“Someone is in there.” Without waiting for confirmation, Reid kicked the door. It bowed under his weight. When he kicked again, the wood gave an ominous crack. I lunged toward the forge and pumped the bellows feverishly. Coal smoke poured into the room, thick and black. The door splintered, but I kept pumping. Kept pumping until my eyes watered and my throat burned. Until I couldn’t smell the magic. Until I couldn’t smell anything.
I dropped the bellows just as the door exploded.
Sunlight streamed in, illuminating Reid’s silhouette in the whorls of smoke. Massive. Tense. Waiting. He’d drawn his Balisarda, and the sapphire glinted through the shifting smoke. Two concerned citizens stood behind him. As the smoke cleared, I better saw his face. His eyes swept across the scene quickly, narrowing at the blood and bodies—and landing on me. He blanched. “Lou?”
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. My knees gave way.
He moved forward quickly—ignoring the blood, water, and smoke—and dropped to his knees before me. “Are you all right?” He gripped my shoulders, forcing me to look at him. Pushed my wet hair from my face, tipped my chin, touched the marks on my throat. His fingers stilled on the thin scar there. The cold mask of fury cracked, leaving only the frantic man beneath. “Did they—did they hurt you?”
I winced and caught his hands, halting his assessment. My hands shook. “I’m fine, Reid.”
“What happened?”
Quickly, I recounted the nightmarish experience, omitting any mention of magic. The water and smoke had done their job—and the charred flesh. With each word, his face grew stonier, and by the time I finished, he trembled with rage. Exhaling heavily, he rested his forehead against our knotted hands. “I want to kill them for touching you.”
“Too late,” I said weakly.
“Lou, I— If they’d hurt you—” He lifted his gaze to mine, and once again, the vulnerability there pierced my chest.
“H-How did you know I was here?”
“I didn’t. I came to buy one of your Christmas gifts.” He paused, jerking his head to send the two citizens away. Terrified, they scuttled out the door without another word. “A knife.”
I stared at him. Perhaps it was the adrenaline still pounding through my body. Or his disobedience to the Archbishop. Or my own wretched realization that I was afraid. Truly afraid, this time.
And I needed help.
No. I needed him.
Whatever the reason, I didn’t care.
One second, we knelt together on that bloody floor, and the next, I flung my arms around his neck and kissed him. He pulled away for a fraction of a second, startled, but then he fisted the fabric at the back of my cloak and crushed me to him, mouth hard and unrelenting.
Control deserted me. As close as Reid held me, I wanted to be closer. I wanted to feel every inch of him. Tightening my hold, I molded my body to the hard shape of him—to the broad expanse of his chest, his stomach, his legs.
With a low groan, he snaked his hands under my thighs and hitched me up against him. I wrapped my legs around his waist, and he bore me to the floor, deepening the kiss.
Something warm seeped through the back of my dress, and I broke away abruptly, stiffening. I glanced over to Andre and Grue.
Blood.
I was lying in their blood.
Reid realized it the same second I did, and he vaulted to his feet, pulling me up with him. Spots of color rose on his cheeks, and his breathing sounded uneven. “We should go.”
I blinked, deflating slightly as the heat between us cooled and icy reality set in. I’d killed. Again. Sagging against his chest, I looked back to where Andre and Grue lay. Forced myself to stare into their cold, dead eyes. They gaped at the ceiling, unseeing. Blood still seeped from their wounds.
Revulsion coiled in my stomach.
Vaguely aware of Reid disentangling himself from my arms, I stared down at my cloak. The white velvet was ruined now—stained irrevocably red.
Two more deaths. Two more bodies left in my wake. Just how many would join them before all was said and done?
“Here.” Reid thrust something into my limp hand, and I wrapped my fingers around it instinctively. “An early Christmas present.”
It was Andre’s knife, still slick with its master’s blood.
Of My Home
Lou
The sun was setting by the time we made our way back to Chasseur Tower. Reid had insisted on reporting the whole messy affair to the constabulary. Question after question they’d asked, until I’d finally snapped.
