Of course.
SIXTEEN
Nadi grunted as she impacted the floor. The Iltanis were a little too happy to throw her around. That was fine. She’d killed Luciento. She was a traitor to her own people. She deserved a few bruises. Raziel hit the floor beside her a moment later.
They were back at the warehouse in the docks. This time, they seemed to have a solution for keeping Raziel in place. It was called “put a silver stake through his leg.”
It wasn’t enough to kill him. But it was enough to keep him wounded and hurting. Turning into bats to escape was not going to be an option. Not with that and the bullet in his arm. The room they were in was also under guard. But they were out of earshot from any humans who would suddenly become very helpful to their cause if Raziel could get a word in edgewise.
Which would also be why they’d gagged him.
Smart.
She was handcuffed, and worse for wear. But more or less fine. They’d knocked her around a bit, but they hadn’t done any real permanent damage to her. Raziel was in far worse shape. Bloodied, a dark splotch was forming on his jaw where they had likely broken it. It was healing, but slowly.
The silver stake in his thigh was the worst of it. She could see the blackened veins spreading from the wound, the way his skin had gone ashen and gray around the impalement. His breathing was ragged, and every few moments, a tremor would run through him—involuntary spasms of pain that he couldn’t hide no matter how hard he tried.
She crawled toward him, her handcuffed wrists making the movement awkward and slow. The guards at the door watched but didn’t stop her. What was she going to do? Free him with the power of wishful thinking?
“Raziel.” She kept her voice low, barely above a whisper. “Can you hear me?”
Those crimson eyes opened—unfocused at first, swimming with pain. Then they sharpened on her face, and she saw recognition there. He couldn’t speak around the gag, but he gave a slight nod.
“Don’t try to move.” She positioned herself beside him, close enough that her shoulder pressed against his. It was a poor comfort. But it was all she had to offer. “The silver is spreading. If you struggle, you’ll only make it worse.”
His jaw tightened beneath the gag—whether in acknowledgment or frustration, she couldn’t tell. Probably both.
She looked at the wound in his leg, at the way the stake had been driven through muscle and probably bone. The Iltanis knew what they were doing. This wasn’t amateur work. They knew how to hurt vampires.
“I’m going to get us out of this.” The words felt hollow even as they left her lips. A lie she told herself as much as him. Because looking at Raziel now—looking at the state of him, at the guards at the door, at the silver stake that would make healing impossible—she couldn’t see a way out.
This wasn’t her fucking wheelhouse. She was an assassin. Her job was killing. Notsaving.
They were going to die here.
Kalo would see to that. Ebiti would see to that. This whole thing was a lie and a setup from the start. This was just “Plan B.” If Lana, Nabrisi, and Asha didn’t kill them? Well, let the Iltanis and the fae get the pleasure of seeing them hang. She should have known. She should’ve taken Raziel from the casket and taken them somewhere they could’ve lived their lives and just been some kind of happy.
Fuck.
She leaned her head back against the cold concrete wall and shut her eyes. Her people. Some part of her still couldn’t accept it. Her own people had sold them out to their worst enemies. But that was survival, wasn’t it? In the end, her life meant nothing. Just like Luciento’s hadn’t meant a moons-damned thing to her.
Raziel made a sound against his gag—something that might have been her name, if he could have formed the word. She opened her eyes to find him watching her, those crimson irises burning with something fierce and desperate.
“I know.” She reached out with her bound hands and touched his arm—the uninjured one. His skin was cold. Too cold. The silver was leeching the life from him drop by drop. “I know, Raz. I’m not giving up. I’m just…” She let out a breath. “Being realistic.”
He shook his head, the movement sharp despite his condition. Even now, even gagged and staked and bleeding out on a warehouse floor, the Serpent refused to admit defeat.
Stubborn bastard.
She loved him for it.
Even if she wanted to kick him for it sometimes.
The door to their room swung open, and Kalo stepped through. He was alone, his silver eyes sweeping over them like he was assessing livestock at a market.
“Nadi.” He jerked his head toward the door. “You’re coming with me.”
She didn’t move. “Whatever you have to say, you can say in front of him.”
