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Two words I’ve been trying to keep within me claw their way up my throat with a guttural roar. “She’s mine.”
Their jaws drop open, though a long silence swells at my declaration.
Rory is my mate.
Chapter 8
RORY
She’s mine.
A shiver caresses my skin like a cool breath. That voice. I’ve heard it before. Hours ago in the quiet of a brownstone on Lionheart.
My blood heats as I pry Viv’s hand from my mouth. She hisses, steadying her sword and readying herself for whatever will come next.
The world spins in shades of indigo and firelight as Quill’s words rush back to me.
You are nothing like I expected.
Oh, heavens and stars eternal. He must’ve come to Gild the Lily because he knew I’d be there. But why sleep with me just to let me live? Is this all some kind of game?
Predator and prey?
Is that what he meant when he declared I was his?
His to kill?
Every question brings on another round of incertitude as Vivvy drags me out of the alley and onto Spade, where we collide with a squadron of hunters, their silver stakes gleaming beneath the moonlight.
“Blessed be and thank the stars,” their squad leader says. “We’ve been looking everywhere for the sacrifice.”
Vivvy sheaths her sword. “I’ve kept the sacrifice safe, but we need to get her home.” She pauses before adding, “I heard at least four vamps in Saint Helena’s courtyard.”
In a matter of minutes, Quill will be found, famed leader of the Mors Soluta or not. He’ll be captured and tortured, and King Joal will make a lesson out of him: to come for a sacrifice is to die a horrible, slow death. My hands tremble as I tuck them into my pockets, feeling the fabric of his clothing, and I envision his beautiful face desiccated and rotten, a husk of itself, hanging from a cross in the East Quarter for all to see, for all to celebrate.
Bile rises in my throat, and I swallow it down.
He had every chance to hurt me and he didn’t. I can’t seem to wrap my head around why this matters, but something deep within me promises that it does.
The squad leader glances into the alley, as if she can see beyond it, and then back at her troop. “You two”—she points to a pair of twins—“accompany Lady Vivian and the sacrifice to their carriage and to the manor.” The twins flank either side of us. Dressed in all black, they bow their heads in deference. “Nothing happens to either of them, do you understand me?”
They nod.
One fiddles with the frayed edges of a crimson ribbon tied around her wrist before unsheathing two stakes. “Let’s move.”
The streets are unbearably still, deathly still, as if even the strays fled from this part of the city. Just as we round the corner to the carriage, a prickling sensation tickles the back of my neck. Risking a glance over my shoulder, my knees nearly buckle. Three houses over, Quill perches on the roof’s edge like a watchful gargoyle. Deadly beautiful under the moonlight, lips playing at the edges in an inviting smile.
A good sacrifice would’ve never turned around.
A great sacrifice would’ve alerted Vivvy or the other hunters.
But I am neither good nor great, so with all the stealth of a garter snake, I pretend to drop something and mouth, Witching hour.
Chapter 9
RORY
Knock, knock, knock.
