He inhaled deeply, grounding himself, and summoned his dagger. A cold fizz of static night air brushed his palm—then nothing.
What the hell?
Ash stood by the window seat, the obsidian blade in her hand, her thumb stroking the runic inlay. Race frowned, then he shook his head. Her abilities were probably messing with the mystical weapon.
“Ash, the dagger?”
“Sorry.” She hurried over and passed him the weapon.
He gathered his hip-length hair and, in one slash, cut it. Shortened silvery locks fell to his shoulders.
“What did you do?” she gasped as he stared at the shimmery length in his hand. “Your hair’s beautiful.”
“My hair marks me, silver and long. Too noticeable.” He tossed the remains into the pot-bellied fireplace, and it crackledand blackened in seconds. “Hopefully, shorter will help me go unnoticed.”
Ash tore her gaze away from the fire. “So, your lineage all had silver hair with those black ribbons at the front?”
“Our hair and eye color were always dead giveaways for who we are. Butthis…” he tugged the ebony streaks, “happened because of Tartarus. Now, it’s my reminder to put things right?—”
He tied back the shortened length.
“Well. That’s…a bit of a stubby ponytail now, isn’t it?”
A smile tugged at his mouth. Only Ash could pull him out of the darkness just by being—he stilled, barbs scraping his psyche.
An acrid odor of old smoke flooded the room, replacing Ash’s clean, seductive scent. His heightened hearing caught the quiet slide of scales against slate?—
An immense shadow fell across the window.
He grabbed Ash and pushed her behind him as a massive head appeared at the window, its molten, orange-flecked reptilian eyes locked on them.
“Oh,shit.” Ash grabbed the back of his shirt, peering around his biceps. “Race, that’s a-a…”
“Indeed.” He was already moving, tugging on his boots, a predator on the hunt. But her gaze remained fixed on the serpentine head blocking the window, its fiery eyes lingering on her for a heartbeat longer—then the beast heaved skyward, its claws raking brickwork as it launched into the night.
“Stay here. Don’t know how much the bastard heard.” His voice was pure ice. “Shut the window behind me. You’ll be safe. The house is warded.”
Before she could tell him to be careful, Race dematerialized, vanishing in a rush of air, leaving behind his lingering scent of burnt embers edged with ice.
Ash darted across the room and yanked the window shut. No curtains—no way to pretend to hide.Bloody wonderful. Her hands shook as she turned the oil wick down until the room sank into near darkness, broken only by a sliver of moonlight and the steady throbbing of the ward’s faint blue light beyond the glass.
She climbed into bed, her back to the wooden headboard, and pulled the covers to her chin.
The silence closed in.
The house creaked, timbers shifting as if groaning under age—or something worse.
Don’t think about that. Don’t?—
A faint glimmer on the floor snagged her eye. Race’s obsidian dagger!
She scrambled off the mattress and grabbed it. At least she had a weapon. Back under the covers, she set the blade beside her, her fingers tight on the hilt. Despite the room’s warmth, a shiver slid over her.
A floorboard groaned somewhere below, sharp in the stillness. Her breath caught in her throat.
Race, please come back.
What if it was a trap?What if they were waiting for him?
