Chapter 7 · The Fourth Strike

“Get your hand off me, Cade.”

His fingers tightened around my wrist.

“Then stop reaching for the bell.”

“I’m not reaching for anything. Your chest is doing that creepy ringing thing again.”

The sound vibrated through his coat and into my palm. Low. Deep. Too quiet for the others in the stairwell to hear, but my bones caught every note.

Cade shoved me against the stone wall.

His body blocked the stairs. One arm braced beside my head. His other hand still locked around my wrist.

His face was inches from mine.

“Move your hand,” he said.

“Make me.”

His jaw tightened. “I am making you.”

“Badly.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. No humor reached his eyes.

His pulse beat hard beneath my fingers. The bell inside his chest answered with another slow chime.

For half a second, I stopped fighting.

That was all he needed.

Cade twisted my wrist down and pinned it beside my shoulder. Pain shot up my arm. His coat scraped my knuckles. His breath brushed my cheek, hot against the cold stone.

“Listen to me,” he said. “When the next strike comes, you stay behind me.”

“Sure.