I ripped through his jacket and the shirt underneath. His skin was on fire, his body already rejecting the foreign intrusionof the bullet. And it was slick with blood, my fingers slipping and sliding through it as I tried to expose the wound so that I could dig the bullet out. He was losing so much blood. How did a body have so much blood to lose? How was I supposed to do this? I was a dancer not a doctor, damn it!Focus, Seraphina. You have to save him.
I allowed myself one deep, steadying breath. I thrust the knife into the muscle below Ciaran’s shoulder. He groaned, the blood squelching as I dug in, twisting the knife to try and open the wound so I could reach the bullet. It was so deep inside of him. I was beginning to think I’d never get to it.
Ciaran gasped as the knife cut through muscle. I was butchering him. He had to be in agony. “I’m so sorry.” I sobbed as I burrowed further. And then, I felt it. The knife hit something hard and metallic. The bullet. But how was I supposed to get it out? This was a knife, not tweezers. I needed a way to grab it. There was only one option, and I didn’t like it.
“Ciaran, I’m so sorry,” I whispered.
I plunged my fingers into the wound.
If we hadn’t been trying to hide, I’m sure he would have screamed. As it was, I could feel his entire body tensing from the pain. But he kept still for me. I had one hand on the knife, holding the wound open, and the other was digginginsideCiaran’s chest. More blood leaked out of him as I opened the wound further. I was so close, my fingers sliding through muscle and sinew. Finally, it was there. Small, round, metallic. That such a little thing could do so much damage. I grasped it and pulled my hand out of his chest. Ciaran gasped for air. He had to be ready to pass out from the pain. I dropped the cursed piece of metal on the ground and promptly vomited.
Ciaran wasted no time. He placed his right hand over the wound, his golden healing light emanating from beneath it. He leaned his head against the wall, eyes closed, as he let the healingmagic flow into him. We were still cocooned in his shadows. He was using a lot of magic concurrently—powerful. I watched as golden light poured into his chest—it was finding and healing every rip and tear the bullet had caused. Every gouge my knife had made in him. And within a few seconds, the wound was closed completely. Just as it had with my ankle, that golden magic had healed him entirely.
I breathed a sigh of cautious relief. We were still on the run, but at least Ciaran wasn’t bleeding anymore. At least he wasn’t going to bleed out in front of me on the street.
“Thank you, love.” Ciaran opened his eyes, finding mine like a magnet, but the moment was interrupted when a group of three gendarmes entered the alleyway, and we were forced to move. They may not have been able to see us, but they would certainly feel us here, if they tried to walk through the area where we hid.
We had to keep going. There were more and more of them out here in the streets. They had seen us escape the opera house and they knew we’d only be able to get so far. We were being corralled toward the river. Whether they knew it or not, Scion’s gendarmes were leading us farther and farther away from safety.
We crept down that alleyway and turned down another, hoping to loop back around toward the opera house, but there were more gendarmes that way. We were forced northward again. And again. Until our only option was to cross the river to get away from the gendarmes. There were so many of them—they were desperate to capture us. Ciaran Fahy and Seraphina Dallier, two witch burnings for the price of one. The King Beneath and his Witch Whore. The Phantoms of Lutesse.
The Sequana rushed below us,faster than usual, as if she were urging us onward—to get away. We raced across the bridge, avoiding the golden lamplight overhead as much as possible. We seemed to have lost the gendarmes, but it wouldn’t be long before they crossed the river as well. And on the north side, we had no way of getting back to the City Beneath. We were trapped. We were also extremely conspicuous wearing the costumes from the masquerade. We could not risk going back to the south side of the Sequana while they prowled the streets.
A group of pedestrians strolled toward us—seemingly travelling from one stop on their nightly entertainment circuit to another. Ciaran yanked me into a darkened alcove before they had time to notice us.
I was pressed against his chest, his arms banded around my back, shadows swirling around us, hiding us from the revellers. But when I looked up into his eyes then, I saw no hint of pain or panic anymore, no concern, only pure, predatory hunger.
This evening had been an utter disaster. Everything that could have possibly gone wrong, had gone wrong. Ciaran had been shot, for fuck’s sake. Yet here we were, tangled up in an alcove, staring into each other’s eyes, electric pulse thrumming between us, as it always did when we were in such close proximity. My breath caught in my throat, and my chest tightened again, this time for an entirely different reason. Magic was thick in the air, twining through the shadows Ciaran conjured. It seemed to be leaking from me too—sizzling around us. A low pulse throbbed deep within me, aching, needing, wanting. We were so close now—our breaths mingled, andCiaran’s hands flattened against my back, sliding to my hips, lower.
