Long-press a paragraph to send danmaku
The black sedan nearly took my knees out.
Its back door flew open before the tires stopped smoking.
"Mara Voss," the man inside said. "Get in. Now."
Behind me, the silver-eyed hunter laughed.
Not a normal laugh. Too calm. Like he already had a bag picked out for my body.
I stood in the middle of Bell Street with rainwater soaking through my sneakers, my lungs on fire, and a black crescent burning under the skin of my left palm.
The man in the car looked expensive enough to own the whole block.
Dark suit. Black shirt. No tie. His hair was pushed back from his face like he'd been running his hands through it for an hour. Sharp cheekbones. Mean mouth. The kind of face that made you think twice before asking him for directions.
His eyes were gray.
Not silver. Not like the hunter's.
That was maybe the only reason I didn't bolt.
"Who the hell are you?" I shouted.
"Dorian Ash."
My stomach dropped so hard it hurt.
The dying man in the alley. Blood on his lips. His fingers crushing my wrist.
Don't let Ash touch the ring.
Then Mom in the washing machine glass, blue fire crawling up her arms.
Dorian.
I backed away from the open car door instead of toward it.
"Nope," I said. "Absolutely not."
Dorian's jaw tightened. "You have about five seconds before he puts a silver hook through your shoulder. Get in the car."
"You know this guy?"
"Unfortunately."
The hunter stepped off the curb behind me.
I heard his shoes splash through a puddle.
"Miss Voss," he said, almost polite. "You are making this harder than it needs to be."
I turned halfway toward him. Big mistake.
He was closer now. His burned hand hung at his side, wrapped in a dark handkerchief. Smoke still curled from the edge of it. The black light from my moon-mark had done more than sting him.
Good.
His other hand held a narrow silver blade.
Not a knife. Too long. Too thin. It looked like someone had melted down a church bell and sharpened the hate out of it.
"You hurt my hand," he said.
"Aw. Want me to kiss it better?"
His smile showed no teeth. "Your mother had that mouth too."
That hit worse than it should have.
For one stupid second, I wanted to ask him what she sounded like. What she wore. If she'd been scared when she made whatever deal he kept talking about.
Then his blade came up.
Dorian moved.
One second he was sitting in the back seat.
The next, he was outside the car between me and the hunter.
I didn't see him get out.
That should've scared me more than it did.
Mostly, I was too busy trying not to pass out.
Dorian was tall. Taller than I thought from the car. He put one hand behind him without looking, palm open toward me.
"Stay there," he said.
"That's not happening."
"Mara."
He said my name like it was a command.
I hated that my body almost listened.
The hunter tilted his head. "Ash. I was wondering how long you'd hide behind tinted windows."
"You brought a blade into a public street," Dorian said. "You're getting sloppy."
"Public?" The hunter glanced around.
Bell Street was empty except for a bus hissing at the far light and a drunk guy asleep under the pharmacy awning. The laundromat door banged behind me in the wind.
Nobody was coming to help.
The hunter smiled again. "No one will remember this block for the next ten minutes."
My skin crawled.
Dorian's hand lowered a little. "Get in the car, Mara."
"He said my blood is worth a city," I whispered.
"Yes."
"And you still expect me to get in your car?"
"I expect you to make the least terrible choice available."
Wow. Great sales pitch.
The hunter lunged.
I barely saw the blade move.
Dorian caught it.
Barehanded.
The silver edge slammed into his palm with a sound like metal biting bone.
I screamed before I could stop myself.
Dorian didn't.
His fingers closed around the blade.
Smoke burst from his hand. Thick and black. The air filled with the ugly smell of burned pennies and meat.
The hunter's eyes widened.
"You can't—"
Dorian twisted.
The silver blade snapped in half.
Just snapped.
The broken pieces rang against the wet pavement.
Nobody moved.
Then Dorian looked up.
His eyes were gold.
Not pretty gold. Not warm gold.
Predator gold.
The hunter stumbled back.
I did too.
Dorian's pupils had gone narrow and black. His canines looked too long when he spoke.
"Run," he told the hunter.
