The assassin fell to the floor with an ugly thud. He twitched, convulsed— Evangeline wasn’t quite sure of the proper words, only that he didn’t die immediately.

It was all rather horrifying, but she couldn’t say she was sorry. She could still feel her own blood staining the robe she held to her chest. It had been such a pretty gown, periwinkle blue and lined in delicate cream lace that was turning dark with the welling blood.

The assailant made a few gurgling sounds that resembled curses. “You’re wasting your last words,” said Archer. “I’m already damned.”

He leaned down and twisted his knife. When he pulled it out, blood spattered on his dark cloak and the pale shirt he wore beneath it, but he didn’t appear to care.

He stepped over the body and stalked along the edge of the bed, glowering at Evangeline.

“Why is it that people are always trying to kill you?” His voice was low, on the edge of something deadly. “You need to be more careful.”

“How is this my fault?”

“You have no sense of self-preservation.” Archer took another angry step. “If someone labeled a bottle poison, you would drink it. You take

warnings as invitations. You can’t seem to stay away from all the things that will hurt you.”

Like me.

She swore she heard the last two words in her head as he took another step toward her until he was standing so close, she could practically feel the hot fury pouring off him.

She needed to back away, to call her for guards, to tell him to leave. Her heart pounded impossibly fast.

But she found herself saying, “You’re not here to hurt me.”

“You don’t know that.” A muscle ticked in his jaw. “This morning I nearly tossed you over the side of a bridge.”

“You also just killed someone to save my life.”

“Maybe I just enjoy killing people.” Archer wiped his bloody blade on the sheets, but his blazing eyes never left hers. He still looked furious and feral. There was blood on his hands, and his eyes were shot through with it as well. Yet she’d never wanted anyone more.

She must have lost her mind sometime during the night because she wanted him to move closer. She wanted his hands on her. She wanted him holding her, restraining her, teaching her to fight. She didn’t care, as long as they were touching.

She told herself it was just the fear, the excitement, the blood rushing through her. It would fade in a minute. But the mad part of her didn’t want it to vanish.

Before she could think better of it, Evangeline reached for his hand.

The touch was electric. As soon as her fingers found his, the world started spinning. Her room turned into a kaleidoscope of night and sparks, and suddenly she was elsewhere.

She was in another memory.

It was dark and wet and for a second, she couldn’t breathe.

The icy water hit hard as earth. She thrashed on instinct, but someone held her tightly. His arms were unyielding, dragging her up through the crushing waves. Salt water snaked up her nose, and the cold filled her veins. She was coughing and sputtering, barely able to suck down air as he swam to the shore with her in tow. He held her close and carried her from the ocean as if his life depended on it instead of hers.

“I will not let you die.” A single bead of water dripped from his lashes onto her lips. It was raindrop soft, but the look in his eyes held the force of

a storm. It should have been too dark to see his expression, but the crescent moon burned brighter with each second, lining the edges of his cheekbones as he looked at her.

Evangeline’s entire world tilted as she recognized his face as Archer’s.

The crashing ocean felt suddenly quiet in contrast to her pounding heart, or maybe it was his heart.

Archer’s chest was heaving, his clothes were soaked, his hair was a mess across his face—yet in that moment, Evangeline knew he would carry her through more than just freezing waters. He would pull her through fire if he had to, haul her from the clutches of war, from falling cities and breaking worlds.

Evangeline’s mind spun as the memory ended. Days ago, when she’d glimpsed the last part of this memory, she’d thought the person who’d been carrying her was Apollo.

But she had been wrong. It had been Archer.

The day at the well had not been the first time he’d met her. She also doubted this new memory was of their first encounter. He’d held her with too much intensity.

As Evangeline’s senses returned to the present, the first thing she noticed was that Archer had crossed the bedroom. He was standing at the door and he wasn’t looking at her the same way he had in the memory, as if he’d walk through fire to save her. The hand she’d been touching was fisted at his side and he looked at her as if he wanted nothing more than to get away.

And she wanted nothing more than for him to stay.

She had so many questions, and not just about this new memory. She thought about how she’d reacted when Madame Voss had mentioned The Ballad of the Archer and the Fox. She’d thought the story had triggered her, but now she knew it was just the name. Archer.

It was him.

“I’ll make sure the guards clean this up and keep it quiet. But in case anyone asks, tell them that you killed the man who attacked you.”

Archer turned to go.

“Wait!” Evangeline called. “Don’t leave!” He didn’t stop.

He was already out of the room. But this time she chased after him.