Where the liquid had touched, Lalo’s skin began to blister and sizzle. The sound reminding her of bacon on a frying pan. Disgust rocked through her. As he cursed in agony, she grasped the stake in her hand tighter, feeling the wood bite into her palms.
Plunge it into his heart,she told herself.Finish what you started before it gets even more out of hand. Show everyone what you can do.
“Don’t hurt him!” Fernanda fell beside them. “Please!”
Lalo’s maddened eyes softened. His head swiveled toward his sister’s. He blinked.
“Fernanda?” he rasped.
His attention moved to Carolina, who was still very much underneath his weight.
“Oh no,” he whispered. He peered down at his palms, andfor the first time, Carolina noticed there was inky blood on his hands. Horror twisted his features. “Did I hurt anyone?”
“No,” Carolina said softly. The gentleness coming from her own lips surprised her.
Lalo sighed in relief.
He winced. Shakily, he pulled back his coat. A dark spot stained the center of his chest. Lalo blinked. “I believe I’ve been shot.”
His eyes rolled back, and he slumped, landing face-first in the dirt.
September 3, 1829
LOS CAMPOS SOCIALITES
By Doña Larissa Cordova
Eduardo Villalobos the Second entered the police station on Sacramento Avenue a little after dawn. He is the son of the late well-known luxury boot tycoon, Eduardo Villalobos the First. People at the station overheard the younger Eduardo screaming about a beautiful woman eating his parents. Of all the absurd things to say.
His younger sister, Fernanda Villalobos, has recently joined polite society. Though Fernanda was the belle of every debutante ball she attended, I suspect that behind closed doors, she is as strange as her older brother, who has always been a recluse. Will Señorita Villalobos find a proper male suitor? Will the troubled son of Los Campos’s favorite socialites ever take a wife?
CHAPTER 13
Lalo
From the window Lalo watchedhis parents step onto the cobbled road in front of their townhouse in Los Campos. They walked arm in arm, both dressed in their finest clothes for some charity ball. Someone in a cloak sauntered by. Mother’s heel got stuck between two stones. Father knelt, laughing at the situation. He must have pulled too vigorously because Mother’s shin popped him in the nose so hard, he bled. The person in the cloak halted. Pale and delicate hands pulled back the hood, and long red hair flowed freely in the breeze. Her eyes glowed like embers. Then she struck.
Lalo jerked awake. He gasped for air.
His fingers brushed over the bedsheets that had been thrown loosely over his legs and torso. Odd, seeing as he never slept without them tucked tightly around him. Someone had helped him to bed then. But who? Matter of fact:Howhad he made it into bed?
The smell of warm vanilla, lavender, and leather floated into his senses carrying with them the memories of last night’s fiasco.
He stilled. Lalo was not in his room. In fact, this wasn’t even his house. The walls surrounding him were painted an ugly yellow. Swords and placards were displayed like artwork. The furniture was sparse.
But the scent of that demon girl was everywhere.
Something cold nipped into his throat. A dagger. His eyes snapped to the young woman hidden within the shadows, to the girl who seemed to always have some sort of sharp object pointed at him.
“One wrong move and you are dead,” she whispered.
“Yes. I know the drill well enough. You might want to consider changing up your strategy, though. Along with a good kick to the groin, holding me at knifepoint is getting rather old.”
She shushed him. “Keep your voice down, sanguijuela. Do you want another scandal?”
“Saints, no.” A chill kissed his skin. And he was suddenly all too aware that he was naked from the waist up. He grabbed the covers and shoved them against his bare chest. “Where is my shirt?”
“I had to discard it.”