“Do you see my throat?” I’d jerked my collar down to show them my bruises for the hundredth time. “Do you think I gave them to myself?”
Reid had been quite keen to leave after that.
I supposed I should’ve been grateful for his reputation as a Chasseur. Otherwise, I had little doubt the constabulary would’ve seized the opportunity to throw me in prison for murder.
Outside, I turned my face to the dying sun, breathing deeply and trying to collect myself. Andre and Grue were dead. The Chasseurs still hadn’t found Monsieur Bernard, which meant he probably was too. I hadn’t seen or spoken to Coco since our disagreement at the ball, and Reid and I—we’d just—
He halted beside me without a word, slipping his fingers through mine. Closing my eyes, I savored the callouses on his palm, the roughness of his skin. Even the bite of the wind on my cheeks wasn’t unbearable with him near. It swirled around us and filled me with his scent—vaguely woodsy, like fresh air and mountain pines, with a hint of something richer, deeper, that was entirely Reid.
“I want to show you something, Reid.”
His lips quirked up in my favorite lopsided grin. “What’s that?”
“A secret.”
I tugged his hand to lead him away, but he dug his feet in, suddenly suspicious. “It’s not something illegal, is it?”
“Of course not.” I tugged harder, but Reid didn’t budge. Trying to move him was like trying to move a mountain. He raised his eyebrows at my futile attempts, clearly amused. I finally gave up, slapping his chest. “God, you’re a huge ass! It’s not illegal, all right? Now move, or I swear to God, I will strip naked right here and dance the bourrée!”
I thrust my hands on my hips and looked at him expectantly.
He didn’t even glance at the people around us. He didn’t get flustered. And Reid always got flustered.
Instead, he kept his eyes trained on mine, a slow smirk spreading across his face.
“Do it.”
I narrowed my eyes and straightened my shoulders, drawing myself up to my full—if not inconsiderable—height. “I will. Don’t think I won’t. I’ll do it right now.”
He raised his brows, still smirking. “I’m waiting.”
I glared at him, hands jerking up to the silver fastening of my cloak. I forced myself not to glance at the lingering shoppers around us, though they certainly glanced at us. A bloody white cloak was hardly inconspicuous. “I’m not afraid to cause a scene. I thought you knew that.”
He shrugged and shoved his hands into his pockets. “The first time worked out pretty well for me.” My cloak fell to the ground, and he eyed it appreciatively. “I’m thinking this time might too.”
My stomach—traitorous thing it was—swooped at his words, at the way his eyes tracked my every movement. “You’re a pig.”
“You’re the one who volunteered.” He nodded his head toward Pan’s patisserie as I began untying the laces of my dress. “But you should know, we have an audience.”
Sure enough, Pan stood at the window of his shop, watching us closely. He startled slightly when I turned and waved a little too quickly to be natural. My fingers stilled on my lacings.
“You got lucky.” I snatched my cloak from the ground, throwing it back around my shoulders inside out to hide the worst of the blood. Unable to help it this time, I glanced around, but the shoppers had lost interest. Relief washed over me.
“Agree to disagree.”
“Stop, please.” He raised his other hand placatingly, but the arrogant smile still played at the corner of his lips. “I want to see your secret. Show me.”
“Too bad. I changed my mind. I don’t want to show you after all.”
He turned me around to face him, wrapping his hands around my arms. “Lou. Show me. I know you want to.”
“You don’t know me at all.”
“I know stripping in public is too much, even for you.” He laughed. It was a lovely, rare sound. “I know you’ll never admit you wouldn’t have done it.”
The amusement in his eyes slowly darkened as he held me, and I became painfully aware this was the closest we’d been since our kiss that morning. He stared at his thumb as it brushed my bottom lip.
“I know you have a filthy mouth.” He pressed down hard on my lip for emphasis. I shivered. “And you’re used to getting your way. I know you’re vulgar and dishonest and manipulative—”
I recoiled, nose wrinkling, but he only gripped me tighter.
