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The first guard died with Ronan's silver chain wrapped around his throat.
Mara barely saw it happen.
One second Ronan was on his knees in front of the council table, blood running down his side, both wrists locked in silver. The next, he threw his full weight backward, yanked the guard off balance, and drove the chain hard across the man's neck.
There was a wet crack.
The guard hit the marble floor and did not get back up.
Everyone screamed at once.
"Kill him!" Silas shouted.
Not calm Silas. Not polished council-enforcer Silas with his black gloves and that smug little half-smile.
This was the Silas who looked scared.
Three more guards rushed Ronan.
Mara's wrist burned so badly she almost dropped to the floor with the dead guard. The black line around her skin had tightened after the contract lit up. It curled from the inside of her wrist toward her palm like a fresh tattoo made of fire.
Ronan caught one guard's arm, twisted, and took the knife from him.
Then he looked at Mara.
Not at Silas.
Not at the exits.
At her.
"Move," he said.
Her father grabbed her elbow. "Mara, don't you dare."
She turned on him so fast he flinched.
That hurt more than it should have.
He had flinched from her. His own daughter.
"Did she die in the old house?" Mara asked.
His fingers locked around her arm.
"This is not the time."
"Was Mom there?"
"Mara."
"Answer me."
A guard slammed Ronan into one of the stone pillars. The crack of Ronan's shoulder hitting marble bounced around the trial chamber. His knife flew away.
Silas lifted the bloodstone in his hand.
The ugly red thing pulsed once.
Pain tore through Mara's head.
She gasped and folded over, one hand pressed to her temple.
For half a second, she smelled smoke.
Not the cold incense burning in the council room. Real smoke. Thick. Bitter. Burning wood and old fabric.
A woman's voice cut through it.
Run, baby.
Then it was gone.
Mara jerked upright.
Ronan was staring at her again. His face had gone pale under the blood smeared across his cheek.
"You heard it," he said.
Silas's gaze snapped between them. "Don't let them touch."
That did it.
Mara ripped her arm out of her father's grip and ran straight at Ronan.
"Mara!" her father shouted.
A guard stepped in front of her.
She drove her knee into his groin.
He made a strangled sound and folded. Mara grabbed the silver baton clipped to his belt, swung it with both hands, and caught another guard across the jaw.
The shock ran up her arms. Silver hated moon-blood. Even through the grip, it felt like she had grabbed a live wire.
But the guard went down.
Ronan had gotten one hand free. He smashed his elbow into the guard pinning him, tore the chain loose from the wall ring, and stumbled toward her.
"That was stupid," he said.
"You're welcome."
"I wasn't thanking you."
"Yeah, I got that."
His hand closed around hers.
The contract bit.
Mara cried out.
Black lines shot over both their wrists, fast as spilled ink. Ronan's hand jerked like he had been burned too. His fingers tightened around hers anyway.
For one brutal second, her heartbeat wasn't alone.
She felt his.
Hard. Wild. Wrong.
There was something under it. A second rhythm. Slow and huge and angry, like claws scraping behind a locked door.
Ronan's eyes flashed silver.
His mouth pulled back from his teeth.
"Don't let go," he said, and his voice came out rougher than before.
Mara stared at him. "Why the hell would I let go now?"
Silas raised the bloodstone.
Ronan dragged her toward the side wall.
"Because that's what he wants," he said.
The stone pulsed.
Pain hit Mara again, but this time it did not stay in her head.
It ran down the black line on her wrist and slammed into Ronan.
He dropped to one knee with a sound that did not sound human.
The room froze.
Even the guards stopped moving.
Ronan's shadow stretched across the marble floor.
It should have been shaped like a man.
It wasn't.
Something broad and low pressed against it from underneath. Too many sharp angles. A long spine. A head with ears that came to points.
Mara's stomach dropped.
Silas smiled again.
There it was. That calm, awful smile.
"There you are," he said.
Ronan's nails dug into Mara's hand. Not nails anymore. Dark claws, pushing through blood at the tips of his fingers.
"Run," he said.
Mara looked at the wall beside him.
Old council stone. Smooth gray blocks. No door. No window. Nothing but the Voss family crest carved into the center: a wolf under a crescent moon.
Ronan reached past her and shoved his bloody palm into the wolf's open mouth.
The crest clicked.
A slab of stone split down the middle.
Cold air rushed out.
Not fresh air. Damp dirt. Rust. Old water.
A tunnel opened behind it.
Her father went white.
"No," he said.
Mara looked at him.
He knew this place.
That one word told her everything she needed to know.
"You knew," she said.
"Mara, listen to me." He took one step toward her. "That passage was sealed for a reason."
"So was my memory, apparently."
His face broke a little at that.
Good.
She wanted him to hurt.
Silas moved first. "Close the passage!"
Ronan shoved Mara through the opening.
She nearly fell down a narrow flight of stone steps. He came after her, hit the hidden latch with the heel of his hand, and the wall slammed shut behind them.
Something heavy crashed against the other side a second later.
Then Silas's voice came through the stone.
"You cannot outrun a blood contract, Mara."
Ronan's breath hitched.
Mara looked down.
He had one hand braced on the wall. Blood dripped off his fingers and struck the steps in dark spots. The silver chain still hung from one wrist, half broken, raw skin blistered underneath it.
"You okay?" she asked.
He gave her a look.
"Do I look okay?"
"You look like you need a hospital."
"Hospitals ask questions."
"So do I."
"Yeah. I noticed."
Another impact hit the sealed wall behind them.
Dust sifted down from the ceiling.
Ronan pushed away from the stone. "We need to move."
Mara did not move.
The tunnel stretched downhill into darkness. Old pipes ran along one wall. Water dripped somewhere farther in, slow and steady. The only light came from the black marks around their linked hands.