The hunter stared at him. "The eclipse curse is already eating you. You think breaking a toy proves you're in control?"
Dorian took one step forward.
The hunter ran.
Not fast at first. Then faster than any human should be able to move. He hit the corner, turned, and vanished into the wet dark between two shuttered stores.
Dorian didn't chase him.
He stood there with silver burning in his palm and gold in his eyes.
I looked at the car.
Then at him.
Then at the car again.
"You are not human," I said.
"Correct."
"What are you?"
"Not your problem if you get in the car."
I laughed once. It came out thin and ugly. "Oh, awesome. That clears up so much."
His gold eyes flicked to my left hand.
The crescent under my skin was pulsing. Black light leaked through my fingers.
Dorian's face changed.
Not much. Just a tiny pull at the corner of his mouth.
But I saw it.
Recognition.
Fear.
Maybe both.
I shoved my hand behind my back. "Don't touch me."
"I wasn't going to."
"You know what that is."
"Yes."
"Then tell me."
A siren wailed somewhere nearby. Too close. Not police, maybe. I couldn't tell anymore. Every sound felt wrong.
Dorian opened the back door wider. "In. We can talk while we're moving."
"You keep saying that like I'm supposed to trust you."
"You shouldn't trust me."
That shut me up for half a second.
He looked down the street where the hunter had disappeared.
"But you should understand math. One hunter found you in under an hour. More will come. They won't all be stupid enough to use silver in front of me."
"Why do you care?"
His gaze came back to mine.
The gold had faded a little. Gray was pushing through again, but it didn't make him look normal.
Nothing about this man was normal.
"Because your mother asked me to keep you alive," he said.
My chest went tight.
"Don't say her like you knew her."
"I did know her."
"Where is she?"
For the first time, Dorian didn't have a quick answer.
The silence lasted maybe two seconds.
It felt like getting punched.
"Get in the car, Mara," he said quietly.
I wanted to hit him.
I wanted to grab him by that stupid black shirt and make him say every word he knew about my mother.
Instead, headlights turned the corner.
Two black vans.
No logos. Dark windows. Moving slow.
Dorian swore under his breath.
"That's not police," I said.
"No."
"Friends of silver-eyes?"
"Worse."
The first van stopped across the street.
The side door slid open.
Three people in raincoats stepped out. Their faces were hidden by white masks painted with black circles over the mouths.
One of them held up something that looked like a dog leash.
Except the chain was silver.
My body made the choice before my brain caught up.
I dove into the sedan.
Dorian shut the door behind me, hard enough to rattle the windows.
"Drive," he said.
The driver took off.
The car shot forward so fast I slammed sideways into leather seats that probably cost more than my apartment's yearly rent.
A silver chain whipped through the spot where the car had been.
It struck the road. Sparks jumped.
I twisted around in my seat.
One of the masked people raised a hand.
The streetlights popped.
Every lamp on Bell Street went black at once.
Then we were around the corner and gone.
For a few seconds, nobody spoke.
The driver was a woman with a shaved head and a thick scar cutting through one eyebrow. She drove one-handed while talking into an earpiece.
"Two vans, maybe six on foot," she said. "They had Null masks."
Dorian pressed a handkerchief over his burned palm. Blood soaked through it anyway.
"They were waiting for the hunter to flush her out," he said.
"You want me to call the house?"
"No calls. Change route twice. No bridges."
The driver glanced at me in the mirror.
"This the girl?"
"Yes."
I sat up. "I have a name."
"Congratulations," she said. "So does everyone trying to cut you open tonight."
Dorian gave her a look.
She shrugged. "What? She should know."
"Know what?" I snapped.
The driver didn't answer.
Of course she didn't.
I turned on Dorian. "You said my mother asked you to keep me alive. When? How? Why was she in my head? Why did some dying guy know your name? And what the hell are those masks?"
He leaned back against the seat, still holding pressure on his palm.
Up close, he smelled like rain, smoke, and something sharp underneath. Like cold stone after lightning.
Not cologne.
Not human.
"One question at a time," he said.
"No. You've had apparently years to know things about me. I get all the questions."
His mouth almost twitched.
"That sounds exhausting."
