Three years later…
The Vodina Isles Lord strutted down the center of the Great Hall of Wayfair Castle, the soft, steady thud of his polished boots echoing the silent tap of my fingers against my thigh. He was handsome in a rough-hewn sort of way, skin baked by the sun and arms honed from wielding the heavy sword at his hip. The smirk on Lord Claus’s face, the arrogant tilt of his fair head, and the burlap sack he carried told me all I needed to know about how this would go—but no one in attendance moved or made a sound.
Not the Royal Guards who stood in a rigid line before the dais, adorned in their finery. They looked ridiculous. Gold fringe fell from the puffed shoulders of their plum waistcoats, matching their pantaloons. Their lapeled coats and thick pants were far too heavy for the hot Carsodonia summer and didn’t really allow for unrestricted movement like the plain tunic and breeches the lower-ranking guards and soldiers wore. Their uniform screamed privilege that hadn’t been earned with the swords sheathed in their bone and stone-encrusted scabbards.
There was no movement from the dais, where the Queen and King of Lasania sat upon their diamond-and-citrine-jeweled thrones, watching the approaching Lord. The golden crowns of leaves atop their heads shone brightly in the candlelight, and while my stepfather’s eyes held a sheen of fevered hope, my mother’s showed utterly nothing. Standing stiffly beside the King, the heir to the kingdom appeared somewhere between half-asleep and annoyed by the responsibility that required his presence. Knowing Tavius, he’d likely prefer to be at least three cups deep in ale and between some woman’s legs by this time of the evening.
Queen Calliphe broke the tense silence, her voice crisp in the warm, heavy air thick with the scent of roses. “I did not expect you to answer the offer our Advisor made to your Crown.” Her tone was unmistakable. The Vodina Isle Lord’s presence was an insult. He was not royalty. And his
actions were clear. He did not care. “Do you speak on behalf of your King and Queen?”
Lord Claus stopped several feet from the Royal Guard, his unflinching stare tilted upward. He didn’t answer as his gaze traveled over the dais to the many columned alcoves. Beside me, Sir Holland, a knight of the Royal Guard, tensed, his grip on the sword at his waist tightening as the Lord’s survey glossed over me and snapped back.
I held his stare, an act I’d surely be reprimanded for later, but only a handful of people in the entire kingdom knew that I was the last of the Mierel bloodline, a Princess. And even less knew that I had been the Maiden promised to the Primal of Death. This smug Lord didn’t even know that the only reason he was standing here was because I had failed Lasania.
Even though I stood in the shadows, Lord Claus’s slow perusal was like a sweaty caress, lingering on the bare skin of my arms and the cut of my bodice before reaching my eyes. His lips puckered, blowing me a kiss.
I arched a brow. His smirk slipped.
Queen Calliphe noted the direction of his attention and stiffened. “Do you speak on behalf of your Crown?” she repeated.
“I do.” Lord Claus shifted his attention back to the dais.
“And do you have an answer?” the Queen asked as a rust-colored stain spread across the bottom of the burlap sack. “Does your Crown accept our allegiance in exchange for aid?”
Two years’ worth of crops. Barely enough to supplement the farm’s loss to the Rot.
“I have your answer.” Lord Claus tossed the sack forward.
It hit the marble with an oddly wet-sounding smack before rolling across the tile. Something round spilled out of the bag, leaving a spattering trail of…red behind. Brown hair. Ghastly pale complexion. Jagged strips of skin. Severed bone.
The head of Lord Sarros, Advisor to the Queen and King of Lasania, bounced off a Royal Guard’s booted foot.
“Dear gods,” gasped Tavius, jerking back a step.
“That’s our answer to your shit offer of allegiance.” Lord Claus edged back a step, hand going to the hilt of his sword.
“Huh,” Sir Holland murmured as several Royal Guards reached for their weapons. “Was not expecting that.”
I turned my head toward him, detecting what I thought was a hint of morbid amusement in the features of his deep brown skin.
“Cease,” King Ernald ordered, lifting a hand. The Royal Guard halted. “Now that I expected,” Sir Holland added under his breath.
I clamped my jaw shut to stop myself from doing something incredibly inappropriate. I focused on my mother. There wasn’t a single flicker of emotion on the Queen’s face as she sat there, her neck stiff and chin high. “A simple no would’ve sufficed,” she stated.
