Interlude [h.s]

sixty-five

Alouette closes her eyes. "Of course," she mutters under her breath, tightening her grip on the steering wheel. She should've never let Harry drive. She can't even be mad at him, because it's so obvious that he'd try to direct her back to Northfair. After all, he doesn't owe her anything anymore. Their deal has fallen through, and unless she accepts his or presents him with a new one, there's nothing tying them together anymore.

Harry sends her a side glance. "Is something troubling you, Lark?" He's back to playing with his knife—Alouette is starting to think it might be his way to de-stress, because he's always there flicking it open and twirling it between his fingers before closing it and starting all over again. It's a miracle that he still hasn't accidentally hurt himself with it.

"Northfair? Really?"

He senses the mixture of annoyance and fear in her voice and lets out a dark little chuckle. "Why, I thought you said you missed the Palace."

"I missed the food of the Palace," she specifies, shooting him a glare. She clears her throat. "I can't even be mad at you, because I should've expected it."

They need to change direction now because Harry is driving them straight towards her destruction, but they would have to go back to the city they just left in order to do that. The risk is too high, so they'll have to continue and hope they'll encounter a new crossroad soon. Northfair is still too far away to be seen in the distance, and that reassures Alouette enough to get her to start the engine again and keep driving.

"You know, it's almost cute how you keep trying to screw me over," she tells him, turning on the headlights. There's nothing ahead and behind them, just a long road in the middle of nothing. She doesn't like it. There's no place to hide.

"Now that's a bit harsh, I've never said anything about screwing you over."

If looks could kill, the glare Alouette sends him would do the job she hasn't been able to finish herself. But they can't, so all Harry does is raise an eyebrow and flick the knife close.

"There's no need to be so tense, Lark. It was only a joke," he says. "Though, perhaps you'd like it to be something more?" There's a dangerous gleam in his eyes. "Is it what has you so silent?"

She doesn't reply.

"You're going to hurt my feelings if you keep ignoring me like this." It's a lie. Alouette is quite certain Harry has no feelings for her to hurt. He slips the knife back into the pocket of his trousers. "You know, I've been thinking." There's a new depth in his voice, and Alouette can't help but glance his way.

"You have?"

"Yes." His hand falls on her knee. "I seem to desire more than I should where you're concerned." His eyes are burning into hers, but she refuses to meet his gaze. She doesn't know what he'd see if she did.

He squeezes gently and a gasp leaves Alouette's lips; her skin tingles where they're touching and warmth spreads through her bones. His touch travels up her thigh, and she grabs his wrist when his wandering fingers get dangerously close to the source of the heat inside of her.

"Don't push your luck, Harry," she hisses, and he raises his eyebrows.

She's going to end up doing something. Something she absolutely shouldn't do. And yet she already knows she wouldn't regret it—which is why she really, really can't do it.

"Or what?" The devious little smile that curves his lips threatens to take her out altogether.

Her foot slams on the brake and the car comes to a halt on the dark, empty street.

"Or what?" She repeats under her breath, and then climbs over the handbrake. She straddles him and the annoying smile is wiped off his face. "Don't try me, Harry," she whispers, and then presses her lips against his.