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“Had,” Isaiah repeated, infusing more force into his words. “You had assassins, and now you don’t. Consider them eternally grateful to us for freeing them from oppression.”
It occurred to her that Ven had been too busy hiding and wouldn’t have had time to learn that she had freed his precious cargo. She sensed the rising fury first before it culminated into a booming, trembling snarl.
“What did you do?”
“I just took the opportunity while you were in here being a coward,” Isaiah mused.
“Hiding. Cowering,” she added.
“You don’t get to call me a coward,” Ven snapped, breathing hard.
“Why not? Are you…afraid of the truth?”
“He is,” she said.
“Darling, I couldn’t agree more. And I can’t wait for this to be over. You should have waited for me.”
“Let’s just say I knew you would be impatient, and I needed his answers.”
“I would have been patient just for you.”
The tenderness wrapped around her and made her glad she was reason enough for this side of Isaiah. When he cleared his throat, the force was back.
“Why don’t you surrender, Ven, before it’s too late?”
“The ghost ship—”
“Is a farce.” At this, Isaiah’s voice became cold. “To lure you. Remember Ivan Charles and Desiree Roe?”
“No.”
She knew it took all of Isaiah’s self-control not to rage then, but the man did it and sighed.
“Just come surrender.”
“No. It’s over.”
Ven’s scathing words didn’t make sense at first until she comprehended that he was responding to Isaiah’s earlier ones. Hatred rang, deep and unbending—the only warning before pipes erupted to her right, and she glimpsed the figure sprinting toward her. Not Ven.
“Isaiah, watch out!”
She dove in between some pipes, then hissed when the creature caught her ankle, anyway, and pulled her back. She rolled and kicked before a claw could dig into her and managed to connect with the creature’s scaled side before they both slipped. Clanging sounds and a slam gave her the leeway to jump back to the floor and run as fast as she could, which wasn’t enough as the creature shook its head, lasered in on her, and started its chase.
A figure lurked above, shadowy in the misty steam. Then Isaiah jumped into full view and went straight for the creature with his sword. She shielded the move with a yell.
“Right here. Come at me.”
Isaiah pushed the sword on the creature’s back. Instead of sinking in, it clattered back and he was left weaponless.
She dove forward and kicked the creature once more, then bodily grabbed it when it whirled to face him. She grabbed its head until sharp teeth grazed her shoulder, then backtracked when Isaiah got away. But a tail whipped toward her, twirling around her neck and yanking her with a force that jarred her senses.
She couldn’t see. It registered that this assassin was stronger than the one she had killed, and she might not be able to defeat it alone. Then she couldn’t take in air, the struggle tunneling her senses even while she tried to buck it off her. Her mobility was next to go as ice slithered in her pores. Pain flared, then burned a thousand sharp daggers that she felt in every vein.
“Let her go.”
The sword came again. This time, it stuck as it latched onto the skin between the scales, then glissaded like butter down the body. Seconds later, the weight was off her, and Isaiah was holding her up when her legs wouldn’t support her.
“Isaiah, it could have killed you.”
