The touch sent unwanted heat through me. His palm was warm even through my coat, possessive in a way that shouldhave annoyed me but didn’t. I could feel each finger, the pressure just firm enough to guide without forcing.
I didn’t step away. But there was guilt there. Always guilt in everything I did. He had no idea he was flirting with his enemy. And every step we took reminded me I was going to have to cut this off if he wouldn’t agree to stop hunting my best friend. If we could find her—and I knew we had to be close—we could end this. But letting the Phoenix go free would go against everything Wickett Veyne had ever learned to be.
We walked through the streets cautiously, onlyourboots clicking against the cobblestones, despite the hordes of people wandering through the city. I scanned for black hair and green eyes. For a smile that wasn’t strange but rather felt like home. I listened for that contagious laugh, scanned every face for just a hint of recognition. I was hunting. Desperately. While my mind raced with thoughts on what to do if I saw her first. How to catch her eye without alerting the others. What sign could I give Calder to separate us if needed? We’d walked in determined, but with absolutely no plan, and I’d only now realized how fucking foolish that was.
The air smelled faintly of smoke and something sweet and cloying that made my stomach turn. I hadn’t had a proper meal in days. None of us had. Calder kept his hand near his blade, clearly ignoring the woman’s warning about bloodshed, but at least he was getting the same uncomfortable feeling about this city as I was. The Oracle moved between Wickett and Riot, Corvus unusually silent on her shoulder as she fell slightly behind them. It was the first time I’d seen her seek protection, even subtly.
People passed in their elegant coats and too-bright smiles, parting around us without a word. Their footsteps made no sound. A woman walked past with a long-haired hound on a leash encrusted with jewels. But there was not a click of claws,not a jingle of chain. Just silent movement through the flickering firelight.
Wickett’s hand never left my back. Every few steps he’d adjust, steering me around a group of children in miniature formal wear, pulling me closer when a cart rattled past, his thumb occasionally stroking small circles against my spine that made my breath catch.
“You’re being very... protective,” I whispered, trying to sound annoyed and failing.
“The city’s dangerous.” His voice was low, meant only for me. “And you have a habit of attracting trouble.”
“I have a habit of attracting trouble?”
“Yes.” His hand slid slightly lower. Still appropriate. But barely. “Eyes up, little witch. Stay focused.”
As if I could with his hands on me.
A woman glided past, her coat a deep burgundy that made her skin look impossibly pale in comparison. She turned as she passed, catching my eye, and smiled.
My heart stopped.
She had fangs. And her eyes, completely black, no white, no iris, just endless pools of dark that swallowed light and gave nothing back.
Vitoria’s nymph form.
Except... no. Wrong height. Wrong build. Wrong eye color. And Vitoria’s smile had never been quite that predatory. The woman held my gaze for a beat too long, still smiling.
“Don’t stare,” Calder muttered.
Too late. She’d noticed. And winked at me before disappearing into a building with a sign that was labeled with runic symbols rather than words. I forced myself to breathe normally. Not Vitoria. Just another nymph in a city apparently full of them.
“You okay?” Wickett asked.
“Fine. I just thought—” I shook my head. “Nothing. Let’s keep moving. But we should keep a distance between us. If she’s here and sees your hand on me—” I didn’t finish the sentence. Didn’t have to. But I wasn’t pulling away. Wasn’t doing anything except staring at his mouth and remembering exactly how it felt against mine.
His voice dropped lower, rougher, impossibly quiet. “It will be fine.”
“You’re very sure of yourself.”
“I’m sure of you.” He released me, but slowly, his hands trailing away like he was reluctant to break contact. “Come on. We’re drawing attention.”
He was right. Several of the elegantly dressed citizens were watching the Venatori with open curiosity. Some smiled. Others looked... knowing.
“This place is—” Pip started, drawing my mind away from Wickett Veyne.
“Haunted,” I finished. “This place is haunted.”
She nodded, swooping closer to Calder. “I was going to say unsettling, but yeah, haunted works.”
We passed a plaza where obsidian benches curved in perfect arcs around a central fountain, its frozen spray catching the light from a handful of floating chalices that drifted overhead. Witches haggled with vendors over ingredients I recognized and some I didn’t, their stalls draped in dark velvet that pooled on the polished stone.
Witches just got to live here. Completely unbothered about hiding who they were. No hunters in sight. No fear. Just... coexistence, like the rest of the world’s rules didn’t apply to Dyssara.
Maybe they didn’t.
