"Sit. Now," Lucan snapped, his voice grating like gravel. He didn't wait for her to move, shoving her toward a rusted metal chair in the center of the room.
Mara stumbled, her boots catching on a pile of damp rags. She didn't sit. She whipped around and shoved him back, her palm slamming into his chest. "Don't touch me. You're the one with the ticking clock in your chest, not me."
Lucan didn't budge. He stood his ground, his height looming over her in the dim, flickering light of the cellar. The air here was thick with the smell of old grease and something metallic—like blood and ozone. He leaned in, his face inches from hers, and Mara could feel the unnatural heat radiating off him. It wasn't a fever; it was a hum, a vibration that made the fine hairs on her arms stand up.
"You want information?" he whispered, his breath hot against her cheek. "Information costs. And right now, you're the only currency I've got."
Mara narrowed her eyes, her hand sliding toward the small ward-breaking pick hidden in her sleeve. "I'm the only reason you aren't in a Ward Authority cage right now. I think that earns me a few answers for free."
"Free is for amateurs," Lucan said. He grabbed her wrist—not hard, but firm—and lifted it. The blood contract binding them glowed a faint, sickly violet. "This link doesn't just keep you from running. It lets me feel you. Your panic. Your desperation. It's practically screaming, Mara."
She yanked her arm back, the friction of his skin against hers leaving a lingering sting. "My desperation is for my brother. Where is Noah?"
Lucan finally stepped back, a sharp, bitter laugh escaping his throat. He slumped into the chair she had refused, his posture suddenly fragile. The dominant alpha mask slipped for a second, revealing a glimpse of something raw and exhausted. "Your brother is a pawn in a game played by people who make me look like a saint. You think Sera Quinn just kidnapped a kid for fun?"
"I know she's a bitch," Mara spat, pacing the small perimeter of the hideout. "But she's a bitch with a pattern. She wants the Vale heir. She wants you. If she has Noah, she's using him to lure you out. So tell me—what does she actually want with the curse?"
Lucan looked up, his eyes clouded. "It's not a curse. Not exactly. It's a vacuum. A black core that eats magic. And Vesper Bay is built on a foundation of it. If I don't find a way to stabilize it, the city doesn't just lose its power. It collapses. Literally."
Mara stopped mid-stride. "Seven days. You said seven days. That's not a deadline, that's a death sentence."
"For the city, yes," Lucan said, his voice dropping. "For me... it's just the end of the noise."
He leaned his head back against the wall, closing his eyes. For the first time, Mara didn't see the wanted criminal or the arrogant heir. She saw a guy who looked like he'd been fighting a war inside his own skin for years. The tension in the room shifted. The aggression didn't vanish, but it morphed into something heavier, something that pulled her closer despite herself.
She stepped toward him, her voice softening. "Why me? There are a hundred ward breakers in the gutters. Why chain yourself to a girl who was trying to sell you out?"
Lucan opened one eye, a flicker of something—amusement? pain?—crossing his features. "Because you're the only one who didn't look at me with pity. You looked at me like I was a paycheck. I can work with greed. Pity is what kills you."
Mara let out a short, dry breath. "I'm still greedy. I want my brother back."
"Then stop treating me like a monster and start treating me like a map," Lucan replied. He reached out, his fingers grazing the fabric of her jacket, pulling her just an inch closer. The proximity was sudden, suffocating. Mara could smell the salt and smoke clinging to him. Her heart hammered against her ribs, not from fear, but from the sheer, magnetic pressure of him.
"Tell me where he is," she whispered, her gaze dropping to his lips before snapping back to his eyes. "And I'll help you kill whatever is eating this city."
Lucan’s gaze intensified, his hand sliding from her jacket to the small of her back, pulling her flush against him. The heat was overwhelming now. Mara felt the pulse of the contract on her wrist throb in sync with his heart. It was a dangerous, fragile moment—a bridge built on mutual hatred and desperate need.
"Deal," he murmured, his voice a low vibration she felt in her own chest. "But if you try to slip a ward on me while I'm sleeping, I'll make sure the Authority finds you before the sun comes up."
"I don't sleep," Mara countered, though her breath was shallow. "I wait."
He smirked, the expression sharp and predatory. "I like that. Most people just panic."
He released her abruptly, the sudden loss of warmth leaving her shivering in the damp cellar air. He stood up and walked toward a grime-streaked mirror leaning against the wall, checking the bruising around his ribs.
"There's a contact," Lucan said, his tone returning to business. "A gutter-rat who deals in Authority secrets. He knows where Quinn moves her high-value prisoners. But he doesn't take coin. He takes leverage."
"What kind of leverage?" Mara asked, crossing her arms.
"The kind that gets us both hanged if we're caught," Lucan replied. He turned back to her, his expression grim. "He wants a piece of the core. A fragment of the magic I'm leaking. If I give it to him, I get weaker. If I don't, we're blind."
"Do it," Mara said without hesitation. "I don't care if you're weak, as long as you're useful."
Lucan chuckled, a dark, genuine sound. "You really are a piece of work, Venn."
Just as he reached for a cloth to wrap his hand, a sound echoed through the cellar.
*Knock. Knock. Knock.*
Three slow, deliberate raps on the heavy iron door.
Mara froze, her hand instantly flying to the hilt of her pick. Lucan went rigid, his eyes darting to the door and then back to her. The contract on their wrists flared a warning crimson.
"I'm not expecting anyone," Lucan whispered, his voice barely audible.
"Me neither," Mara replied.
From behind the door, a muffled, distorted voice called out. It sounded like it was coming through a filter, metallic and cold.
"I have a boy," the voice said. "A little apprentice with a very bright lamp. He's calling for his sister."
Mara's blood turned to ice. She took a step toward the door, her muscles coiled to spring. "Noah?"
"He's alive," the voice replied, followed by a slow, scraping sound—like a blade being dragged across stone. "But the price for his location just went up. And I think Mr. Vale is the only one who can pay."
Lucan stepped in front of her, blocking the door with his body. "Don't open it, Mara."
"He has Noah!" she hissed, trying to push past him.
"That's exactly why you don't open it," Lucan snapped, his grip tightening on her shoulder. "It's a trap."
"I don't care!"
*Knock. Knock.*
"Five minutes," the voice whispered. "Or I start cutting off the fingers he uses to draw his wards."