushing against her mouth. Then he was pulling her toward him and bundling her up in his arms. Scarlet gasped as Wolf buried one hand into her mess of curls and kissed her back.

“Oh, Grandmother, what terribly big teeth you have!”

Ze’ev caught a trace of Scarlet’s scent on Ran as he brushed past, and his stomach squeezed. He urged his body to relax, burying the animal instinct to tear out his brother’s throat if he found out he’d laid one finger on her.

“The better to eat you with, my dear.”

She tucked a curl behind her ear, baffled at her own relief. This

Its giving Debby Ryan

He struggled for words, releasing a sharp breath. “I think I realized that I would rather die because I betrayed them, than live because I betrayed you.”