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“Run.”
Ronan said it like he was choking on the word.
Not move. Not get down. Run.
I was still pressed against the alley wall, one hand clamped over the hole in my side, when I caught my reflection in a blacked-out storefront window.
My eyes were gold.
Not hazel with a weird shine. Not light catching wrong.
Gold. Bright and mean and alive.
“What the hell?” I whispered.
Ronan grabbed my wrist. His fingers were slick with blood. “Quinn. Don’t look at them. We need to move.”
“I’m looking at my own face.”
“Exactly.”
That did not help.
A gun cracked somewhere at the mouth of the alley.
The bullet hit brick over Ronan’s shoulder. Dust sprayed across his dark hair. He shoved me forward so hard I almost went down on my bad side.
Pain ripped through my ribs.
Then another pain answered from him.
I felt it. Not saw it. Felt it.
His chest hitched behind me. The wound under his coat pulled open again, like my body had reached across the space between us and grabbed it.
“Stop doing that,” I snapped.
“Doing what?”
“Getting shot.”
He gave a breathless, humorless laugh. “I’ll put it on my list.”
We ran.
Or Ronan ran and dragged me after him while I tried not to throw up blood or panic or both. The alley twisted behind the old nightclub district. Dumpsters. Fire escapes. Grease-stained brick. The whole place smelled like wet cardboard, old beer, and the sharp iron stink of Ronan’s blood.
Except I could smell other things now.
Too many things.
Cigarette smoke from three blocks over. Bleach leaking from a laundry vent. A rat under a pallet. Fresh gun oil.
And fear.
I stopped so fast Ronan nearly yanked my arm out of its socket.
He turned on me. “What?”
“You’re scared.”
His face went still.
The gunfire behind us stopped.
That should have made me feel better. It did not.
Ronan looked past me, toward the dark end of the alley. “We don’t have time for this.”
“You’re scared,” I repeated. “Of me?”
“No.”
Lie.
The word had a smell now. Cold metal. Burnt sugar. It slid right under my skin.
I stared at him.
His jaw flexed once. “I’m scared of what the ring is doing too fast.”
The cursed ring sat on my finger like it owned me. It was warm. Warmer than my skin. The black stone in it caught no light, but I could feel something under it. A tiny pulse. Like a second heartbeat.
“You said it tied us together.”
“I said enough for you to keep breathing.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
A shape moved at the roofline above us.
Ronan shoved me against the wall and covered me with his body.
A hunter dropped from the fire escape.
He landed light, knees bent, silver knife out. Not a cop. Not one of Vera’s nice-looking security guys from the news feed. This man wore tactical black and a wolf-bone charm around his throat.
He looked at Ronan first.
Then at me.
His mouth opened.
“Oh,” he said.
Ronan hit him before he got another word out.
The hunter’s head cracked against the brick. His knife flashed up. Ronan caught his wrist, twisted, and I heard something pop.
The hunter screamed.
I smelled his blood.
Everything in me locked onto it.
Not because I wanted to. That was the worst part.
My body leaned forward before my brain caught up. My mouth went dry. The gold in the storefront reflection flared brighter.
The hunter stared at me over Ronan’s shoulder.
“You bound her,” he gasped.
Ronan drove his knee into the man’s stomach.
“Shut up.”
The hunter coughed, laughing through it. “Kade’s got himself a little blood bride.”
Ronan’s hand closed around his throat.
I should have felt bad for the guy.
Instead, I watched the pulse jump in his neck and thought about how easy it would be to bite there.
Jesus Christ.
I stumbled backward, hitting the wall hard enough to jar my wound.
Ronan looked at me.
That was when I smelled it again.
His fear.
Not for himself. Not for the hunter. For me.
“Quinn,” he said.
The hunter used the second Ronan looked away. He slammed an elbow into Ronan’s side, tore free, and ran for the street.
Ronan moved after him.
I caught his coat. “Leave him.”
“He saw your eyes.”
“So did half the city, probably.”
“He knows what you are.”
“I don’t know what I am.”
Ronan stopped.
For one second, the alley went very quiet.
Then my phone buzzed in my pocket.
I nearly jumped out of my skin.
Ronan’s eyes narrowed. “Who has that number?”
“People who need packages moved. People who owe me money. My landlord. Unfortunately, a lot of idiots.”
“It could be Vera.”
“Yeah, well, she can get in line.”
I pulled it out.
Dex.
My stomach dropped.
I hit answer so fast my thumb slipped. “Dex?”
Static hissed in my ear.
Then his voice, low and tight. “Quinn. Don’t talk loud.”
“Where are you?”
“In the van.”
“Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine. I think. There’s a black SUV parked across from the garage.”
Ronan held out his hand.
