The solar eclipse.
My child.
I forced my expression to remain neutral, even as panic coiled in my chest. “When is the eclipse?”
Osman dragged a hand through his thick black hair. “Two months.”
A breath left my lips. Olivia wasn’t due for three months. Relief unfurled in my chest, and my shoulders dropped slightly.
“Well, don’t worry, Osman,” I said, patting his shoulder. “We’ll help you find your beloved.”
Osman didn’t respond.
His face paled, his lips slightly parted, his chocolate-brown eyes frozen on something behind me.
I turned, my instincts honing.
A figure shoved through the crowded tavern, stepping into the dim lantern light.
Raul Costa.
His gaze locked on Osman.
And he looked mad as hell.
Chapter 32
Roman
As Costa pushed through the crowd of noisy drinkers, Osman paled so drastically he could have passed for a ghost. His eyes darted frantically, searching for an escape.
Flanking Costa were several other Timehunters, their expressions hard and predatory. They swept their gazes across the tavern like wolves scenting their next kill.
I leaned toward Osman, keeping my voice low. “Get up. Move toward the back wall. Then disappear into the crowd. We’ll find you. We’ll help you.”
Osman stumbled, knocking over his chair with a loud clatter. A moan of distress escaped him as he hurriedly righted it before vanishing into the mass of bodies.
Costa’s head snapped toward the disturbance. His calculating eyes locked onto our table, his lips curling into a smirk as he strode toward us.
Marcellious and I casually picked up our ales, taking long, unbothered swigs.
Costa stopped beside us, his shadow stretching over the table.
“Well, well,” he drawled, his voice like rusted iron. “I know you.”
His finger jabbed in my direction.
I lifted my gaze, arching a brow in mock surprise. “What a wonder to see you! I told you—we’re explorers. Our quest has led us to this part of the world. What brings you here?”
Costa ignored the question, his eyes narrowing. “Where did your friend go?”
His gaze swept the room like a predator hunting wounded prey.
“Oh, him?” I said, swirling my ale. He excused himself to relieve his bladder. He’ll be back shortly.” I flashed a casual smile and took another sip.
The air was thick with smoke and the sting of liquor, voices clashing in a chaotic symphony. Yet, despite the noise, Costa’s presence pressed down like a tightening noose, his energy coiled and lethal.
He glanced over his shoulder, muttering something to his men. They nodded and peeled away, disappearing into the crowd. When he turned back to Marcellious and me, I repeated my question.
