I’m about to pull out my gun when?—
There’s a blur of black fabric and violence.
Something slams into the man from behind. His knife skitters across the ground.
A grunt. A thud. Then silence.
It’shim.
He stands between my attacker and me, breathing hard for the first time since I’ve met him.
The man on the ground isn’t moving.
He turns, slowly. “Are you hurt?”
I shake my head. My voice won’t work. My knees almost don’t, either.
He looks at my hand and sees the gun. He gently takes it away from me. I let him. I trust him.
Stupid, I know. But I do.
He tucks the gun away in his waistband.
“That wasn’t a mugger,” I say.
“No,” he agrees casually, like I just told him it’s going to snow later tonight.
“The other man…he was also not a mugger,” I state the obvious.
“No,” he repeats with the same insouciance as earlier. Then he adds, “He was sent to finish what someone else couldn’t.”
My stomach twists, hearing the words aloud. I knew, and yet….
“Who are you?” I ask. It’s time. I need answers.
“Not here.” He takes my hand, but I yank it away.
“Who are you?” I demand.
“Lucian Maddox.”
LucianMaddox.
I don’t know that name, but it sounds like destiny.
Lucian.
“Now, we must go. You’re not safe here.”
I look at the man on the ground, his blood spreading around him on the snow like a flower in bloom.
“Is he dead?”
“Yes.”
“Why are you?—”
He grabs my hand again, this time solid, this time I know he won’t let me pull away. “You’re not safe here anymore. Come with me.”