“But would it have had the same impact?” Lord Claus countered, that half-grin returning. “The allegiance of a failing kingdom isn’t worth a day’s worth of crops.” He looked at the alcove and continued backing up. “But if you throw the hot piece over there into the deal, I may be convinced to petition the Vodina Crown on your behalf.”
The King white-knuckled the arms of the throne as Queen Calliphe said, “My handmaiden is not a part of the bargain.”
Just like my mother, I showed no emotion. Nothing. Handmaiden.
Servant. Not daughter.
“Too bad.” Lord Claus climbed the short set of steps to the entrance of the Great Hall. Hand on the hilt of his sword, his elaborate bow was as much a mockery as what spilled from his well-formed lips. “Blessed be in the name of the Primals.”
Silence answered, and he pivoted, strolling out of the Great Hall. His laughter seeped into the hall as thick and cloying as the roses.
Queen Calliphe shifted forward as she looked at the alcove. Her gaze met mine, and a strange mix of emotions crawled over me. Love. Hope. Desperation. Anger. I couldn’t remember the last time she’d looked directly at me, but she did now, and it fueled the kernel of apprehension. “Show him what a hot piece you are,” she ordered, and Sir Holland cursed softly. “Show all the Lords of the Vodina Isles.”
A near choking sense of sorrow settled in my throat, but I shut that thought down before it could breed and take on a whole new life. I shut it all down as I exhaled, long and slow. Like the countless times before, emptiness seeped in through my skin. I nodded, welcoming the nothingness that sank into my muscles and penetrated my bones. I let the nothingness invade my thoughts until no inkling of who I was remained. Until I was like those poor, lost spirits that roamed the Dark Elms. An empty vessel once
again filled with purpose. It was like donning the Veil of the Chosen as I nodded and turned without word.
“You should’ve just given her to the Lord,” Tavius commented. “At least then, she might actually do us some good.”
I ignored the Prince’s caustic remarks and quickly walked through the alcoves, the skirt of my gown snapping around the low heels of my boots on my way out of the Great Hall.
The corridor was eerily still. I reached up and lifted the hood attached to the collar of my gown. I pulled it into place, an act driven by habit more than anything else. Many of those who worked inside Wayfair Castle knew me simply as the Queen had called me: a handmaiden. To most outside the castle, my features were those of a stranger, just as when I’d been veiled as a Chosen.
I stalked past the great mauve banners adorning the walls. They swayed, caught by the warm breeze rolling in through the open windows. In the center of each banner, the golden Royal Crest glittered in the lamplight.
A crown of gold leaves with a sword through the center.
The crest supposedly represented strength and leadership. To me, it looked as if someone were being stabbed through the skull. I couldn’t be the only one who thought that.
I passed the Royal Guards at the doors leading to the wall facing the Stroud Sea, where I knew the ship would be waiting to return to the Vodina Isles. Passing the stables, I crossed the courtyard and slipped out the narrow, smaller gate rarely used since it fed into a less-traveled trail through the bluffs overlooking Lower Town—a crowded section of warehouses and dens, catering to the dockworkers and sailors.
Under the moonlight, I navigated the steep pathway, aiming for the dark crimson sails I spotted above the squat, square ships bearing the Vodina crest. A four-headed sea serpent.
Gods, I hated snakes. One-headed or four.
Based on what Lord Sarros had said before the unfortunate incident of his head being severed, a small crew had traveled with Lord Claus—three additional Lords.
The briny scent of the sea filled the air and dampened my skin as I reached level ground and entered one of the alleys between the dark, quiet buildings. The soles of my boots made no sound against the cracked stone. I prowled toward the edge of a building catty-corner to the Vodina ship, the
edges of the gown’s hem fluttering soundlessly around me. Years of intensive training with Sir Holland had ensured that my steps were light, my movements precise. The near-silence in the way I could move was one of the reasons some of the oldest servants feared I wasn’t truly flesh and blood but some kind of wraith. Sometimes, it felt like I…I was nothing more than a faint trace of a specter—not fully formed.
Tonight was one of those nights.
A dozen feet from the docks, I stopped and waited. Sailors and workers crossed before the mouth of the alley, some hurrying about and others already stumbling. I slipped my hand through the thigh-high slit in the gown, curling my fingers around the handle of my dagger. The iron warmed to my touch, becoming a part of me. I felt the edge of the blade just above its sheath. Shadowstone. The shadowstone dagger was rare in the mortal realm.
