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"Stop lying, Sera. Your eyes are practically screaming the truth," Kael spat, his grip tightening on my wrist until I felt the bone groan. He shoved me back against the damp brick wall of the alley, the impact knocking the wind out of my lungs.
I glared up at him, my chest heaving. "Truth? I don't do truth. I do results. And right now, the result is that I'm bleeding and you're the only idiot in Neon City stupid enough to help me."
Kael leaned in closer. I could smell the sharp scent of ozone and old leather clinging to him. His face was inches from mine, his gaze scanning my pupils with a clinical, predatory intensity. "You’re not bleeding from a wound. You’re leaking curse energy. That black sludge under your skin? That’s the mark of a Saint who’s been stripped of her divinity but kept the poison."
"And you're a monster hunter who's too obsessed with me to actually kill me," I countered, a smirk twitching on my lips despite the pain. "Why the hesitation, Kael? One quick snap of my neck and you get the bounty. You could buy a whole new district with my head."
He didn't flinch. Instead, he shifted his weight, pinning me more firmly against the wall. His forearm pressed across my collarbone, not enough to choke me, but enough to let me know exactly how easily he could. The heat from his body radiated through my thin, torn clothes, a stark contrast to the freezing rain starting to mist around us.
"I don't want the bounty," he whispered, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous vibration that I felt in my own chest. "I want to know who did it. Who managed to break the Vile Saint? Because if someone found a way to strip your power, that makes everyone in this city a target. Including me."
I laughed, a jagged, breathless sound. "Oh, poor Kael. Worried about his own skin? How noble."
"Shut up," he snapped. He let go of my wrist only to grab my chin, forcing me to look him in the eye. His thumb brushed against my lower lip, a touch that was far too intimate for two people who wanted to kill each other. The friction sent a jolt of something—fear, or maybe something worse—straight down my spine. "Tell me the name. Now."
"August," I hissed, the name tasting like ash. "The golden boy. The one you probably still think is a saint. He didn't just take my power, Kael. He tore it out of me while I was still awake."
Kael’s expression didn't shift, but his pupils dilated. He let go of me abruptly, stepping back as if I’d suddenly become radioactive. "August? The Archbishop? That's impossible. He's the pillar of the Council."
"The pillar is rotten, you blind fool," I said, sliding down the wall until I hit the grime-covered pavement. I coughed, a speck of black ichor staining my lip. "And now he's coming for the shards. If he gets them all, he won't just rule the city. He'll own every soul in it. Including yours."
Kael looked down at me, his silhouette blocking out the flickering neon sign of a nearby noodle shop. For a second, I saw it—a flicker of doubt, or maybe pity. I hated it. I wanted him to hate me. Hate was a currency I understood.
"You're a monster, Sera," he said, his voice flat.
"I'm the monster you deserve," I replied, leaning my head back against the brick. "So, what's the deal? You save me, I tell you where the first shard is hidden. We both get what we want, and then you can go back to pretending you're a hero."
Kael didn't answer immediately. He reached into his coat and pulled out a heavy, iron-threaded cuff. It looked like something used for shackling demons. My heart hammered against my ribs. I knew that gear. It wasn't just a restraint; it was a dampener. It would suppress whatever meager scraps of power I had left, making me completely dependent on whoever held the key.
"I don't trust you," Kael said, stepping forward again. "Not for a second. Not for a heartbeat."
"Then don't trust me," I snapped, trying to scramble up. "Just take the deal."
He moved faster than I could react. In one fluid motion, he grabbed my arm and slammed the cuff shut around my wrist. The metal bit into my skin with a cold, clinical snap. Immediately, a wave of nausea washed over me. The lingering hum of power in my veins—the only thing that had kept me conscious—was snuffed out like a candle. I gasped, my knees buckling.
Kael caught me by the waist, hauling me up. His hand was firm, his grip possessive. He leaned down, his breath warm against my ear, sending a shiver through my entire frame.
"Here's the deal, Saint," he murmured, his voice like velvet over gravel. "You're not my partner. You're my asset. You'll eat when I say, sleep where I tell you, and you'll give me every single piece of information you have. If you try to run, if you even look at a door the wrong way, I'll put you in a hole so deep the Council will forget you ever existed."
I glared at him, my eyes burning. "You think a piece of iron makes you my master?"
"I think it makes you mine," he replied, his gaze dropping to my lips for a fraction of a second before he yanked me forward. "Now move. Before the hounds catch our scent."
He didn't lead me to a hotel or a safehouse. He dragged me deeper into the guts of the city, through alleys that smelled of sulfur and desperation, where the neon lights were broken and the people looked like ghosts. We ended up in the Slums, a place where the rain felt like acid and the shadows had teeth.
He stopped in front of a rusted metal door that looked like it had been welded shut a decade ago. With a grunt, he kicked it open, revealing a cramped, one-room apartment that smelled of old books, gun oil, and loneliness. A single mattress lay on the floor, and a small table held a disassembled rifle and a half-empty bottle of cheap rye.
Kael shoved me inside, the force sending me stumbling across the cracked linoleum. He slammed the door shut and locked it with three different bolts, the sound echoing like a gavel in the silence.
I stood up slowly, dusting off my ruined dress, trying to maintain some shred of dignity. "This is it? Your grand fortress of solitude? It's a dump."
Kael didn't smile. He walked toward me, his presence filling the small room, making the air feel thick and hard to breathe. He stopped just inches away, his height towering over me. He reached out, his fingers grazing the cold iron of the cuff on my wrist, then sliding up to grip the back of my neck, pulling my head back so I had to look up at him.
"It's a hole," he whispered, his eyes dark with something I couldn't name. "And it's the only place in this city where you're safe from the people who want to peel your skin off. For now."
I tried to pull away, but his grip was absolute. The tension between us was a physical thing, a wire stretched to the breaking point. I could see the pulse jumping in his neck, hear the ragged edge of his breathing. He hated me, but he was looking at me like I was the only thing in the world that mattered.
"What happens if I refuse to talk?" I challenged, my voice barely a whisper.
Kael’s thumb pressed into the sensitive skin behind my ear, a slow, deliberate motion that made my breath hitch. "Then I find other ways to make you cooperate."
He let go of me suddenly, the loss of contact feeling like a cold shock. He walked to the table and poured a glass of rye, not looking back at me.
"Welcome home, Saint," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. "Now, tell me about the first shard, or I start taking things away from you one by one."
I opened my mouth to answer, but a sudden, violent crash echoed from the hallway outside. The sound of heavy boots and the unmistakable, guttural snarl of a Church Hound ripped through the air. The door shuddered under a massive impact, the metal groaning as if something monstrous was trying to tear its way in.
Kael froze, his glass halfway to his lips. He looked at me, then at the door, his expression shifting to one of pure lethal focus.
"They're already here," he muttered, reaching for his rifle.
I felt the blood drain from my face. The Hounds didn't just track scent; they tracked the residue of divinity. And even with the cuff on, I was glowing like a flare in the dark.
Another blow hit the door, and a voice roared from the other side, a voice I recognized from my nightmares.
"Sera! Come out and die like a good little dog!"