My heart thunders painfully. My palms burn with restrained power I can’t risk unleashing.
He leans in, his breath grazing the shell of my ear as he angles us toward the narrow alleyway between two shuttered shops.
“Good girl,” he murmurs softly.
The moment we cross into the shadows, he strikes.
A swift shove slams my back against the cold wall, knocking me slightly off balance, dust scattering from the impact. Pain blooms along my spine, not sharp enough to cripple me but enough to steal my breath for several seconds as I struggle to find air again.
I push off the wall, reaching instinctively for my wand, but he’s faster.
Much faster.
He lunges, one hand closing around my wrist while the other slips under my sweater, sliding the wood from its holster with a practiced familiarity that chills me. He steps back just enough to spin it between his fingers, examining it like it’s a trinket he’s considering stealing.
“Your father said you’d be strategic,” he says, his voice dipping into amusement as he studies my wand. “Grabbing your wand in front of me is not that.”
He leans one shoulder against the opposite wall, crossing one ankle over the other as if this is a casual conversation rather than the prelude to abduction. Lantern light from the street stops short of touching him; he seems to blend into the dimness, the faint gleam of the serpent tattoo the only sign that something vile has crept into Anavris unnoticed.
“You and I both know I don’t need that to hurt you,” I spit, forcing my voice to steady even though my lungs are still shaking.
His expression softens into something far more unnerving than anger. Interest.
“Maybe,” he says slowly, letting the word linger between us, “but let’s not pretend, sweetheart. You still have very little grasp over your magic. You could kill me and everyone in Anavris without meaning to. Including your little boy toy.”
Heat flares under my skin, not embarrassment, not fear...rage.
“Don’t,” I warn.
He only shrugs. “It’s true. And somewhat tragic. Most powerful things tend to be unstable until they break.”
He flicks my wand into the air, lets it fall. The sound of wood hitting stone is louder than it should be. It feels like watching a limb being severed.
“What do you want?” The words scrape out of me.
He steps off the wall, his movements fluid, controlled, almost elegant for someone so lethal. He walks toward me until the shadows swallow the edges of his face and all I can see are those blue eyes, bright enough to carve through the darkness.
“You really think your father would come deliver a message himself?” he asks lightly, as if insulting me and insulting Andrew are the same thing. “He has… bigger concerns.”
“If they see you-” I gesture weakly toward the street “-they’ll kill you.”
He laughs. Quiet. Certain. Almost pitying.
“No,” he murmurs, stepping closer until the wall behind me seems to fold inward. “They won’t. And here’s why.”
His hand snaps up without warning, fingers locking around my jaw with brutal precision. The grip is firm, forcing my head back before I can even think to resist. My spine hits the brick behind me as his thumb presses beneath my cheekbone, tilting my face upward until I’m staring directly into him. The contact isn’t just physical; it’s invasive, claiming my stillness, demanding my attention when every nerve in my body screams to move, to fight, torun.
“I have no interest in killing Andrew’s children,” he whispers.
His voice is low, each word a measured breath against my lips. There’s no heat in it. No emotion. Just certainty. The kind that settles in your bones and tells you resistance isalready accounted for. His eyes don’t waver as he continues, mouth barely inches from mine.
“Quite honestly, I don’t care what he wants you for.” His grip tightens, just enough to remind me I’m not in control. “My task was simple, remind you that time is running out. You can only avoid turning yourself in for so long.”
The words twist something sharp and nauseating in my stomach. My pulse roars in my ears, drowning out the distant sounds of the city beyond the alley, the laughter, the footsteps, the life continuing as if I’m not being pinned here.
But he isn’t finished.
“Your father took something from me.”
