Page 48 of Heart of Thieves

“I don’t know, she seems rather fearsome to me.”

“She doesn’t stand a chance.”

I imagine facing off against him as Nocturne the way I did last night with Enzo. Instantly, the echo of his gunshot reverberates through my head, and my heart clenches.

I shouldn’t ask about last night. I don’t want to know, not truly, but the question spills out of my mouth before I can stop it. “Why did you shoot at me?”

His eyes lock on mine, cold and foreign and so not like the eyes I’ve dreamed about for months. And yet, somehow, beneath whatever icy layer shrouds him, I swear I almost see a flicker of him yet again.

Wishful thinking.

“You probably have theories,” he says softly. “Why don’t you pick one of them?”

His words hit cold and hard, and the Unbreakable Lie’s magic surges. I’m getting too caught up in this moment, and it seems I’ve drawn Enzo’s attention.

I push to my feet.

I can’t do this. Not when whoever that stranger is looks so much like Nic. Not when it feels like the one person who ever was honest with me is nothing but another deception come to unravel me all over again.

But before I duck out into the night, I glance back.

He stares, his smile faded, his posture too still.

Swallowing the tears threatening to pull me under, I shove out into the street and tighten my jacket as I hurry back toward the beach.

Estelle was right; the magic has taken over.

Nic is gone.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

NIC

I lean my forearms on the balcony railing of the apartment Laurel and I are sharing. When I stand here, watching the sun drop below the waves in the distance, I can almost convince myself I’m on my suite balcony at the Liar’s Den.

I breathe in deep the smell of saltwater tinged with automobile exhaust. It was torture sitting so close to Lola tonight, tasting her orange blossom scent on the air, hearing the angry timbre of her retorts, feeling the softness of her skin under my fingers.

I curl my fists around the railing until the iron bites into my palms. Laurel taking over during that conversation was a deeper violation than any other time she’s done it. It was wrong. It was evil. No gods, mythical or real, could condone that, no matter their reasoning. I just wish Laurel could see that.

But she won’t. Because that would mean facing her own culpability, and thanks to me, she never will.

The sharpness of Lola’s glare still pierces through me. The slight quaver in her voice when she spoke—You are not this, Donnic Sinclair—still reverberates in my ears. I nearly broke when she said that, nearly reached out to soften the crease between her brows, ease the hurt in her eyes. But Laurel took over my mouth enough times during that conversation, I knew I had to be careful. So I kept that starsdamned smile on my face and held myself together by my fingernails.

Why did Lola have to bring up Nocturne’s game? How will I keep Laurel away from it?

As if on cue, the door slides open behind me, raising the hairs on the back of my neck. My body prickles as Laurel joins me, cradling a cup of tea in her palms.

“We have to enter Nocturne’s game,” she says. “Or . . . go to the opening party, anyway.”

“Why?” I hedge, searching for an excuse to keep her as far away from it as possible. “Wouldn’t that distract from our task?”

She shakes her head. “It’s an opportunity. There is no way Salazar and St. James and the other families are going to sit it out. I say we take advantage of them gathering in one place.”

“Take advantage?” I repeat, raising a brow as I turn to face her. “Meaning what, exactly?”

“My magic can control a couple dozen people at a time.” Her eyes dance. “I could eliminate a whole slew of seaspawn if we go to that game. Get done in one night what it would have taken us weeks to accomplish.”

My stomach tightens, and I shake my head. “There will be innocents there.”