Her heart was beating too fast.
Not because of the guards.
Because Ronan had said her mother died in the old house.
Because her father had looked terrified when this tunnel opened.
Because she had heard her mother's voice.
"Tell me what you know," Mara said.
Ronan's jaw tightened.
"Not here."
"That's bullshit."
"It's survival. There's a difference."
"You came into a council trial room, called my father a liar, got yourself chained up, and then dragged me into a sewer. Don't act like you're the reasonable one."
"These aren't sewers."
Mara stared at him.
He sighed through his nose. "Fine. They are disgusting old tunnels. Happy?"
"No."
"Didn't think so."
A low sound rolled through the dark ahead.
Mara went still.
It was not water.
It sounded like an animal breathing.
Ronan's shoulders went rigid.
"Keep close," he said.
"What is that?"
"Don't know."
"You don't know?"
"I know enough to say don't go toward it alone."
That was not comforting.
He started walking, tugging lightly on her hand. Mara followed because staying near the council was worse. Also because every time she tried to pull her hand free, the contract heated under her skin.
Not pain exactly.
A warning.
The tunnel narrowed after the stairs. Their shoulders brushed wet stone. The floor dipped under shallow water, soaking Mara's shoes within minutes.
"Great," she muttered. "My wedding night is going amazing."
Ronan almost smiled.
Almost.
"You planning on filing a complaint?"
"Inez wrote the contract. I might sue her."
That got his attention.
"Inez Calder?"
"You know her?"
"Everybody knows Calder. Council contracts. Blood clauses. Family claims. She's expensive."
"She used to steal my lunch in middle school."
Ronan glanced at her.
"Seriously?"
"Peanut butter crackers. Every Tuesday. She said I packed better food."
"That is not what I expected you to say."
"What did you expect?"
He did not answer.
Mara watched him from the side. Even injured, he moved like he was listening to every inch of the tunnel. His shoulders were tight. His face was sweaty. Every few steps, his hand flexed around hers like he was fighting the claws back.
"That thing," she said quietly. "The shadow."
"Don't."
"It was inside you."
"I said don't."
His voice cracked sharp enough that she stopped.
For a few steps, all she heard was water and their breathing.
Then Ronan said, "It isn't supposed to wake up."
Mara looked at him.
He kept his eyes ahead.
"What isn't?"
"A problem."
"Wow. Very clear. Thanks."
"You're welcome."
"You're an asshole."
"Yeah."
He said it like that was old news.
The black mark on Mara's wrist suddenly tightened.
She sucked in a breath.
Ronan stopped too.
Their joined hands were glowing now. Not bright enough to light the whole tunnel, but enough to show the lines spreading farther up his arm.
Mara's name appeared across the inside of his wrist.
MARA VOSS.
His name burned under hers on her skin.
RONAN VALE.
She swallowed.
"It wasn't supposed to do that, right?"
"No."
"Cool. Love that for us."
Ronan lifted their hands between them. His thumb brushed the edge of her palm by accident.
Or maybe not by accident.
The contract flashed.
Mara saw something that was not the tunnel.
A hallway with wallpaper peeling in strips.
Her old house.
The one her father had sold after her mother died.
She saw herself as a little girl, barefoot, crying so hard she could barely breathe. She saw a man in a black coat kneeling in front of her.
Not her father.
Silas.
His gloved hand covered her forehead.
"Forget the room," he said.
Mara stumbled back, yanking Ronan with her.
"What?" he snapped.
She pressed both hands to her head.
"He was there."
Ronan's expression changed.
"Who?"
"Silas. At my house." Her voice came out thin. "The night my mom died. He touched me. He said—"
The memory ripped apart before she could finish it.
Pain knifed behind her eyes. Mara cried out and hit the wall.
Ronan caught her around the waist.
His arm locked across her middle. Warm. Solid. Too close.
"Easy," he said.
"Don't tell me easy."
"I'm trying to keep you upright."
"I hate you a little."
"Get in line."
But he did not let go.
Mara could hear his heart again through the contract.
That human beat.
Then the other one underneath.
The animal thing scraped against her ribs from somewhere inside him, restless and hungry.
Ronan felt it too. His face went hard.
"We need to hurry."
"Why?"
He looked down at the black names on their wrists.
"Because the contract is opening paths it shouldn't know about."
A metallic groan sounded ahead.
The tunnel ended at an iron door.
It was huge, taller than the old house's front entrance, half buried in stone. Chains ran across it, thick with rust. Strange symbols had been cut into the metal, most of them worn flat by time.
Mara's skin went cold.
Her mother had drawn that symbol once.
Over and over, on the back of grocery lists. In the margins of library books. Mara had thought it was just one of those weird grown-up habits people had.
A circle split by three claw marks.
Ronan stared at the door.
"This wasn't here before," he said.
"You've been down here before?"
"Once. A long time ago." His eyes narrowed. "There was a wall. No door."
The contract around Mara's wrist burned bright enough to hurt.
One of the chains slid loose.
Then another.
Ronan stepped in front of her.
"Stay behind me."
"Not happening."
"Mara."
"You are bleeding all over the floor. You have a monster trying to chew its way out of your shadow. You don't get to order me around."
He turned halfway toward her, anger flashing in his eyes.
Then the door gave a long, rusty scream.
Both of them froze.
Letters appeared beneath the peeling black paint.
Not carved by magic. Not glowing. Just cut deep into the iron by somebody's hand.
Mara stepped around Ronan before he could stop her.
She knew the handwriting.
She had seen it on birthday cards. On notes tucked into her school bag. On the last recipe her mother had ever written down.
Her breath stopped.
Three words sat across the center of the old iron door.
ELENA VOSS WAS HERE.
The lock clicked.
And the door started to open.