Vesper frowned in faint agreement at the albino’s view on Myrika, but it was short-lived agreement. Myrika was indeed, perhaps, naïve—but she’d shown how quickly she could grow when she took on the burden of leadership and fought through the war with the wolves. Both of the leaders had changed, softening or toughening up, and the personalities that clashed in theory warped to complement each other in a way that strengthened them both.
“Something can be said for that,” the scarred coyote said after a moment. “You go through life cynical and suspicious, and maybe you don’t get hurt as easily, but it usually means you’re already hurt.” Her fingers continued to toy with the rosary, lingering on the first Lord’s Prayer, but she was ignorant to its meaning. It was a large bead, held between her finger-pads as she dwelled on the statement that had more to do with her own life than anything else.
Cassandra brought up a comparison, and Ves’ ear snapped back at mention of “a fool girl.” Neither of them had discussed much of their history, including past lovers, and so this was the first time hearing anything like this. An icy flame was born and died in her eyes, and she drew her lips back as Cassandra continued.
“I’m modest,” Vesper answered snidely, and released the rosary, letting her hand drop back to her side and ball into a pathetic fist. “Do you know what the great thing is?” she asked, her voice brightening with all the acidic sarcasm in the world. “I don’t have to know, and I don’t have to tell you—especially you.”
She relaxed her fists, but the rest of her wiry body was tense. She strode closer to the bed of furs, leaning down to eye level and baring her teeth. It was an empty threat; she didn’t want to get close enough to instigate a fight, and there was little pride in beating a wounded enemy. Her heart beat an erratic pace in her chest, but she kept her perplexing fear and anger and every other emotion hidden, letting her face become a mere mask riddled with scars.
“I’ll ask you again. Who the fuck are you?”
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