Chapter 17 · The Oath That Wanted Me Dead

“Don’t touch her.”

Dax said it with his back against the Ninth Gate, one hand clamped over his chest and the other wrapped around Mara’s throat.

His fingers weren’t squeezing hard enough to cut off her air. That was the problem. He was holding back. His jaw had locked so tight a muscle jumped near his ear, and the black lines under his skin were crawling toward his wrist.

Mara grabbed his forearm. “You’re the one touching me.”

“I know.”

“Then let go.”

“I’m trying.”

The crowd behind them laughed.

Not a normal laugh. Hundreds of voices opened at once, all using the same flat, ugly tone. Bureau officers. Prison guards. People who had followed them through the sealed undercity. Even the old woman with the broken spectacles was smiling now.

“Give her to us,” the crowd said.

Dax’s hand tightened.

Mara’s pulse jumped under his thumb. “Dax.”

His eyes snapped to hers. They were still gray, still his. But a ring of black had spread around the irises.

“Don’t say my name,” he growled.

“Why? Does the oath hate it?”

“It hates everything you do.”

“Good. We finally agree on something.”

The gate shuddered behind him.