I ignored him.
“Dex, listen to me. Don’t go home. Don’t go to the garage. Don’t call anybody you don’t know.”
“Too late for that, huh?”
“Dex.”
“I saw the broadcast.” His voice cracked a little, then got hard again. “They said you stole something and attacked people. They put your face on every screen in the damn city.”
“I didn’t attack anybody.”
Ronan made a small sound beside me.
I cut him a look.
“Okay,” I said. “Maybe one guy got shoved into a wall. But he was trying to stab me.”
“You’re bleeding.”
“How do you know?”
“You sound weird.”
Great. Love that for me.
“Just stay in the van,” I said. “Lock the doors. Keep it moving if you have to.”
“I can’t keep driving forever.”
“You can drive for twenty minutes.”
“Quinn—”
A sharp knock hit his side of the call.
Not on my end.
On his.
Dex went silent.
My grip crushed the phone. “Dex?”
Another knock.
Three slow taps against metal.
Ronan’s head snapped toward the phone. His face changed.
“Tell him to drive,” he said.
Dex whispered, “Somebody’s at the van.”
“Drive,” I said.
“I can’t. They boxed me in.”
“Who?”
A woman’s voice came faintly through the speaker. Smooth. Calm. Like she was ordering coffee instead of hunting us.
“Dex Harper. Please step out of the vehicle.”
Vera.
My blood went cold.
Ronan took the phone from my hand.
“Vera,” he said.
There was a pause.
Then she laughed softly. “Ronan. You do pick up eventually.”
“Let the boy go.”
“You’re not in a position to give orders.”
“You’re standing near a vehicle full of gasoline.”
I stared at him.
Dex made a scared little noise over the line.
Ronan’s expression did not move. “I know where you are. Let him leave.”
“You don’t know anything,” Vera said. “You always did confuse anger with strategy.”
“You have ten seconds.”
“Or what?”
Ronan’s gaze slid to mine.
The ring heated up.
Not warm this time.
Hot.
My knees buckled. I grabbed the wall. Gold light flashed under my skin, quick and ugly, running from the ring up my wrist.
Vera went quiet on the phone.
Then she said, very softly, “Oh. It’s happening already.”
Ronan’s mouth flattened.
“What’s happening?” I demanded.
Neither of them answered.
“Ronan.”
He looked at me, and for the first time since I met him, he looked like he wanted to say something and couldn’t figure out how without making it worse.
Vera spoke again. “Bring her to the Moon Rite. Alive. Unbroken, if you can manage it. I’ll trade the boy for her.”
“No,” I said.
Ronan covered the phone with his hand. “Quinn—”
“No.” I shoved his hand away. “She doesn’t get Dex because she wants me. That’s not a deal. That’s a trap with better lighting.”
“It may be the only way to get close enough—”
“Don’t.”
He stopped.
I could smell his anger now. Smoke and rain and something wild under it.
But there was guilt too.
That rotten burnt-sugar lie smell.
“You know what this is doing to me,” I said.
“We need to get you somewhere safe.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because you keep standing in alleys getting shot at.”
“I got shot because you jumped in front of me.”
“And you got cut open because of me.” His voice cracked like a whip. “You think I don’t know that?”
The phone went silent between us.
Even Vera stopped talking.
Ronan breathed through his nose. Blood had soaked down his shirt, dark and glossy. He looked pale under the grime. Too pale.
I could feel the wound in him pulling at mine.
And I hated that part of me wanted to put my hands on him. Not because I trusted him. Because the bond wanted it. Because his blood smelled like heat and danger and home, which was insane. I had known this man for maybe one bad night.
“Give me the phone,” I said.
He handed it over.
“Vera,” I said.
“Yes, Quinn?”
I hated how she said my name. Like she had already put it on a file folder.
“You tell your people to back away from that van.”
“Or?”
“Or I throw this ring into the river.”
Ronan’s eyes cut to me.
Vera laughed again, but this one sounded thinner. “You wouldn’t.”
“Try me. I’ve done dumber things for less money.”
“You need that ring to stay alive.”
My heart stumbled.
Ronan went still.
There it was.
The thing nobody had told me.
I looked at him. “Is that true?”
Vera made a pleased little hum. “He didn’t tell you?”
“Shut up,” Ronan said.
“Oh, Ronan. You brought her into a blood bond and skipped the important parts?”
My fingers tightened around the phone until the edges dug into my palm.
“Answer me,” I said.
Ronan took one step closer.
“Quinn, listen. The ring is anchoring the bond right now. Removing it could hurt you.”
“Could?”
His silence lasted half a second too long.
Vera filled it for him. “It would kill you.”
The alley tilted.
I swallowed hard.