I bit my lip, not daring to say anything as we hid in the shadowy alcove. As Ciaran’s hands roved down my back, I slid mine up, placing my palms on his chest. I had just had my handsinsidethis chest. But he was alright. And he was firm and warm and safe and sturdy, and all I had to do was lift my chin slightly and we would have been kissing. Finally crossing that knife’s edge that we had balanced on for so long.
Ciaran tensed, looking over my shoulder into the street behind me. Whatever he saw made him swear and step further into the alcove, pulling me with him. His shadows deepened, and I couldn’t see him at all. All I could feel was his ragged breath as I slid my hands up around his neck, his pulse racing as quickly as my own. He pulled me even closer, our bodies pressed so tightly now that I could feel his need, as demanding as my own, pushing against my hip.
And that pulsing unyielding need was my undoing; I tilted my chin and found his lips with mine. It was like a dam breaking. We’d been holding back for so long, neither of us giving into this need that was so raw, but no more. Ciaran met me, his lips hot and urgent as they pressed into mine. A breath escaped him. No, not a breath. A gasp. His arms banded tighter around my back, hauling me even closer. My mouth opened and his tongue swept in, sweet, hot and insistent. The kiss deepened, a furious clash of tongues and teeth and breath. My hands tangled in Ciaran’s hair, running through the short-cropped sides. Ciaran’s hands continued to rove down my back, sending shivers up my spine as they came to rest on my hips. Ciaran pulled away, swearing quietly.
“Fuck, I did not expect our first kiss to be like this.” He sounded as breathless as I was.
“What did you expect?” I whispered, hoping he didn’t regret what had been done—what line we had crossed. I certainly didn’t.
“Not to be running from the law. Not to have just been shot. Not to be literally escaping death?” He growled, frustration apparent. “As much as I’d like to stay here and take you in this alcove, we have to keep moving.”
I wasn’t sure my body was going to obey—every muscle was taut yet languid after the fury of that kiss, our first kiss. But I followed him back into the street, now blessedly empty. It was late. I didn’t know what Ciaran was planning, but I trusted him. After everything that had happened between us—everything that had happened tonight alone—I trusted him.
He gripped my hand, leading me down the street. We ducked down another alley, then another, until we came to the nondescript doors of a tavern. This was not one of the sleek and high-end nightclubs of the entertainment district. This tavern was loud and seedy, the air thick with tobacco smoke and dreamweed; the patrons were a rough crowd. This late in the evening, most of them were well on their way to shitfaced. At least Ciaran and I wouldn’t look out of place walking in covered in blood. His jacket was still soaked in it, as were my hands. But it seemed like many in this tavern had been brawling. We would have been more out of place if weweren’ta bloody mess.
Apparently, this tavern was also an inn. Ciaran sidled up to the bar and requested one of the rooms housed in the upper levels of the derelict building. We were in luck. There wasoneleft. It didn’t seem wise for us to separate anyway. Not when we were in such danger. The man behind the bar didn’t ask any questions about our attire. This seemed to be the kind of place where one didn’t ask a lot of questions.
“We can lay low here for the night,” Ciaran said into my ear as the man behind the bar turned to grab the key for the room.“We should be safe enough. No one in this place will talk to Scion.”
Because they were likely all involved in shady or criminal dealings? Perhaps. But I nodded my head, which was still swimming from everything that had happened. At some point during the chase through the city, my mask had reappeared on my face. I didn’t remember putting it back on. But perhaps Ciaran had replaced it. Had he done it with magic? Either way, I was glad to have it on. At least no one in the tavern would be able to recognize my face from the papers. He had pulled his own mask over his eyes as well.
“We should stay for a drink. Our outfits have drawn attention. We need to act like we belong.” Ciaran surveyed the smoke-filled room and made his assessment. I nodded, spotting a free high-top table in the back corner of the room.
“We can sit over there?” I jerked my chin toward the table. Ciaran nodded and ordered us a couple of lagers.
We sat in silence, sipping at the pale, skunky beers. It was hard to tell what he was thinking, his face hidden beneath the bone mask. I couldn’t keep my eyes off Ciaran’s hands wrapped around the chilled glass—his strong, capable fingers…
“Are you alright?” Ciaran put his beer down, speaking in a tone so low I was sure no one else could hear it.