“—but you’re also compassionate and free-spirited and brave.” He tucked my hair behind my ear. “I’ve never met anyone like you, Lou.”
Based on his frown, the thought made him uneasy. I didn’t care to examine my emotions too closely either.
Marrying a blue pig. I didn’t think even you could stoop that low.
Whatever Reid was, he wasn’t a blue pig. But he was still a Chasseur. He believed what he believed. I wasn’t foolish enough to think I could change that. He would look at me differently if he knew who I truly was. His hands—touching me so gently now—would touch me differently, too.
Estelle’s face flashed in my mind. Reid’s hands wrapped around her throat. My throat.
No. I stumbled away from him, eyes wide. His brows dipped in confusion.
Awkward silence descended, and I chuckled nervously, wiping my palms on my skirt. “I changed my mind again. I want to show you a secret after all.”
Soleil et Lune soon came into view.
“The theater?” Reid peered at the empty steps in bewilderment. “That’s a bit tame for you, isn’t it? I was expecting an underground bootlegging operation—”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Chass.” I paused by the backstage door, hiking my skirt and climbing atop the trash bin. “I’d never be caught underground.”
He inhaled sharply as he realized my intent. “This is trespassing, Lou!”
I grinned at him over my shoulder. “It’s only trespassing if we get caught.” Then I hoisted myself over the gutters, winked, and slipped out of sight.
He hissed my name in the gathering shadows, but I ignored him, wiping the slime off my boots and waiting.
Hands appeared a moment later as he hauled himself up after me.
I couldn’t help but laugh at his scowl. “Took you long enough. We’ll be here all night at this pace.”
“I’m a Chasseur, Lou. This is totally inappropriate!”
“Always with that stick up your ass—”
“Lou!” His eyes darted to the rooftop. “I am not climbing this building.”
“Oh, Chass.” My own eyes widened as understanding swept through me, and I snorted in an undignified way. “Please tell me you aren’t afraid of heights.”
“Of course I’m not.” He gripped the stone tightly. “It’s a matter of principle. I won’t break the law.”
“I see.” I nodded in mock agreement, forcing back a smile. I could let him have this one. I could resist the urge to rile him, just this once. “Well, fortunately, I don’t give a damn about the law. I’m going up regardless. Feel free to sic the constabulary on me.”
“Lou!” He tried to grab my ankle, but I was already several feet above him. “Get down!”
“Come get me instead! And for heaven’s sake, Chass, stop trying to look up my skirt!”
“I am not trying to look up your skirt!”
I chuckled to myself and kept climbing, savoring the bite of cold air on my face. After the nightmarish incident at the smithy, it felt good to simply . . . let go. To laugh. I wished Reid would do the same. I rather enjoyed his laugh.
Glancing back at him, I allowed myself to ogle his powerful shoulders in action for only a second before pushing myself to climb faster. It wouldn’t do for him to beat me inside.
He gasped when I slipped through the broken window of the attic, hissing my name with increasing alarm. The next moment, he hauled himself in after me. “This is breaking and entering, Lou!”
Shrugging, I moved to the pile of costumes that had once been my bed. “You can’t break and enter into your own home.”
A beat of silence passed.
“This—this is where you lived?”
I nodded, inhaling deeply. It smelled exactly like I remembered: the perfume of old costumes mingled with cedar, dust, and just a hint of smoke from the oil lamps. Trailing my fingers along the trunk Coco and I had shared, I finally looked at him. “For two years.”
Stoic as ever, he said nothing. But I knew where to look to hear him—in the tension of his shoulders, the tautness of his jaw, the tightness of his mouth. He disapproved. Of course he did.
“Well,” I said, sweeping my arms open wide, “this is the secret. It’s no epic romance, but . . . welcome to my humble abode.”
“This isn’t your home anymore.”
I dropped to my bed, tucking my knees to my chin. “This attic will always be my home. It’s the first place I ever felt safe.” The words slipped out before I realized I’d said them, and I cursed silently.
