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I need to put her at ease.
Offering her a hand like a true gentleman, I bow slightly. “Shall we, Rory?”
“You’re not a psychotic murderer, are you?” she asks, squinting, assessing.
“Of course not,” I say as she hesitantly places her soft palm against mine. “I’m completely sane.”
Instead of pulling away, throwing herself back into the alleged safety of Gild the Lily, or screaming for her guard, she… laughs.
My dead heart likes the sound of it.
I give my mind a firm shake. I do not like the bubbliness of her laugh or her fresh scent of wildflowers and vanilla.
Wait. Who said anything about her scent?
Pushing all that aside, her hand dwarfed by mine, I guide her down the stairs and around the cobblestone I kicked loose. Though her heart still beats rapidly and her palm slickens against mine, her breath comes easier with every step we take away from the boutique.
“Does your brother live close by?” she asks. Her mellifluous voice ricochets off the grimy brick walls as a rather well-fed rat scurries past us, squeaking. “Cress only gave me two hours, and if the walk eats up most of it, then maybe—”
“His home is on Lionheart,” I tell her, side-stepping a suspicious pile of waste. “So, only a few minutes from here.”
“My sister dated a boy who lived on Lionheart a few years ago.” She releases my hand to tug her cloak tighter around herself. “When they broke up, she refused to walk by the street for an entire year.”
“Young love,” I muse. “It’s a brutal thing to recover from.”
She exhales, a puff of air clouding in front of her face. “That it is.”
Her hands ball into fists at her sides, tight enough for her sharp nails to dig into her palms. If it hurts, she doesn’t seem to notice. Something in the frown tugging at her lips gives me pause. Is she… sad? Does she have a lover or ex-lover somewhere in the city who she longs for?
Unfamiliar feelings spur within the silent shell of my chest.
I squash the sensation like a wet lump of garbage beneath my boot.
I don’t want to know anything else about her. Even if some part of me, deep down and buried, does. It’ll make what I have to do that much harder.
I do not want to know anything else.
We take a right out of the alley onto Spade, another busy street in the East Quarter. Passersby barely spare Rory a second glance, all their attention drifting to me, then away as if we are no one of importance. They see what I want them to see—two young travelers from Woodbourne, dressed in sage green, here to revel in the spectacle of tomorrow’s rite. The dark clouds above us swell with the promise of unshed rain as we pass shop after shop. Any minute now, it’ll start pouring, erasing her scent and mine from this street.
“Have you ever been in love?” she asks, glancing at me sideways. The chatter of shoppers and people busying themselves on Spade quiets behind us as the shopfronts turn to brownstones. “Actually, don’t answer that. It’s incredibly forward.”
I cock a brow. “And asking a stranger to venture into the night with you isn’t?”
A thunderclap rumbles, and a light dusting of mist begins peppering our clothes as we take a right onto Lionheart.
“Forgive me for what must be such a terrible flaw,” she says, shivering. We cross through a patch of witchlight, and I must imagine the shadows I think I see pooling in her hazel eyes.
Before I can reply, Carver’s townhome comes into view. I draw to a stop at the base of the stoop. Rory tilts her head back to take in the brick face of the building, the wrought-iron railings, and stained-glass, arched door. To her, it must look as if Carver has eclectic taste. She angles her face toward mine. Her hood slips off with the movement, allowing long, dark hair to swirl in the misty breeze around her. Unbidden, I catch a few silky strands between my fingers and then let them go.
Her scent—wildflowers and vanilla—is so familiar. Why is it so familiar?
The faint sound of music drifts toward us from the tavern the next street over. It’s rowdy and obscene and—
Rory laughs. “Oh, I love this one!” She grabs my hands. “Will you dance with me?”
Hesitation claws at me. I shouldn’t. I really, really shouldn’t. If any of my kindred are watching, I will never hear the end of it. And to risk Mihal’s wrath…
Her smile falters, and I cave.
