Page 3 of Break Out the Girl

“Tally and François?” London looks puzzled, like he’s forgotten they existed.

“The men we escaped with?”

“Oh, right. Those blokes.” He tilts his head, ears rotating. “Huh. That’s weird, it’s like someone messed with my dial. I don’t hear them.”

Considering his new ears, that doesn’t seem like a good sign. “OK, so when was the last time you saw them?”

He steps closer, putting his warm, still-human hands on my shoulders. “When we legged it from that drafty dungeon, love. I didn’t look back because you’d gone all flippy floppy and Captain Burt told me to run.”

Once again, a desire just to dissolve into London’s warm arms overtakes me.

No, I can’t.

I shake my head, trying to rattle the cobwebs loose. “Tally must have stayed behind to help François,” I mutter, the memory finally solidifying. “He’d collapsed. Using that magic to coat us, dissolve the wall. I think it drained him. Wait! The creatures! They were going to attack.”

The thought of Taliesin being hurt makes my chest tighten.

And de Vaux?

My heart gives an uneven thump.

We wouldn’t have escaped without François. Even though I hate his father, François has done nothing but help me.

It’s complicated.

London tilts his head, his swirling green eyes go wide, catching the starlight. “I’ll go look for them,” he whispers, his breath warm against my hair. “I’m catching the whispers of the trees, they’re worried.”

“I’m coming with you.”

He pulls back just enough to look me in the eye, his expression shifting into something uncharacteristically solemn. “Me, Shivery-Shane and Burt are made of hard things. Like rocks and old grudges.” His fingers trace the line of my shoulder, sliding down to the sleeve of my rough, gray jumpsuit. “But you, love,” he says softly. “Are sugar and spice and all things nice. All the things this topsy-turvy world wants to bake into a pie.” He pauses, looking up at the night sky. “I hear you,” he says.

“Hear who?”

“The moon. She’s beaming us down a warning. Silver-alert, Kitten. We don’t want to ignore it.” He squints again then grins. “Naughty, naughty. She just informed me that if I go, you’re going to try and follow and that’s definitely a bad idea.”

“We are not taking instructions from the moon, London.”

“No, sweetpea, we’re not. But I am.” He looks thoughtful for a moment, then nods. “Yep. Agreed.”

What he’s saying seems so ludicrous, but do I argue with a man who just turned into a mythical beast? I climb on, putting my arms around his shoulders.

London takes off with a bounding leap, but the next second we aren't moving forward—oh no, that would be far too simple. We are scrambling up a massive tree, a towering redwood or something similar. My stomach swoops as London bounces from branch to branch like a mountain goat.

Oh right.

Goat.

When we’re almost at the top, he slows to a stop. “Here we go. Grab that branch, Kitten.”

And that’s when I realize I don’t like heights. At least, I don’t like being three hundred feet in the air on a bendy tree limb. My knees feel weak as I hold onto the thick branches for dear life. “OK, so what now?” I ask, trying not to yelp as the wind buffets the canopy.

“Now, my little tree-cat. You keep watch. I’ll be back soon.”

And with that, he disappears.

“LONDON!” I yell. “GET THE FUCK BACK HERE.”

But he’s already vanished from sight.