Ronan reached for me. I slapped his hand away.
“Don’t touch me.”
His face shut down. “Fine.”
“Not fine.” My voice came out louder than I meant. “Nothing about this is fine. You knew the exact number of my mom’s debt. You knew Dex was vulnerable. You knew this ring would—what? Turn my eyes into headlights and make me want to bite people?”
“You don’t want to bite people.”
“I absolutely did five minutes ago.”
Ronan looked like he might laugh, which would have gotten him killed.
Instead, he said, “That part gets easier.”
“Awesome. Great. Love the customer service.”
On the phone, Vera sighed. “Are you done?”
“No,” I said.
Then I hung up.
Ronan stared at the dead screen. “That was not strategically helpful.”
“She knows where Dex is anyway.”
“She wants you angry. She wants you scared.”
“Congratulations. She’s doing amazing.”
A siren wailed somewhere nearby. Not police. Too low. Too long.
Ronan’s head turned toward the street.
“We need to go to your place,” he said.
“No.”
“Your hideout.”
I froze.
He watched my face and gave me the answer without saying it.
“You know about that too,” I said.
“I know enough.”
“You’ve been watching me?”
“I’ve been watching the debt.”
“That is not better.”
“It’s the closest secure location. We can get medical supplies, clothes, cash. Then we move Dex.”
“You don’t even know where he is.”
“I know Vera won’t kill him yet.”
I hated that he was probably right.
I hated more that I didn’t have a better plan.
My hideout was an old apartment over a closed tailor shop on Baxter. Nobody knew about it except Dex and me. I used it when packages got too hot, when clients got weird, when I needed three hours of sleep without somebody banging on my door about rent.
Mom’s old things were there too.
The stuff I couldn’t throw away.
Ronan touched my elbow this time, careful enough that I let him.
“Can you run?” he asked.
“No.”
“Can you limp fast?”
“Go to hell.”
“Good. That means yes.”
We got out through the back streets.
Ronan stole a motorcycle from outside a bar, which I objected to for exactly four seconds before another drone buzzed over the rooftops with Vera Sane’s face on its side.
The city had never felt so small.
I sat behind him because I didn’t have the strength to argue. My arms went around his waist. His body was hot under his blood-soaked coat. Every time the bike hit a pothole, pain shot through my ribs and his back tightened under my hands.
We didn’t talk.
There was too much traffic. Too much noise. Too much wrong with the world.
But I could smell him.
Fear, still there.
Not fading.
He was scared we were too late.
By the time we reached Baxter, my fingers were numb from holding on.
The tailor shop was dark. Its painted sign had peeled down to three letters: AIL. The stairwell door beside it was locked with a cheap chain and a padlock that had been broken for years.
I slid off the bike.
Ronan caught me when my leg gave out.
“I’ve got you,” he said.
“Don’t make it weird.”
“You’re bleeding on my shoes.”
“Those are stolen shoes.”
“They were expensive stolen shoes.”
I pushed away from him and started up the stairs.
Halfway to the landing, I stopped.
The smell hit me first.
Smoke.
Fresh smoke.
Then burned plastic.
Then something worse.
The little hair products Mom used to buy when she still had money. Coconut and cheap vanilla. The smell lived in one old box in my hideout.
It was burning.
“No,” I said.
Ronan was suddenly behind me. “Quinn.”
I ran anyway.
My shoulder slammed into the stairwell door. The chain snapped loose. I hit the second-floor hallway hard, coughing before I even saw the smoke.
My apartment door was gone.
Not open.
Gone.
The whole front wall had blown outward into the hall. Plaster dust drifted through the air. My old couch was upside down against the opposite wall. Flames licked through what used to be the kitchen.
My hideout.
My cash.
My burner phones.
Mom’s boxes.
All of it wrecked.
Ronan grabbed my arm before I could rush inside.
“Don’t.”
“My stuff is in there.”
“It’s a bomb scene.”
“My mother’s things are in there.”
“Quinn.”
I ripped free.
The floor creaked under my first step.
Heat punched me in the face. My eyes watered. Gold flashed across my vision, sharpening everything through the smoke.
I saw the broken coffee table.
The melted plastic bin where I kept fake IDs.
The old green metal lockbox Mom had owned.
It sat in the middle of the ruined living room, split open like somebody had cracked it with a crowbar.
Empty.
Except for one thing in the ash.
A key.
Small. Brass. Old enough that the teeth were worn smooth.
Mom’s key.
The one she used to wear around her neck and never, ever let me touch.
I dropped to my knees beside it.
Ronan cursed behind me.
Then the key moved.
Not from the heat.
It slid across the ash by itself.
Straight toward the black ring on my finger.
And somewhere under the burning floorboards, something knocked back.