Chapter 8 · Black Market Toll

"Take your hand off me, Cael, or I swear I’ll break every finger you have." Cael’s grip tightened around Mara’s wrist as he dragged her behind a stack of black-market crates.

A crossbow bolt punched through the wood where her head had been.

"You can break my fingers after we stop the people trying to put arrows through your skull," he said.

"I had them handled."

"You were standing in the middle of the street."

"I was getting information."

"You were getting killed. There’s a difference."

Mara shoved at his chest. He barely moved. His coat scraped against her knuckles, rough and damp from the alley, while his body blocked the narrow gap between the crates and the brick wall.

Three bounty hunters rushed past the stall outside. Their boots struck the market stones hard enough to shake dust from the rafters. One of them shouted her name.

"Mara Voss! By order of the Crown, drop your weapon and come out!"

"See?" Mara whispered. "They’re asking nicely."

Cael lowered his face until his breath brushed the side of her cheek. "The last woman they asked nicely lost her head."

"You sound worried."

"I sound practical.