"Don't move. Not a muscle," the man spat, his voice sounding like gravel in a blender. He had a jagged scar running from his jaw to his collarbone, and he was currently holding a rusted combat knife to the soft part of Mara's throat.
Mara didn't blink. She couldn't. The blade was cold, and the man—a low-level street hound named Jax—smelled like cheap gin and old blood. Behind her, she could feel Lucan’s presence, a heavy, suffocating heat that radiated off him like a furnace.
"Let her go, Jax," Lucan said. His voice was too calm. It was the kind of calm that usually ended with someone losing a limb.
"Shut it, Your Highness," Jax sneered, pressing the blade deeper. Mara felt a thin line of warmth trickle down her neck. "I know who you are. I know what's eating you from the inside. You're worth more dead than alive to the Authority, but to me? You're just a paycheck with a fancy name."
Mara shifted her gaze slightly, catching Lucan’s eye. He looked exhausted. The dark veins of the curse were creeping higher up his neck, pulsing with a dim, sickly light. He wasn't just fighting the city’s hunters; he was fighting his own blood.
"I have the intel you want," Mara said, her voice tight. "Information on the ward-locks in the West Side. Just put the knife down."
Jax laughed, a wet, hacking sound. "You're a ward-breaker, sweetheart. A gutter-rat. Why would I trust a word from someone who’d sell her own soul for a handful of credits?"
"Because I'm the only one who can get you past the Authority's new perimeter without triggering the alarms," Mara shot back. She tried to keep her breathing shallow. Every time she inhaled, the knife nicked her skin.
Lucan stepped forward, his boots clicking on the damp concrete of the alley. "She's with me. Which means she's under my protection. You touch her again, and I'll make sure the curse doesn't just take me—it'll take everything within ten feet of us."
Jax paused. He looked at Lucan, then at the strange, shimmering bond glowing faintly on Mara’s wrist—the blood contract that chained her to the man she hated. Jax’s eyes widened.
"A blood bond?" Jax hissed. "You're not just protecting her. You've shackled her. Who the hell are you, playing master and pet in the middle of a war zone?"
Mara felt a surge of disgust. "I'm not anyone's pet," she snapped, and in one fluid motion, she slammed her heel down onto Jax's instep and wrenched her head sideways. The knife sliced a shallow groove into her shoulder, but she was free. She didn't stop. She spun, driving her elbow hard into Jax's ribs.
There was a satisfying crack. Jax wheezed, collapsing against a stack of rotting crates.
Lucan was on him in a second. He didn't use a weapon. He didn't need one. He grabbed Jax by the throat and hoisted him up, pinning him against the wall. The heat coming off Lucan was oppressive now, the air shimmering around them.
"Where is he?" Lucan demanded, his voice dropping an octave. "The boy. Noah Venn. You were tracking the ward-signatures. You know where they took him."
Jax gasped, his face turning a bruised purple. "I... I don't..."
Mara stepped in, her face hard. She didn't care about the blood on her shoulder. She grabbed Jax’s wrist, twisting it until the man let out a strangled yelp. "Listen to me, you piece of trash. I don't care about the money. I don't care about your boss. I want my brother. Tell me where the Authority is holding him, or I'll break every finger on your hand and then I'll let Lucan here let his curse loose in your lungs."
Jax looked at Mara, then at the terrifying intensity in Lucan's eyes. He started to shake. "West Side... the old foundry... but it's not a cell. It's a vault. You can't just walk in."
Lucan dropped him like a piece of garbage. Jax slumped to the floor, coughing and clutching his throat.
Mara stood over him, her heart hammering against her ribs. The foundry. It was one of the most heavily warded places in the city. If Noah was there, he wasn't just a prisoner; he was an experiment.
"We have to go. Now," Mara said, turning to Lucan.
Lucan didn't move. He was staring at his own hands. The black veins were twitching. He looked like he was about to collapse, but he forced a smirk. "Going to the West Side? That's basically walking into the lion's den with a steak tied around your neck."
"Better than sitting here waiting for the lions to find us," she replied.
She reached out to steady him, her hand brushing his forearm. The contact was electric. For a split second, the curse seemed to settle, the oppressive heat softening into something almost... intimate. Lucan froze, his gaze locking onto hers. The distance between them vanished, the air thick with a tension that had nothing to do with the hunters.
He leaned in, his breath warm against her cheek. "You're surprisingly fierce for a girl who's practically my slave, Mara."
"I'm not your slave," she whispered, though she didn't pull away. "I'm your worst nightmare in a cheap coat."
He chuckled, a low vibration she felt in her own chest. "I'm starting to like the nightmares."
The moment was shattered by a sharp whistle from the end of the alley. Two more hounds emerged from the shadows, their eyes glowing with the artificial light of Authority implants.
"Well, look at this," the lead hound grinned, his teeth stained red from some previous kill. "A little reunion. We were wondering where you'd crawled off to, Vale."
Mara stepped in front of Lucan, her hands already tracing the invisible lines of a ward in the air. She could feel the magic in the atmosphere—thin, dying, being sucked dry by the very man standing behind her.
"Get back," she commanded Lucan.
"Mara, don't be stupid," he muttered, his hand gripping her shoulder to pull her back. "They're not here to talk."
"I know that!" she snapped, shoving his hand away. She didn't look back. She couldn't let him see how much she was shaking.
The lead hound stepped forward, his gaze shifting from Lucan to Mara. He didn't look threatened. He looked amused. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, charred piece of fabric.
Mara’s breath hitched. It was a scrap of a blue tunic. Noah’s tunic.
"You're looking for the kid, right?" the hound asked, his grin widening. "Cute. Really. But here's the thing about the West Side, sweetheart..."
He paused, leaning in as if sharing a secret, his voice dripping with malice.
"Your brother's never even been to the West Side."