Maybe he shouldn’t have been so impatient to get back to it all.
But he could admit to relief when he didn’t want to crawl back into bed after an hour’s activity. And when he did crawl back into bed again, with Annika, he’d do something—at last—besides sleep.
So that did make it a very fine day.
Though it did feel weird, he posed for Sasha—mostly because she hounded him. He stood for an hour—another triumph—wearing his guns, left hand on the butt of one, compass held in the other.
At one point Riley wandered out.
“Did you find something?” he demanded.
“No—and you and Doyle can stuff it. I’m taking a break. The guy who knows what we want to know should be available tomorrow.”
“Hope you get him before you wolf out.” Hip cocked now, the thumb of the hand holding the compass hooking in his pocket, Sawyer sent Riley a quick, insolent grin. “Hey, you could bark in Morse code.”
Riley merely shot up her middle finger, studied the painting. “Yeah, you’re getting him, Sash, right down to the beady little eyes.”
“You need to do Rile here in wolf form, Sasha. An action shot. Like when she’s scratching at fleas.”
“I don’t have—” Riley hissed out a breath; Sasha just kept working.
“Do you believe in reincarnation?” she asked Riley.
“Absolutely. One go-round? What’s the point?”
“I strongly believe the two of you were siblings in another life. And I do want to paint you in wolf form. And as you are now.”
“I don’t think—”
“All sides of us,” Sasha interrupted, and chose another brush. “Now that I’ve started, I know it’s something I need to do. Do you need a break, Sawyer?”
“I’m good, unless you do.”
“I’d like to keep going—until you tell me you need a break. And you have to tell me. Painting helps me focus, and she’s trying to get in.”
“What? Nerezza?” Riley squeezed Sasha’s shoulder. “I’ll get Bran.”
“No, it’s all right.” Calmly, Sasha worked on Sawyer’s hair—he had a lot of it—sweeping in sunstreaks. “I’m all right, and he’s busy. Annika’s helping him mix medicines. I want Nerezza to try, and if I feel she’s getting through, we’ll get Bran.” Focused, Sasha continued to paint, switching brushes to detail the curve of Sawyer’s fingers on the compass. “I don’t want to push back today, just block. I can’t explain why—”
“You don’t have to.” With her hand still on Sasha’s shoulder, Riley exchanged a look with Sawyer. “All you need to do is tell Sawyer when and if you need Bran, or anything else.”
“That’s right.” Without realizing it, Sawyer took a firmer grip on his gun.
“It’s like—you can tell Bran when you go back in, Riley—it’s like she’s playing with me, just trying to distract me. I know she’s waiting, waiting for Malmon to fully become. There’s more but . . . it’s as if she wants me to try to see.”
“Maybe misdirection?”
“I don’t know, Riley. But I feel, I know she’s trying to lure me, and I’m not falling for it. Just as I know this interlude we’ve had, this really lovely break from searching, from fighting, from bleeding, is nearly done.”
“Then let’s enjoy it while it lasts.” Giving Sasha’s shoulder a final squeeze, exchanging a last look with Sawyer, Riley went back inside to tell Bran everything.
He watched her while she painted him. Flicked a glance up once when he saw Bran come out on the terrace, obviously checking for himself if he was needed.
Shortly after, Doyle strolled out, angled a chair, and sat, gaze on Sasha’s back. So Riley had made the rounds, Sawyer thought, and one way or another, Sasha was guarded.
He relaxed a little, let his mind drift a little. Wished Annika would come out. He wondered if, when they had the stars, when they found the Island of Glass and returned them—not if, but when—there would be time, just a few days, for him to be with her. Without war and vengeful gods, without responsibilities and risk.
It didn’t seem like much to ask, those few days.