Page 13 of Break Out the Girl

And at this moment, quite literally.

No doubt the search parties will find me soon, then what? Before, I was free to leave Quo whenever I desired. That was the arrangement.

But now I am also a criminal. I doubt very much my father will desire to glad-hand a judge on my behalf, seeing as I took his treasure away.

A faint, rhythmic vibration ripples through the limestone floor.

Footsteps. Heavy, uneven, and rapidly approaching.

I stiffen my shoulders, forcing my spine flat against the cold stone. The patrol has arrived. Drawing a shallow, painful breath, I try to summon even a fraction of my powers—once I could collapse the cavern ceiling upon their heads— but my magic remains spent.

I will have to settle for the weapon of my voice. I shall treat these custodians with the absolute disdain they deserve. Demand they obey me. That might buy me a few minutes to make a more accomplished plan.

The thick brush at the mouth of the cave is violently shoved aside but the scent that bleeds into the cavern isn’t the sour tang of suppression darts.

It’s the unmistakable crisp, fresh aroma of her. How she always brings the clean mountain air with her is a mystery, but I adore it.

A massive wolf slides through the narrow opening, Bevan, with Aurora on his back. She slides off, landing with a soft huff as her feet hit the dirt. A clatter of hooves follow and I see a half-man, half…goat?

London is a satyr? Bon sang!

“Shane!” he exclaims, directing the moniker at me, even though that is not my name. “We’re back! Did you miss us? Check out my horns.” The satyr strokes the protrusions pushing through his matted hair.

I don't spare him a second more attention. Instead my gaze narrows in on Aurora. Her pale golden hair is plastered to her skull, she’s covered in mud, leaves and wolf dander and utterly disheveled.

She has never looked more beautiful.

I think I utter the word out loud.

Her cheeks flush a bright pink and she drops to her knees, right beside me on the rocky ground. Within a beat, her hands, trembling slightly, are on my face, fingertips pressing against my jawline.

“François,” she whispers, her ice-blue eyes wide as they search my face through the gloom.

Her hand slides upward to my forehead, as if checking for a fever. “You look terrible. Your skin is completely gray.”

I cannot answer. A sensation behind my ribs is intensifying. It’s almost as though the muscle of my heart is being plucked in three separate directions.

My mouth goes dry. I want to lean into the touch, to close my eyes and let the simple warmth of her thaw the ice in my bones, but the wolf is watching from the shadows, his amber eyes burning with a silent warning.

With an effort of sheer, agonizing will, I gently detach her fingers from my face, masking my weakness behind a slow, supercilious smirk.

“Please, Aurora. Your hands are like icicles,” I drawl, though my voice is a fraction more gravelly than I intended. “I am perfectly intact. The slight challenge of Null-Wards would hardly make me expire.”

My coolness doesn’t make Aurora pull away. Instead her gaze drops to my hands.

“Your palms,” she says, her voice losing its breathy panic and sharpening into something practical. “There’s black fluid coming out of the skin.”

Ah yes, that.

“A minor side effect of the molecular transmutation,” I answer dismissively, curling my fingers into fists to hide the raw, decaying flesh from her sight. “The iron in the prison wall was remarkably stubborn. It required an… aggressive dosage to dissolve it into dust.”

She lets out a short, sharp breath. “And you did that for us. For Sky. Thank you.”

“I did it for you, chérie, so you could find your sparrow.” I do not let my mask slip for the briefest heartbeat.

No one can see the unpalatable truth—that I have a microscopic drop of care for the others too.

“The rest of this party is merely baggage you insisted on bringing along.”