"I'm exhausted."
The car took a hard turn. My shoulder hit his.
His body went still.
So did mine.
I pulled away fast.
The black crescent in my palm flared hot.
Dorian's breath caught.
Not much. A tiny sound.
But it was there.
His hand dropped from the wound for a second. Blood ran over his knuckles.
"Don't do that again," he said.
I stared at him. "Do what?"
"Touch me."
Anger rushed in, hot and useful. Better than fear.
"Trust me, monster, wasn't planning on it."
The driver's mouth twitched this time.
Dorian looked out the window.
"Good," he said.
That one word landed weird.
Like he was lying.
I looked down at my palm. The mark had gone dim again, buried under my skin like a drop of ink.
"My mother told me not to let you touch the ring," I said.
Dorian went very still.
The driver glanced up in the mirror.
Nobody said anything.
Then Dorian asked, "She told you that?"
"Not exactly. I saw her. At the laundromat. She was trapped in blue fire or something, and she said your name. Then she said not to let you touch it."
His face had gone pale under the tan.
For a guy who could break silver with his bare hand, that was not comforting.
"It was a memory echo," he said.
"A what?"
"The mark carries pieces of her magic. Stress can wake them."
"My mom had magic?"
Dorian looked at me like I'd asked whether water was wet.
"Mara. Your mother was one of the most dangerous women I have ever known."
I swallowed.
My mother had packed my lunches with little notes on napkins. She'd sung off-key while folding laundry. Then one day she vanished, and every adult around me suddenly had a different story.
Car accident.
Ran away.
Couldn't handle being a mother.
I hated all of them for making me pick one.
"If she was so dangerous," I said, "why did she leave me with nothing?"
Dorian's gaze dropped to the crescent under my skin.
"She didn't leave you with nothing."
The car went quiet again.
I didn't like where his eyes were.
I didn't like the way the driver tightened her grip on the wheel.
"Say it," I said.
Dorian shook his head once. "Not here."
"You don't get to decide that."
"Tonight, I do."
My laugh came out harsher this time. "You kidnapped me."
"I rescued you."
"Same thing if the guy doing it has glowing wolf eyes."
His gaze snapped to mine.
"You saw that."
"Hard to miss."
For a second, the air in the car felt too small.
Then he looked away.
"You are in danger because of that mark," he said. "The people chasing you believe your blood can unlock the Moon Gate."
I blinked. "The what?"
"You don't need to know yet."
"Oh, screw you."
"You need to know they will keep coming. Every hour you stay unprotected puts a target on anyone near you. Your coworkers. Your landlord. Anyone who recognizes your face."
My phone buzzed in my jacket pocket.
I froze.
Unknown number.
A text preview flashed across the screen.
WE FOUND YOUR ROUTE, LITTLE MOON.
Then another message came in.
A photo.
My bike, locked outside the laundromat.
Someone had tied a strip of bloody silver chain around the handlebars.
My mouth went dry.
Dorian saw it over my shoulder.
His expression turned cold enough to cut.
"Give me the phone," he said.
I clutched it tighter. "No."
"Mara."
"No. You don't get my phone, my hand, or anything else until you tell me why my mother warned me about you."
The car slowed at a red light.
Dorian looked at the screen. Then at me.
His burned hand curled into a fist.
"Fine," he said.
I waited.
He didn't give me the answer.
Of course he didn't.
Instead, he reached into the inside pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out a slim black folder.
He set it on the seat between us.
My name was printed across the front in silver letters.
MARA VOSS.
Under it, one line.
THIRTY-DAY MARITAL PROTECTION AGREEMENT.
I stared at it.
Then I stared at him.
"This is a joke."
"No."
"A marriage contract?"
"Thirty days. You stay under my protection. You follow my security rules. In return, I keep the hunters away from you and tell you what happened to your mother."
My fingers went numb around my phone.
"You want me to marry you."
Dorian's gray eyes held mine.
"I want you alive," he said. "Sign tonight."
The folder slid open as the car took the next turn.
And there, under the contract, was a photograph of my mother standing beside Dorian Ash.
Her hand was on his chest.
And she looked terrified.