Chapter 67 Do Not Fall for Me
The dressing room door was closing.
Dorian’s back was to her. His shoulders were tense. He had answered her question with silence. Why would Wesley Wen ask about me? He had not explained that he had just blurted out because he didn’t have any other excuse. He just walked away.
Veyra’s heart was still pounding. She did not understand what was happening. He had been cold at dinner, cold in the car and cold now.
But she had something to show him. Something good. Something she was proud of.
"Wait," she said.
Dorian stopped. His hand was on the doorframe. He did not turn around.
Veyra walked to the bedside table. She pulled open the drawer. The Nightblade was there, fully assembled, cleaned, oiled. She had spent hours in the armory.
She picked it up.
She pressed the magazine release. The magazine dropped into her palm. She set it aside. She locked the slide back. She rotated the takedown lever.
Her fingers moved fast. Faster than they had this morning. The hours of practice had paid off.
The slide came off. The barrel came out. The recoil spring came out. The trigger assembly followed.
Parts. Neat rows. On the dresser. She did not look at Dorian. She kept her eyes on the gun. Then she put it back together. The spring. The barrel. The slide. The takedown lever. Click. The gun was whole. She picked it up and she turned to face him.
Dorian had turned around.
His gray eyes were on the gun. On her hands and on the assembled pistol.
Veyra walked toward him. She held the Nightblade out, grip first, the way Li Wei had taught her.
"This is what I learned today," she said. Her voice was bright. Eager. She was proud of herself. She wanted him to be proud too. "I can disassemble and reassemble in under two minutes now. Li Wei said I have good hands for this."
She looked up at him. Waiting for his approval. Waiting for a nod. A word. Anything.
Dorian looked at the gun.
Then he looked at her.
His face was unreadable. But something behind his eyes was dark. Something she had not seen before.
"Give it to me," he said.
His voice was quiet. Too quiet.
Veyra blinked. She held out the gun further. "I just wanted to show you—"
He took it from her.
His fingers closed around the grip. His thumb found the safety. He checked the chamber. Empty. He ejected the magazine. Empty.
Then he looked at her.
"Never touch this gun again," he said.
Veyra’s smile froze.
"What?"
"You heard me." His voice was ice. "Never. Again."
"Dorian, I’ve been practicing all day. Li Wei said—"
"I don’t care what Li Wei said." He stepped closer. His gray eyes bored into hers. "If I ever see you with this gun again, I will cut off your hand myself."
Veyra’s breath stopped.
She stared at him. At the cold fury in his eyes. At the set of his jaw. He was not joking. He was not exaggerating.
He meant it.
She opened her mouth to speak. To ask why. To explain that she had only wanted to protect herself. To protect the baby.
No words came.
Dorian turned. He walked into the dressing room. He slammed the door behind him.
The sound cracked through the bedroom like a gunshot.
Veyra stood alone.
Her hands were empty. Her heart was pounding. Her ears were ringing.
She looked at the closed door. The dark wood that is a brass handle.
What had just happened?
Yesterday, she had taken the Nightblade from his nightstand. She had swum across a lake with it. She had pressed it to a kidnapper’s head. He had not been angry. He had not said a word.
Today, she had shown him how fast she could disassemble and reassemble. She had expected praise. Encouragement. Maybe a small nod of approval.
Instead, he had threatened to cut off her hand.
She sank onto the edge of the bed. Her legs were shaking. Her chest was tight.
Something was wrong. He was not angry about the gun. Not really. The gun was just the trigger.
She thought about his face. The darkness behind his eyes. The way his voice had dropped to that quiet, deadly register.
He had been angry before she showed him the gun. At dinner. In the car. When he walked into the bedroom.
Something had happened. Something he was not telling her.
She looked at the dressing room door. The light was on underneath. She could hear water running. He was showering.
She wanted to knock. To ask him what was wrong. To explain that she had not meant to upset him.
But she was afraid and she sat on the bed and waited.
The minutes crawled.
Veyra stared at the door. Her mind churned.
Why was he so angry? The gun was not his. It was one of many in the armory. Li Wei had given it to her for practice.
Unless...
She thought about the way he had held it. The way his fingers had closed around the grip. The way he had checked the chamber and the magazine.
It was not the gun itself. It was what the gun represented.
Maybe it had belonged to someone. Someone important. Someone from his past.
She did not know who. She did not want to know. But she understood that she had crossed a line she did not know existed.
Her chest ached. She had only wanted to show him that she was learning. That she was trying to be strong. That she was not a burden.
Instead, she had made him angry.
She would apologize. She would not touch the gun again. She would wait.
The water stopped running.
Veyra heard the shower door open. The rustle of a towel. The click of a drawer.
She stood up. She smoothed her clothes. She tucked her hair behind her ears.
The dressing room door opened.
Dorian stepped out.
He was wearing a white bathrobe. His hair was damp. His skin was flushed from the heat. His gray eyes found hers immediately.
He looked tired. The anger was still there, but buried now. Underneath was something else that looked like regret.
