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Panic filled my body.
I grabbed my knives from my bag and headed through the cellar hall. At the stairs, I peeked around the corner, knives ready. My hands shook, but I promised myself I would use them if necessary.
I took each solid stone step, swallowing down my fear. Every last possibility of who the intruder might be flashed through my mind.
The Enforcer from last night—had he awoken and seen us climb inside the grounds?
My heart whispered that it could be Graham coming to see me because he cared, but I shook my head, hardly allowing the unlikely thought.
And then I faced the awful possibility that it could be Graham, but not on friendly terms. He could be here to arrest me, to make me face my crimes.
Thinking of him made my hands react by lowering the knives. I couldn’t live with myself if I hurt Graham—no matter why he came. And the thought of killing him . . . well, I might as well be ripping out my own soul considering mine was completely wrapped up in him.
At the top of the stairs, I paused, the creaking stomps across the wood floor getting closer.
And closer.
I lifted the knives and stepped out of the stairwell into the dining room, instantly faced with a man who looked like a mirror image of me. Only the mustache he once had was missing, leaving his baffled expression on full display, and he held a black pistol.
“Lower your knives, Enforcer!” said Cael, holding up the gun.“That’s an order.”
I considered, for one hateful moment, throwing the knives into his heart and killing the man I despised.
Cael frowned and stepped closer. “Who sent you here?”
I swallowed, afraid to speak. Cael could recognize my voice, no matter how I sounded.
My eyes darted around the room. I wanted to run, but Cael’s gun was still in hand, and I doubted he’d have the same hesitations about killing that I did, especially if he thought I was a rogue Enforcer.
“Speak!” he growled. “The First Immortal asked you a question. Answering isnotoptional.”
I gathered my courage. I had to give it a shot. “No one sent me, Sir Ruskin.” My voice was low, formal, but ridiculously breathy. “I . . . was simply curious to see the home of the traitors with my own eyes.”
His eyes narrowed. “What is your name?”
“Graves,” I wheezed.
“Enforcer Graves,” said Cael, stepping ominously closer. “Pray tell, why is your mustache only partially attached?”
I stared back at him, clearly caught in my game but unwilling to admit it.
“And more importantly, how on earth did you get back into my city?” He eyed my knives for a moment, then suddenly reached up and snatched off my mustache.
I gritted my teeth to avoid swearing, but there was no saving my identity now.
Cael smirked, but it was no smile. It reeked of pride and anger and something that looked a lot loathing. “Hand over the knives, Mara.”
Chapter
Seventeen
I stepped back instinctively,the knives firmly in my grasp.
Cael raised his pistol toward my head. “I said hand them over.”
I glared at him with fury, giving up my knives with trembling hands.
Cael took them and tucked his gun into his holster. “I suspected you might be hiding out here after word got to me that an Enforcer was bludgeoned outside your gates. Where did you get that uniform?”
