Alexus stands beside me, finger tracing the ivory hilt of a short sword with a serrated edge, like a lover tickling a wrist. His gaze shifts, and he stiffens with indecision. I can see it on his face. Feel it in the power rolling off him into me. Do we stay here, surrounded by weapons, and see what the Dread Viper wants? Or do we keep moving and look for our friends?
There isn’t time to decide, because suddenly, we’re trapped, both exits blocked by Dread Vipers on horseback.
48
RAINA
“Don’t anybody move,” the Collector says, voice low. “Let me handle this.” He smiles up at the merchants sitting amid hundreds of weapons who are now eyeing the guards walking their horses in our direction. The other patrons scatter from the bazar, leaving only us.
Cooly, the Collector turns toward the guard who had been following us, and begins an easy stroll to meet him, as though he’s greeting a friend and not an assassin.
“Good morning, good sir,” he says. “Is something the matter?”
The Dread Viper, only a few strides away now, looks at me. In a deep, smooth voice, he says, “I only want to speak to Stassa Farthorne.”
Fuck.
My abyss roils, inviting me into the shelter of its nothingness. I ignore that dark bastard and do my best to prevent absolute panic from overwhelming my face as I turn toward the guard and the Collector.
The Collector’s eyes are wide, his stare penetrating, as though he’s trying to send me a message I can’t receive. A thumping vein stands out in relief along his temple.
I walk toward them because I don’t know what other choice I have. Until matters devolve into a full-on battle in the middle of this armory, I need to maintain calm.
Smiling, I approach, putting on a much better act than earlier. The Dread Viper lowers the fabric wrapped around his nose and tucks it under his chin.
His face is tanned to a deep, dark brown from the sun, his eyes a stark blue that radiate a fierce and uncompromising demeanor. He’s a bit older. Lines fan from his eyes and across his forehead, and gray hair runs through his beard, half-covering a rugged face with pretty lips.
“Stassa?” he says again, his brow furrowing. He knows her, but obviously not too well. Enough that he encouraged his fellow guardsmen to help prevent him from losing sight of her, though. I can’t sort out how this is possible with me—clearly not Stassa Farthorne—standing right in front of him.
I touch my throat and look to the Collector to come up with an excuse as for why I can’t speak. I would sign a suggestion, but that seems unwise.
He blinks out of his daze—he’s been staring at me and the guard—and says, “She’s been ill. Her voice is gone.”
Nicely done.
The Dread Viper swings down from his horse.
And smiles.
In the next breath, he’s gathering me in his arms and kissing me like a sailor come home from years at sea. I can’t really think with his tongue in my throat, but I cannot imagine how he knows this woman to this sort of comfort, and yet doesn’t know her face.
When he pulls back, I’m clinging to his vest and gasping for air, waiting for the hammer of realization to fall on this man. But it never happens. His eyes are bright as crystals, and there’s an edge to him, the way he curves his body over mine and runs his hungry hands down to my hips. It’s a confidence that says he is certain that with the right words, he can have me if so desires.
“Our night together on the Lady Belladonna did not do you justice,” he says. “I could tell by the feel of your body that you were a beautiful woman. But it was so dark, and I’d had one too many sips of your beer.” He takes my chin. Tips my head up. “You are more beautiful than I ever dreamed.”
Oh gods. My abyss shrieks.
Suddenly, the Collector’s hand folds around my arm, and he pulls me away from the guard, drawing me next to him. He slides his hand around my waist, resting his palm low on my belly. His body is as rigid as the steel blades at my back, his chest out, his back flared.
“She’s with me now,” he says, that voice shadowed with the promise of a threat. “Best to keep your tongue and hands to yourself if you want them to remain intact with the rest of your body, soldier.”
Nephele exhales a long sigh. This is probably not going to end well, though I’m not certain it ever could have.
The guard stares at Alexus like he could eat him. His eyes go round at the disrespect, and his upper lip curls into a snarl. He rests his hand on the hilt of the short sword at his hip, and the amount of danger we’re in shifts.
Clearly pissed, the guard looks at Nephele, Hel, and Zahira, then back to me. “You aren’t the kind of woman to bed only one man, Stassa. Commitment isn’t really the stuff of sailors. If he’s holding you against your will—” another look at my sisters “—any of you, and if you want to leave here with me, just say so. I will take you and leave his head on the sand.”
Nephele walks over to the Collector’s other side and slips her hand in his before resting her head innocently on his shoulder. “We’re just fine, sir. Though nothing says some of us can’t meet with you later tonight. We’re in town for a while.”