His gaze sharpened on me. “What happened two years ago?”
Glaring at the blue velvet cloak I’d used as a pillow, I swallowed hard. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
He sank to a crouch beside me, lifting my chin gently. His eyes held mine with unexpected intensity. “I do.”
Never had two words sounded more odious. Or foreboding. Crushing the velvet in my fist, I forced a chuckle and wracked my brain for a deflection—any deflection. “I ran into the wrong end of another knife, that’s all. A bigger one.”
He sighed heavily and dropped my chin, but he didn’t move away. “You make it impossible to know you.”
“Ah, but you already know me so well.” I flashed what I hoped was a winning smile, still deflecting. “Foul-mouthed, manipulative, fantastic kisser—”
“I don’t know anything about your past. Your childhood. Why you became a thief. Who you were before . . . all of this.”
My smile slipped, but I forced my voice to remain light. “There’s nothing to know.”
“There’s always something to know.”
Damn him for using my own words against me. The conversation stalled as he stared at me expectantly, and I stared at the blue velvet. A moth had riddled the sumptuous fabric with holes, and I picked at them in feigned boredom.
Finally, he turned me to face him. “Well?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Lou, please. I just want to know more about you. Is that so terrible?”
“Yes, it is.” The words came out sharper than I would’ve liked, and I winced internally at the flicker of hurt on his face. If I had to bite and snap to discourage him from this wretched conversation, however, so be it. “That shit is in my past for a reason, and I said I don’t want to talk about it—not with anyone, especially you. Isn’t it enough I showed you my home? My secret?”
He recoiled, expelling a sharp breath. “I told you I was found in the garbage. Do you think that was easy to talk about?”
“So why did you?” I tore through a hole in the velvet viciously. “I didn’t force you.”
He tugged my chin up once more, eyes livid. “Because you asked. Because you’re my wife, and if anyone deserves to know the worst parts of me, it’s you.”
I jerked away from him. “Oh, don’t worry, I know them all right—”
“Likewise.”
“You asked me not to lie to you.” I set my jaw and lurched to my feet, folding my arms across my chest. “Don’t ask about my past, and I won’t have to.”
He slowly followed suit, towering over me with a black expression. His jaw clenched, unclenched, as he glanced to my throat. “What are you hiding, Lou?”
I stared at him, my heartbeat pounding suddenly violent in my ears. I couldn’t tell him. He couldn’t ask me. It would ruin everything.
And yet . . . I would have to tell him eventually. This game couldn’t last forever. Swallowing hard, I lifted my chin. Perhaps after everything we’d been through, he would be able to see past it. Perhaps he could change—for me. For us. Perhaps I could too.
“I’m not hiding anything, Reid. Ask me whatever you want.”
He sighed heavily at the tremble in my voice, pulling me close and lifting a hand to stroke my hair. “I won’t force you. If you aren’t comfortable enough to tell me, it’s my fault, not yours.”
Of course he would think that. Of course he would think the worst of himself instead of seeing the truth—that the worst was in me. I buried my face in his chest. Even in his frustration, Reid was kinder to me than anyone I’d ever known. I didn’t deserve it.
“It’s not you.” I clutched him closer in the gathering shadows, breathing in his scent. It melded perfectly with the comforting smells of the attic. Of my home. “It’s me. But I—I can try. I can try to tell you.”
“No. We don’t have to talk about this now.”
I shook my head determinedly. “Please . . . ask me.”
His hand stilled on my hair, and the world stilled with it—not unlike the eerie calm before magic. Even the breeze through the window seemed to pause, lingering in my hair, between his fingers. Waiting. I forgot how to breathe.
But the question never came.
“Are you from Cesarine?” His hand trailed down my hair to the small of my back, and the wind swept on, dissatisfied. I focused on the gentle movement, disappointment and hideous relief warring in my heart.
“No. I grew up in a small community north of Amandine.” I smiled wistfully against his chest at the half-truth. “Surrounded by mountains and sea.”
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