A door down the street opened. Raucous laughter staggered out, followed by high-pitched giggles. I stared straight ahead, motionless in the shadows as I thought of my mother—my family. They’d probably already moved to the banquet hall, where they would share food and conversation, pretending as if the Lord of the Vodina Isles hadn’t just returned their Advisor to them minus his body. Pretending that this wasn’t another sign that the kingdom was on the brink of failure. I had never, not once, experienced supper with them. Not even before I’d failed. It hadn’t bothered me before. Not often, at least, because I had been Chosen. I’d had a purpose.
I have no need of a Consort.
Things had been hard after that. But when I turned eighteen? I was once more veiled and wrapped in that gauzy shroud of a gown and brought to the Shadow Temple as they summoned the Primal of Death.
He hadn’t shown.
Things were even harder when I turned nineteen. And then, six months ago, when I turned twenty and found myself once more seated on the throne in that damn veil and gown for the third time? They’d summoned him again, and still, he didn’t come. Everything changed then. I hadn’t known what hard was until then.
Before, they always sent my meals to my room—breakfast, a small lunch, and then dinner. After the first summoning, that changed. They skipped deliveries. Less food was sent. But by the last summoning, they
sent nothing at all to my chambers. I had to raid the kitchens during the short window of time where any food worth consuming could be found. But I could deal with that, as I could the lack of other necessities and new clothing to replace well-worn items. Many within Lasania had even less. The worst part was the fact that my mother had hardly spoken to me over the last three years. She barely looked at me, except on nights like this when she wanted to send a message. Weeks passed without me catching even a single glimpse of her, and while she had always been remote, I’d still spent time with her. She would check in on our training and even share a lunch with me every so often. Then there was Tavius, who now behaved with the knowledge that there was little if no consequences for his actions. The hours when I wasn’t training with Sir Holland—who believed the Primal would still come for me because I had never told anyone what he’d said, not even my stepsister, Ezra—and I was alone without anyone to spend time with or be close to, were long and passed slowly.
But tonight, she had looked at me. She had spoken to me. And this was what she wanted.
A bitter taste pooled in the back of my mouth as a familiar form appeared at the edge of the alley. I recognized the cut of the dark crimson tunic and the shine of his fair hair in the moonlight.
The beat of my heart was steady and slow as I lowered the hood, stepping out of the shadows and into the lamplight. “Lord Claus,” I called.
He stopped, turning to the mouth of the alley. His head tilted, and I didn’t know if I felt relief or pain or nothing at all as he said, “Handmaiden?”
“Yes.”
“Hell,” he drawled, stepping into the alley. “Did the bitch Queen change her mind?” Each step toward me was cocksure, unhurried and at ease. “Or did I catch your fancy?” He adjusted himself. “And make up your own mind?”
I waited until he was several feet from me, far enough away from the street. Then again, in this area of Carsodonia, one could scream, and no one would blink an eye. “Something like that.”
“Something?” Air whistled between his teeth as his gaze once more fixed south of my face on the swells of my breasts above the gauzy bodice. “I’m betting you know a lot about some things, don’t you?”
I wasn’t even sure what that meant, and I truly didn’t care. “The Queen was quite displeased with your answer.”
“I’m sure she was.” His thick chuckle faded. Finally looking at my face, he stopped in front of me. “I hope you didn’t come all the way down here and wait for me just to tell me that.”
“No. I came to deliver a message.”
“Is that message under here?” Lord Claus asked, curling a finger in the slit of my gown. “I bet it’s nice and warm and…” He pulled on the thin material, revealing my thigh sheath.
“The message is neither tight nor wet nor whatever other coarse word was about to come out of your mouth.” I withdrew the dagger.
His gaze shot to mine, his eyes widening briefly with shock. “You’ve got to be joking.”
“The only joke here is that you thought you’d live to see the night through.” I paused. “And that you so eagerly stepped into a trap.”
Anger crowded out the shock, mottling and twisting his features. Men and their fragile egos. They were so easy to manipulate.
Lord Claus swung a meaty fist at me, just like I knew he would, and I dipped under his arm, rising swiftly behind him. I kicked out, planting my foot in the center of his back. He staggered forward, grunting as he caught himself. Withdrawing his sword, he swept out with it in a wide arc, forcing me to dance back. That was one of the benefits of a larger weapon like a sword. It forced the opponent to keep back and on their toes, risking life and limb to get close. But it was heavier, and only a few could wield one gracefully.
