Chapter 22 · Masks Off, Knives Out

"Get your hand off me before I break it," Nora snapped, though her voice lacked its usual bite.

Sera didn't budge. She had Nora pinned against the damp stone wall of the lower vault, her fingers clamped tight around Nora's wrist. The air between them smelled of ozone and old blood.

"You're bleeding," Sera said, her eyes scanning the jagged tear in Nora's white silk sleeve. "And don't tell me it's a scratch. That's shadow-burn. Who the hell did you just fight?"

Nora tried to wrench her arm away, but the movement made her wince. A sharp hiss escaped her teeth. "It's nothing. Just a lapse in concentration. Now let go."

"A lapse?" Sera let out a harsh, jagged laugh, stepping closer until their chests were almost touching. Nora could feel the heat radiating off her, the raw, unrefined energy of a hunter who had spent too long in the wild. "You’re the Golden Icon of Solis. The perfect saint. Since when does a saint get burned by her own magic?"

Nora stopped struggling. She looked up, her eyes flashing with a flicker of something dark and dangerous. "Maybe the saint is tired of pretending, Sera.