Kauss kneels beside me, and the ground seems to dip under his weight. His face appears above mine, blurred at the edges. The fury is still there, but it wars with something that looks almost like fear.
“Evie.”
My name in his voice should not comfort me as much as it does.
“Hey,” I manage, or think I manage. “You came.”
“Do not move.”
“Wasn’t planning on dancing.”
His hand hovers near my face, massive and clawed and trembling with restraint. He touches my shoulder with impossible care, as if I am made of spun sugar and bad decisions.
“You are hurt.”
“Little bit.”
His eyes darken. “More than little.”
I want to tell him I am fine because that is what I say when I am not. I want to make a joke because fear is easier when I can put it in clown shoes. But my tongue feels thick, and the alley keeps fading in and out.
“Bakery,” I whisper.
“What?”
“Lock the door.”
Something moves through his expression. Pain, maybe. Anger, definitely. “I will.”
“Good.” My eyelids feel heavy, and I fight them because closing my eyes seems like a bad idea. “Don’t let Darlene smoke inside.”
For some reason, that makes his mouth tighten like he has been struck.
“Stay awake,” he orders.
“Bossy,” I breathe.
“Yes.”
The darkness presses closer. His hands slide beneath me with terrible gentleness, lifting me from the wet pavement as if I weigh nothing. Pain flares in my ribs and head, and I groan against his chest. He goes absolutely still except for his breathing.
“I have you,” he says.
The words follow me down as consciousness slips. I hear his heart, or maybe one of his hearts, pounding hard beneath my ear. I smell rain, blood, leather, and something warm like smoke caught in stone.
Then I hear one last sound before the dark takes me completely.
Kauss, whispering my name like a promise and a curse.
CHAPTER 4
KAUSS
Rain turns the rooftops of Halo slick as oil and black as old blood.
I crouch on the parapet above Mercy Street with one hand braced against wet concrete, my claws sunk deep enough into the crumbling edge to keep my weight from shifting when the wind comes hard off the harbor. The city below tastes of rust, brine, cheap fuel, frying grease, and human fear. Neon bleeds across the pavement in fractured colors, purple from a broken entertainment sign, yellow from a failing streetlamp, blue from the bakery’s tooth-shaped glow two blocks over. Water runs down the ridges of my face and slips beneath the collar of my coat, but I do not move toward shelter. Shelter is for people who expect the night to let them rest.
I am watching the Poison Memories before Evie turns the corner.