Lord Claus wasn’t one of them. Neither was I.
“You know what I’m going to do?” He stalked forward.
“Let me guess. I’m sure it’s something disgusting having to do with your cock and then your sword.”
He made a misstep.
“Knew it.” I rushed under his attack, aiming low and kicking out, catching him in the midsection. The impact knocked him back a step, but he was quick to regain his footing, swinging out with an elbow that would’ve landed if I hadn’t ducked. He spun, thrusting out with the sword as I whirled to my left. The blade embedded deeply into the wall. Tiny plumes of stone dust exploded into the air, and I turned back, gripping his arm.
He pulled on the sword as I twisted around, slamming my elbow in the general vicinity of his face. Lord Claus cursed as his head jerked back. He tore the sword free, spinning toward me. Blood ran from his nose. He charged me but feinted to the right, twisting and lifting the sword high.
I lurched forward, grabbed his wealth of hair, and pulled hard, yanking him back sharply. The movement caught him off guard, and he lost his balance and started to go down. There was a reason I kept my hair braided and tucked under the cowl of my hood.
Grabbing his sword arm with my free hand, I slammed my elbow down on his wrist. I swept his legs out from under him, and he released the sword with a gasp.
Breathe in.
The sword fell with a heavy thump against the ground, and I brought the shadowstone dagger down. The blade was lightweight, but it was double- edged, each side sharp. Hold. The nothingness inside me began to crack, allowing the brief, choking heaviness of before to settle in my throat once more. I’m a monster whispered through my head.
“You stupid cu—”
Breathe out. I forced myself to move then. I struck fast, jerking his head up as I stabbed the dagger down. The end of the blade pierced the back of his neck, severing the spine and thus the connection to the brain.
Lord Claus jerked once, and that was it. There was no more sound. Not even a gasp. An internal decapitation was quick, not nearly as gruesome, and almost painless.
Exhaling raggedly, I eased the dagger free and gently lowered his too- loose head to the alley floor.
I rose, wiped the blade clean on the side of my gown, and then sheathed it. Turning, I spotted Claus’s fallen sword. Warmth gathered in my hands, the heat of my gift pressing against my skin. I clenched my fist, willing the warmth away. Stepping over the Vodina Isle Lord, I picked up the sword and got to work sending the message that would make my mother proud.
 |
All I thought about while hopping down from the ship onto the docks was my lake nestled deep in the Dark Elms.
I was decidedly…sticky as I severed the rope anchoring the Vodina ship to shore. The current was always strong in the Stroud Sea. Within minutes, the vessel was already drifting away. It would take days, maybe weeks, but the Vodina Isles Lords would return home.
Just not whole.
Stepping back from the glistening waters, I inhaled deeply. I smelled of blood and pungent, White Horse smoke—an addictive powder derived from an onyx-hued wildflower found in the meadows of the Vodina Isles and often ferried in by merchants. The Lords had been indulging in the smoke, and the scent was probably the source of the dull ache setting up residency in and around my temples. The headaches had been infrequent, starting in the last year, but had become more common. I was beginning to wonder if they would eventually become like those my mother suffered from, causing her to retreat to her private quarters for hours and sometimes even days at a time. Seemed fitting that one of the rare things we had in common would be pain.
At least the dark fabric of my gown hid the worst of my evening’s activities, but red spotted my arms and hands, already beginning to dry. Looking back at the drifting ship, I pitied the person who boarded that vessel.
I’d taken a step from the docks when a rough shout ended in a deep groan, and a peal of husky laughter drew my gaze to one of the nearby ships. The outline of two figures was visible in the glow of the streetlamps. One was nearly bent all the way over the railing of the ship, and the other was pressed tightly to their back. Based on how they moved, they were as close as two people could get.
My gaze flicked to where silhouettes leaned across the front of a den across the street. I wasn’t the only one watching.
Goodness.
In many parts of Carsodonia, people would be aghast by the behavior of those on the deck. But here in Lower Town, anyone could be as openly improper as they desired. It wasn’t the only place debauchery was welcomed.
