His smile faltered.
The man laughed and smacked me hard across the face, the crack of it echoing in the stillness. My head snapped to the side, heat blooming where his hand had struck.
His hand slid back to me, fingers catching in my torn clothing, dragging it down, exposing skin already raw from the gloves. Hetugged again, harder this time, fabric ripping as he began to strip me like an object laid out for purchase.
The men holding me laughed quietly, tightening their burning grip when I thrashed.
My crescent mark pulsed violently beneath my skin, a deep, furious thrum that echoed in my chest.
I tasted blood where my lip had split and spat it at his feet. The fabric slipped. Just enough. Cool air kissed my bow—
The vendor’s eyes widened. Not with fear. With recognition.
His grin spread slow and hungry. “Well.” His voice trembled with delight. “Would you look at that?”
His gaze flicked to my brow.
“I’m going to be very rich,” he said softly. “Thalassia pays well for traitors.”
I refused to look away. And even as fingers tightened again, even as the gloves burned hotter—Hands grabbed. Fabric tore. Cold air burned against my skin.
“Hold her still,” he snapped, breath hot and close, fingers already fumbling, greedy.
I understood then what Alaric meant. There were worse things than dying.
Then—
A sound cut through the night. Low. Deliberate.
Branches shifted in the tree line. The men froze. “What was that?” one of the men muttered, tightening his grip even as his head turned toward the darkness.
The man cursed, fingers finally releasing their hold on my torn clothes. He glanced toward the trees again, scanning the area.
“Grab her,” he snarled.
Another rustle—closer this time. “Move,” he barked.
My mark pulsed faster, brighter, each throb fed by the heat of my anger. The glow caught his attention, his eyes narrowing with intrigue.
One of the men holding me suddenly shifted his grip and threw me over his shoulder like I weighed nothing. I thrashed hard, elbowing him in the ribs and kicking until my heel connected with something soft enough to make him grunt.
The vendor barked at one of the others, "Grab the vampire," But when the man moved toward Alaric—he was gone.
Where had he gone? Did he… abandon me? Or had someone else seen an opportunity and taken him first? Before I could think too hard on it, a commotion erupted ahead—shouts, a wet, meaty rip split the air, followed by a metallic rush filling the air. For a heartbeat, I couldn’t see, the man’s shoulder cutting offmy view—only hear the sickeningthwackof something heavy collapsing onto the path ahead.
The man carrying me cursed, then threw me to the cobblestones. Pain flared through my hip and shoulder as I hit, air leaving my lungs in a gasp. I forced myself up, my palms stinging from the scrape. When my vision cleared, the vendor’s body sprawled across the cobblestones, his stomach torn wide open. Loops of glistening entrails spilled out in steaming ropes, pooling in the cracks of the street. Dark blood ran in rivulets toward the gutter, carrying with it shreds of flesh. His eyes—still wide, still wet with life a moment ago—stared blindly from where they’d hit the ground.
I was slightly relieved to see him dead—he was a vile man—and yet my mind couldn’t help drifting to the supernatural creatures still locked away in the brothel. The ones we couldn't save. Yet.
Bootsteps echoed behind me.
I twisted, heart stuttering—just in time to see the remaining two men reach for their blades.
Alaric didn’t hesitate.
He moved like a shadow unchained—too fast to follow, too precise to be frantic. One man barely had time to inhale before Alaric was on him, the dagger flashing once, then again. Blood sprayed hot and dark across the stones as the body crumpled to the ground.
The second tried to run.