Veyra took a breath.
"We need to talk," she said.
Dorian’s jaw tightened. He did not move.
"Please," she said. "Just give me five minutes."
He walked to the armchair by the window. He sat down. He did not invite her to sit.
She took that as permission.
Veyra stood in front of him. Her hands were clasped in front of her. Her voice was steady.
"Why did you get so angry?" she asked. "About the gun."
Dorian looked at her. His expression did not change.
"I’m not asking because I want to argue," she said. "I’m asking because I want to understand. Yesterday, I took that gun without permission. I swam across a lake with it. I pointed it at a man’s head. You weren’t angry."
She paused.
"Today, I showed you how fast I could take it apart and put it back together. And you threatened to cut off my hand."
Dorian said nothing.
"Something happened," Veyra said. "Something that made you angry. And you took it out on me."
She looked at him.
"I want to know what it was."
Dorian was quiet for a long moment.
His gray eyes were fixed on the window.
"I had a conversation tonight," he said. "With someone I know. It stirred up things I would rather forget."
Veyra waited. She did not push.
"The gun," she said slowly. "It has special meaning to you. Doesn’t it?"
Dorian’s jaw tightened.
"I’m not going to ask why," Veyra said quickly. "That’s your business. Not mine." She paused. "But I touched something that was important to you. And that made you angry. I understand."
She bowed her head.
"I’m sorry. I didn’t know. If I had known, I would never have touched it. I’ll never touch it again. I promise."
She meant it.
Dorian was still for a moment. Then he nodded.
"It was not your fault. You did not know."
"I still should have asked. Before I took it from your nightstand. Before I used it at the lake. Before I practiced with it all day." She shook her head. "I assumed. And I was wrong."
Dorian leaned back in the chair. His shoulders relaxed slightly.
"You are direct," he said. "Most people would have cried. Made excuses. Blamed me for being unreasonable."
"I don’t have time for that." Veyra sat on the edge of the bed, across from him. "I made a mistake. I apologized. Now we move on."
Dorian’s mouth twitched. Almost a smile.
"You are unusual," he said.
"So I’ve been told."
The silence between them was softer now.
Veyra looked at him. At the tired lines around his eyes. At the tension still lingering in his jaw.
"I overreacted," Dorian said. "My anger was not about you. It was about... other things."
"I know."
"I should not have threatened you."
"You shouldn’t have." She paused. "But I forgive you."
Dorian looked at her. Something flickered across his face. Surprise, maybe. Or gratitude.
"You forgive easily," he said.
"I don’t. But you’ve saved my life. You’ve protected me. You’ve given me a home." She shrugged. "I can forgive a few harsh words."
Dorian was quiet for a moment. Then he said, "Are we even?"
Veyra tilted her head. "Even?"
"You apologized for touching the gun. I apologized for threatening you." He raised an eyebrow. "Are we even?"
She considered this. Then she smiled.
"Almost," she said.
"Almost?"
"You still haven’t told me what you thought of my disassembly and assembly."
Dorian blinked. "What?"
"My gun skills. The ones you interrupted before you threatened to cut off my hand." She leaned forward. "Was I good? Was I fast? Li Wei said I have good hands."
Dorian stared at her.
"You want me to evaluate your performance?"
"Yes. Fairly. Honestly." She grinned. "I worked hard today."
He studied her for a moment. Then he said, "Not bad."
Veyra’s heart leaped. "Not bad? That’s it?"
"Your disassembly was clean. Your assembly was efficient. Your speed was acceptable for a beginner."
"Acceptable?"
He stood up. He walked to the dresser. He picked up the Nightblade. He checked that it was empty. Then he disassembled it.
His hands moved too fast for her eyes to follow. Parts flew. The slide. The barrel. The spring. The trigger assembly.
Four seconds. Maybe less.
He reassembled it. Another five seconds.
He set the gun down.
"That is acceptable," he said.
Veyra’s mouth fell open. "That’s not acceptable. That’s impossible."
"That’s fifteen years of practice." He looked at her. "You did well for one day. But you have a long way to go."
She should have been offended. Instead, she felt a surge of determination.
"I’ll get there," she said.
Dorian raised an eyebrow. "You won’t be touching this gun again."
"Another gun. A different gun. One that doesn’t have... sentimental value." She stood up. "Li Wei can find me something else."
Dorian shook his head. But he did not forbid it.
Veyra felt lighter now. The tension had drained from the room.
She looked at Dorian. At the damp hair. The tired eyes. The way his bathrobe hung open at his chest.
She looked away quickly.
"Thank you," she said. "For talking to me. Most men would have just stayed angry."
"I am not most men."
"No," she said. "You’re not."
She smiled. She was about to say something else. Something playful. Something about how she valued his approval.
But when she looked up, his expression had changed.
His gray eyes were fixed on her. Not cold and not warm but it was something in between. Something she could not read.
"Dorian?" she said.
He frowned.
"Do not develop any inappropriate feelings for me," he said. "I already have someone I like."