One side of my lips tugged up, but the smile quickly faded as a bitter, piercing ache went through my chest. The emptiness opened, and I looked
down at myself, a little disgusted at the sight of the dried blood on my arms. I didn’t have to go to the lake. In reality, I didn’t have to do anything now that I’d done what my mother wanted. I was mostly…free. That was one of the small blessings of failing. I was no longer cloistered away, forbidden to travel beyond Wayfair grounds or the Dark Elms. Another blessing was the knowledge that my purity was no longer a commodity, a part of the beautifully crafted package. An innocent with a seductress’s touch. My lip curled once more. No one else knew that the Primal of Death would not be coming for me, but I did. And there had been no reason for me to guard what shouldn’t even be valued.
My gaze flicked back to the couple on the ship. A man had the other pinned to the railing, moving fiercely, his hips plunging with rather… impressive force. Based on the sounds, rather pleasurably.
My thoughts immediately wandered to The Luxe.
Sir Holland had once bemoaned my lack of interaction with my parents, claiming it made me prone to great acts of impulsivity and recklessness over the last three years. And he said this, not even knowing half of my most ill-advised life choices. I didn’t know if lack of attention from my mother and stepfather was of any consequence, but I couldn’t exactly argue with the knight’s perception.
I was impulsive.
I was also very curious.
Which was why it had taken me nearly two out of the past three years to work up the nerve to explore things forbidden to me as the Maiden. To experience what I’d read about in those improper books stored on the shelves of the city Atheneum, too high up for little fingers and curious minds to reach. To find a way to stop from always feeling so hollow.
“Oh, gods,” a sharp cry of release echoed from the ship’s deck.
The Jade had bathing rooms where I could wash away the blood. The Jade had many things to offer, even to me.
Mind made up, I lifted my hood and quickly crossed the street and headed for the Golden Bridge. In the last three years, I had discovered countless shortcuts, and that was the quickest way to cross the Nye River that separated the Garden District from other less fortunate quarters like Croft’s Cross. Where only one to two families occupied freshly painted manors and grand townhomes, and the inhabitants spent coin on luxe material, shared food and drink in rose-filled courtyards, and easily
pretended that Lasania wasn’t dying. On the other side of the Nye River, people couldn’t forget for a minute that the kingdom was doomed, where the only taste of an easier life was for those who crossed the Nye to work in the grand homes there.
Thinking of the bath and other activities awaiting me, I hurried along the narrow alleys and roads and finally made the steep walk up the hill, catching sight of the bridge. Gas streetlamps lined the Golden Bridge, casting a buttery glow across the jacaranda trees running along the riverbank. Before I crossed the river, I entered one of the many shadowy pathways that connected the many corners of the District.
Vines heavy with purple and white sweet pea blossoms covered the sides and tops of the arbors, spreading from one to another and another, forming long tunnels. Only the thinnest bit of moonlight led the way.
I didn’t let my mind wander. I refused to think about any of the Lords. If I did, I’d have to think about the nine that’d come before them, which would lead me back to the night I’d failed. And then I’d have to think about how no one would ever be as close to me as the two on the ship had been if they knew who I once was and what I had now become. I only allowed myself to think about washing away the blood and the scent of smoke. Of stealing some time where I could forget and become someone else.
A shrill cry stopped me in my tracks. I wasn’t sure how far I’d traveled, but that was nothing like the cries that had come from the deck of the ship.
Wheeling toward the source of the sound, I found the closest exit and hurried out from under the vine tunnels onto an eerily quiet street. Scanning the darkened buildings, I saw the lit stone bridge that joined the two sides of the Garden District and knew exactly where I was.
The Luxe.
The narrow lane didn’t come by that moniker because of the stately townhomes. It was the things secreted away in the lush gardens. The establishments with black doors and shutters that promised…well, all different types of splendor and, ironically, exactly where I’d been heading.
I wouldn’t have expected The Luxe to be so sedate at this time of night. The gardens were almost always full of people. Tiny bumps prickled my skin as I walked down the stone sidewalk, staying close to the hedges that obscured the gardens.
A man suddenly darted out onto the path several feet ahead of me. I jerked back a step. All I could make out in the glow of the streetlamp was
that he wore light-colored breeches, and his white shirt was untucked. He shot past me, seemingly unaware that I was there. I twisted at the waist, watching him disappear into the night.
The sound came again, this time shorter and hoarser. Slowly, I turned around and crept forward, passing a townhome where curtains billowed out from windows, stirred by the warm breeze. My hand drifted inside the slit of my gown to my dagger.
