"My God," he breathes. "You are a weapon."
"Put me in the scabbard," I say, pointing to the dress box.
"Not yet." He gestures to the first box. "The thigh holster. Put it on."
I take the sheer black stockings. I pull them up my legs. I take the lace garter belt. I fasten it. I take the ceramic knife sheath. I strap it to my left inner thigh, high up, where the slit of the dress will hide it but allow access. I slide the knife in. It feels cold against my skin. A secret.
"Good," Alaric murmurs, his voice thick. "Now the wire."
I take the diamond necklace. It looks like a simple choker. "The clasp," he instructs. "Twist it twice to the left. The wire deploys. It can cut through a trachea with five pounds of pressure."
I fasten it around my neck. It sits right over the bruise he gave me. "And the VX?"
"Clutch bag," he says. "Don't use it unless you are cornered. If you pop that seal, you have to hold your breath and run. It kills everything in a ten-foot radius."
I nod. Finally, I step into the dress. I pull it up. It fits like a second skin. It holds me, sculpts me. The velvet absorbs the light; the silk reflects it. I step into the heels. I am now six feet tall. I turn to face him.
Alaric looks at me with a mixture of lust and profound sadness. "They will eat you alive," he whispers.
"Let them try," I say. "I have indigestion."
He laughs. A weak, proud sound. He picks up the earpiece. A tiny, flesh-colored dot. "Put this in your left ear. Deep. It’s a bone-conduction unit. No one will see it. No one will hear it."
I insert it. It hums."Check. One, two."His voice rings inside my skull. Clear. Intimate. It sounds like my own thoughts.
"I hear you," I say.
"I will be with you," he promises via the link, even though he is sitting right in front of me. "I will see what you see through the venue cameras. I will hear what you hear. I will be the voice in your head."
"And if the signal cuts?"
"Then you are on your own, Elodie. And you do what you have to do to survive. Burn it down."
He hands me an invitation. Heavy cardstock. Gold leaf.The Senator's Gala. A Night for the Future.Admit One.
"Where did you get this?"
"I stole it," he says simply. "From a dead man."
He looks at the clock.18:00."The car is waiting downstairs. A limo service. Automated. I hacked the dispatch."
He tries to stand up to say goodbye. He pushes off the couch. His legs buckle instantly. He falls back, gasping, sweat popping outon his forehead. The exertion rips fresh blood from his shoulder. "Fuck," he hisses, slamming his good fist into the cushion. "Useless."
I kneel in front of him. The black velvet pools around me on the white floor. "You are not useless," I say fiercely, grabbing his face with both hands. "You are the mind. I am the body. That’s the deal."
"I should be there," he growls, tears of frustration shining in his eyes. "I should be standing between you and them. I should be killing them for looking at you."
"You already killed for me. Now let me kill for you."
I kiss him. I kiss him carefully, mindful of his pain, but deeply. I taste the coffee he drank. I taste the iron of his resolve. "I love you," I whisper against his lips. It is the first time I have said it. I don't know if it's true in the normal sense. But in this world—in the dark, twisted world of the Obsidian Tower—it is the only truth that matters.
Alaric freezes. He looks at me, stunned. Then he leans his forehead against mine. "Come back to me," he orders. "That is a command, Elodie. Come back."
"I will."
I stand up. I grab the clutch. I walk to the door. I don't look back. If I look back, I won't leave. And if I don't leave, we both die in this tower when Thorne’s men finally sweep the grid.
I step into the private elevator. The doors close, cutting off the sight of the wounded wolf on the white couch. I am alone. I am descending into the city. The Muse is dead. The Siren is awake.
