Chapter 21 · Every Mark Wants Her

The first ward came through the ceiling.

Nessa saw the red line crawl over cracked stone, heard it hiss, and threw herself sideways before it dropped like a spear.

It hit the floor where her head had been.

Stone exploded. Dust slapped her face. Her bad shoulder screamed when she rolled into a stack of rusted archive cages.

“Move,” Dorian snapped.

“Got the message.”

Another red line cut through the air.

Not a line. A blood sigil. Thin as a thread, bright as fresh meat, twisting above them like it had a nose. It pointed straight at her.

Every damn mark in Veyra had her scent now.

Nessa shoved herself up. Her palm was slick around the bloodsteel knife. The cut she’d made across the marriage mark still burned around her wrist, a raw black split where the oath used to sit.

Across the vault chamber, Dorian caught himself against a stone pillar.

He looked worse than he had ten minutes ago. Maybe worse than he had in his whole miserable life.

Blood darkened the front of his shirt. Black veins climbed from his collar toward his jaw.