“Do it,” the raspy voice broke the silence. “I will never—”
A flash of bright, silvery light spilled out onto the sidewalk and into the empty lane as I reached the corner of the townhome. What in the…?
Telling myself that I needed to mind my business, I did the exact opposite and peered around the side of the building.
My lips parted, but I made no sound. Only because I knew better. But I wished I had minded my business.
In the courtyard of the darkened townhome next door, a man was on his knees, his arms outstretched, and his body bent backward at an angle that wasn’t natural. The tendons in his neck stood out in stark relief, and his skin…it looked lit from within. A whiteish light filled the veins of his face, the inside of his throat, and ran down into his chest and stomach.
Standing before him was a…it was a goddess. Under the moonlight, her pale blue gown was nearly as translucent as my wedding gown. The dress gathered low over the swells of her breasts and was cinched tightly at the waist and hips, ending in a pool of shimmering fabric around her feet. A glittering sapphire brooch pinned the diaphanous material over one shoulder. Her skin was the color of smooth ivory. Her hair glossy and jet- black.
Spotting a god or goddess in the capital wasn’t exactly a shock. They often found their way into the mortal realm, usually out of what I imagined was extreme boredom or the need to carry out some business on behalf of the Primal they served—who rarely, if ever, crossed over.
From what I’d been taught about Iliseeum, their hierarchy was similar to that of the mortal one. Instead of kingdoms, each Primal ruled over a Court, and in place of noble titles, they had gods who answered to their Courts. Ten Primals held Court in Iliseeum. Ten that ruled over everything that lay between the skies and the seas, from love to birth, war and peace, life, and…yes, even death.
But what shocked me was that this goddess had her hand on the man’s forehead. She was the source of the white light inside his veins.
The man’s mouth stretched open, but no sound came from his throat. Only silvery-white light. It poured from his mouth and eyes, crackling and spitting as it shot up into the sky, stretching higher than the townhome.
Dear gods, it was eather, the very essence of the gods and the Primals. I’d never seen one use it like this, nor did I think it would ever be necessary to kill a mortal in this way. It simply wasn’t needed.
The goddess lowered her hand, and the eather vanished, casting the courtyard once more into shadows and fractured moonlight. The man…he didn’t make a sound as he fell forward. The goddess stepped out of his way, letting him fall upon the grass face-first as she looked down at her hand, her full lips curling in distaste.
I knew the man was dead. I knew the eather had done that, even if I hadn’t known it was possible to use eather in such a manner. Warmth gathered under my skin, and it took everything in me to push the urge down.
The goddess’s head swung toward the open door of the townhome. A god walked out, his skin the same pearlescent shade, though his hair was nearly as long as hers, falling down his back like liquid night. He carried something in his hand as he walked down the short set of steps, something small and pale, lifeless and…
Terror chilled me to the bone, despite the sweltering heat of Carsodonia’s summer. The god was holding a…a swaddled infant by its feet. A wave of nausea surged up so fast that it clogged my throat.
I needed to turn away and mind my own business. I didn’t want the goddess or god to notice me—I had nothing to do with the nightmare unfolding before me. I had seen more than enough.
The god flung the infant, and it landed next to the male mortal at the edge of the goddess’s shimmering gown.
This had nothing to do with me. Whatever the gods chose to do was no concern of any mortal. We all knew that while the gods could be generous and kind, they could also be cruel, and when angered, they could be merciless. Every mortal learned that from the moment they were born. Perhaps the mortal man had done something to provoke their wrath, but that was a baby—an innocent, discarded like trash by the god.
Yet, despite everything, I found myself gripping the hilt of my shadowstone dagger—a blade capable of killing a god. The horror had morphed into searing rage. I was no longer empty or numb. I was filled to the brim with dark fury. I doubted I could take down both of them, but I was certain I could get him before facing the Primal of Death once more. I had no illusions; tonight, my life would end.
And another tiny, hidden part of me, one born the moment my mother’s slap had stung my cheek, had stopped caring if I lived or died.
I stepped out from around the building—
The only warning was the stir of air around me—a breeze that smelled of something clean and citrusy.
A hand clamped down on my mouth, and a strange jolt went through me at the exact moment an arm folded around me, pinning my arms to my sides. The shock of the contact—the jolt of someone touching me, touching my skin with theirs—cost me the split second I had to break the hold. I was jerked back against the hard wall of a chest.
“I wouldn’t make a sound if I were you.”
