Evander allowed himself the smallest twitch of a smile. “Do you think he’ll warn Lord Luca?”
“Absolutely,” Warwicke said. “But it hardly matters. If Lord Luca is involved, he’s expecting us already.”
Evander grew quiet. A single question had been digging at his insides the entire ride. “What if he’s notinvolved?”
Warwicke turned to face him fully, his voice serious. “Then we find who is.”
Evander exhaled through his nose, but the knot in his chest didn’t loosen. “And what if we’re too late?”
For a moment, Warwicke didn’t answer. Then he said, “Focus on what you cancontrol. Don’t let fear in. That’s how you lose.”
Evander stared at the passing streets, their orderly windows and manicured hedges mocking his turmoil.Don’t let fear in.But fear was already there. It was curling in his stomach like ice.
“That’s easier said than done.”
“It is,” Warwicke agreed. “But if they meant to kill her, they would have. Abduction means they want something.”
Evander’s throat tightened. His fists clenched against his knees. “I should have protected her,” he said under his breath.
“You were ambushed,” Warwicke reminded him. “Blame the ones who took her, not yourself.”
Evander said nothing. His mind was already racing, calculating what they would do next. But one thing was for certain: He would not stop. He would not rest. Not until he had Olivia back in his arms.
18
Pain lanced through the back of Olivia’s skull, yanking her from unconsciousness. She gasped and instinctively reached up to cradle her head. Her fingers brushed against a tender lump, and she winced. Slowly, she blinked her eyes open. The world came into focus in wavering shadows and harsh light. She was lying on a straw-stuffed mattress—coarse, foul-smelling, and threadbare. The only other furnishing in the small, dingy room was a warped chair slumped in the corner.
Her head throbbed as she pushed herself upright. Panic fluttered at the edge of her mind, but she forced herself to breathe. Steady now. Think.
A grime-smeared window offered a sliver of the outside world. Judging by the filtered daylight, it was sometime in the late afternoon. How long had she been unconscious? A few hours? A day?
The last thing she remembered was being in her brother’s townhouse… then darkness. Someone had struck her. But who? And why?
Below her, rough laughter erupted—slurred and raucous. Men. Several of them. From the timber and the scent of alewafting upward, she guessed she was above a tavern or an inn. Perhaps a coaching house? That, at least, gave her a hope of being in a public place. A place from which she might escape.
She swung her legs off the mattress and stood, though the motion made her sway. Her head pounded in protest, but she gritted her teeth and staggered to the door. The handle refused to turn. Locked. Of course. No surprise there.
Her gaze darted back to the window and to the tree branch that swayed just beyond it. She felt a stirring of hope. It was close enough to reach. If she could get the window open…
Crossing the cramped space in a few hurried steps, she braced her hands against the grimy panes. They were stuck. She shoved harder. The frame groaned under the pressure, reluctant but not unmovable. With a final heave, it slid open, shrieking in protest. A rush of cool air hit her face, and with it, a strange exhilaration.
There was no time to second-guess her decision. Footsteps echoed in the corridor outside her door. They were coming closer. Louder.
She clambered up to the sill and reached for the branch. The bark scratched her palms as she hauled herself up and out. Her gown snagged and tore, but she didn’t stop. Inch by inch, she crept along the limb towards the trunk. Her breath caught as she lost her footing momentarily, but she didn’t fall. Not today.
At last, her boots met solid earth.
A shout rang out from above.
She didn’t wait to see who had called her name.
Olivia ran.
The street was unfamiliar, dingy, and crowded. A weatherworn sign swung from a rusted bracket above the door of the building she had just escaped:The Dragon’s Head. She burned the name into her memory.
People stared as she ran past them, but she didn’t stop. A hackney stood at the far end of the lane, the driver half-dozing atop the box.
She stumbled to a halt beside him. “I need a ride.”
