A bead of sweat trailed across Leena’s temple despite the chill autumn air.
St. Silas’s voice dropped to a seductive burr. His head leaned toward her even as his body remained still. “I admire your bravery, Miss Al-Sayer, and thus far I have been lenient with you, but this has gone far enough. Give me back my pistol. I give you my word I will not punish you for this fruitless act of defiance.”
“Does the Saint of Silence ever forgive any threat against him?” Leena’s eyes blazed into his, daring him to contradict.
“Then shoot me.” His response was low and gravelly.
When he saw that Leena remained still, St. Silas’s mouth pulled upward. “You cannot, can you?”
Leena dug the pistol into the hard muscles of his abdomen and was gratified to see his jaw twitch. “Did you know that Lord Avon led the Wake?”
Even if she could not kill St. Silas, Leena would do everything she could to wrestle some secrets from him, to gain a modicum ofpower. Otherwise she would choke on her own continual helplessness.
A glimmer of amusement flashed through St. Silas’s dark eyes.He was enjoying this.“Aye, I knew.”
Leena had never stood this close to a man before, but she was so caught up in the moment she did not notice that her chest was almost pressed against his save for the gun that she held between them. A passerby would think they were two lovers caught in a secret embrace.
How different that image is from this bitter reality.
Leena threw him the same question that Basil hadn’t had an answer to. “Who runs the Wake now?”
St. Silas raised a brow and repeated her own words back to her. “No information comes for free. A secret for a secret.”
Leena stared up at him in disbelief. “I have a gun aimed at you.”
“Yet I feel certain that I am in no danger of losing my life.” His gaze was not soft as it roamed her face. “A secret for a secret.”
Leena only had one secret left to trade—that ghosts could possess her body when she slept. And she wouldnevergive him that power, even if it cost her life.
Leena held the pistol firm a moment longer. She could not shoot St. Silas—not when vitality poured out of him like a flood. Not when he was so veryalive.
A part of her shivered at the punishment that he would soon deliver, although she knew he would not kill her while Lord Avon’s ghost remained unfound; that he had made clear.
No, he would make her merely wish for death.
More than ever, Leena desperately needed her actions tonight to result in a victory, or else she would’ve brought down the Saint’s wrath for nothing.
“Why do you seek Lord Avon?” It was the third time she’d asked this question, each time receiving only vague responses back.
His gaze hardened. “As I’ve said previously, Avon took something from me.” Then, as if it was wrenched from him: “Somethingthat has caused my life to deviate from its original path.” A frown etched his mouth. “That is all you will get from me, madam, so I would be careful with your next steps.”
Leena was grimly satisfied by this, because it wasshewho had received a confession from St. Silas this time, just as he’d forced so many from others.
Just as she’d begun to withdraw the gun, St. Silas’s fingers closed firmly over hers.
“Next time—” His voice was rough as he dragged her hand holding the pistol away from his abdomen and toward his chest, right below his heart. He glanced briefly at their intertwined hands, a harsh furrow to his brows. “If you ever desire to kill someone, not merely deliver a flesh wound, aim here.” He pressed more firmly still.
“I assure you, sir, this will be the last time.” Leena’s lips barely formed the words.
He finally released her, but his eyes remained locked on her as if against his will. Leena stepped back, silently returning the weapon, wondering if her punishment would come immediately.
St. Silas took the pistol wordlessly, pocketing it back in his coat. With a final dark glance at her he turned to go, not waiting for her to follow him as he melted into the crowd, his mask firmly back in place.
—
What Leena had done that night was no small thing. She, Leena—with no name and of common blood—had held the life of theSaint of Silencein her palm. For one brief moment, there had been a shifting of power.
Throughout the night, across the streets that pulsed with revelers, in the carriage that descended farther into the mouth of the city, St. Silas’s vivid gaze kept dragging back to her—as if Leena’s actions had created a new tether between them.
