When their bodies thudded to the floor, I collapsed right along with them, pawing at Grue’s corpse for Angelica’s Ring. I thrust it back on my finger as a knock sounded on the door.

“Is everything okay in there?”

I froze at the unfamiliar voice, panting and shaking. The doorknob rattled, and a new voice joined the first. “The key is broken off.”

“I heard shouting.” Another knock, louder this time. “Is anyone in there?”

The doorknob rattled again. “Hello? Can someone hear me?”

“What’s going on here?”

That voice I knew. Strong. Confident. Damnably inconvenient.

Leaping to my feet, I staggered to the water barrel, praying the door would hold against Reid’s strength. I cursed quietly. Of course Reid was here, now, with magic lingering in the air and two corpses burning on the floor. I slid a little in their blood as I tipped the barrel. The water cascaded over them, diluting the worst of the smell. The embers hissed at the contact, smoking slightly, and a sickening, charred scent swathed the room. I tilted the barrel and doused myself too.

The voices outside paused as the barrel slipped from my fingers and crashed to the floor. Then—

“Someone is in there.” Without waiting for confirmation, Reid kicked the door. It bowed under his weight. When he kicked again, the wood gave an ominous crack. I lunged toward the forge and pumped the bellows feverishly. Coal smoke poured into the room, thick and black. The door splintered, but I kept pumping. Kept pumping until my eyes watered and my throat burned. Until I couldn’t smell the magic. Until I couldn’t smell anything.

I dropped the bellows just as the door exploded.

Sunlight streamed in, illuminating Reid’s silhouette in the whorls of smoke. Massive. Tense. Waiting. He’d drawn his Balisarda, and the sapphire glinted through the shifting smoke. Two concerned citizens stood behind him. As the smoke cleared, I better saw his face. His eyes swept across the scene quickly, narrowing at the blood and bodies—and landing on me. He blanched. “Lou?”

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. My knees gave way.

He moved forward quickly—ignoring the blood, water, and smoke—and dropped to his knees before me. “Are you all right?” He gripped my shoulders, forcing me to look at him. Pushed my wet hair from my face, tipped my chin, touched the marks on my throat. His fingers stilled on the thin scar there. The cold mask of fury cracked, leaving only the frantic man beneath. “Did they—did they hurt you?”

I winced and caught his hands, halting his assessment. My hands shook. “I’m fine, Reid.”

“What happened?”

Quickly, I recounted the nightmarish experience, omitting any mention of magic. The water and smoke had done their job—and the charred flesh. With each word, his face grew stonier, and by the time I finished, he trembled with rage. Exhaling heavily, he rested his forehead against our knotted hands. “I want to kill them for touching you.”

“Too late,” I said weakly.

“Lou, I— If they’d hurt you—” He lifted his gaze to mine, and once again, the vulnerability there pierced my chest.

“H-How did you know I was here?”

“I didn’t. I came to buy one of your Christmas gifts.” He paused, jerking his head to send the two citizens away. Terrified, they scuttled out the door without another word. “A knife.”

I stared at him. Perhaps it was the adrenaline still pounding through my body. Or his disobedience to the Archbishop. Or my own wretched realization that I was afraid. Truly afraid, this time.

And I needed help.

No. I needed him.

Whatever the reason, I didn’t care.

One second, we knelt together on that bloody floor, and the next, I flung my arms around his neck and kissed him. He pulled away for a fraction of a second, startled, but then he fisted the fabric at the back of my cloak and crushed me to him, mouth hard and unrelenting.

Control deserted me. As close as Reid held me, I wanted to be closer. I wanted to feel every inch of him. Tightening my hold, I molded my body to the hard shape of him—to the broad expanse of his chest, his stomach, his legs.

With a low groan, he snaked his hands under my thighs and hitched me up against him. I wrapped my legs around his waist, and he bore me to the floor, deepening the kiss.

Something warm seeped through the back of my dress, and I broke away abruptly, stiffening. I glanced over to Andre and Grue.

Blood.

I was lying in their blood.

Reid realized it the same second I did, and he vaulted to his feet, pulling me up with him. Spots of color rose on his cheeks, and his breathing sounded uneven. “We should go.”

I blinked, deflating slightly as the heat between us cooled and icy reality set in. I’d killed. Again. Sagging against his chest, I looked back to where Andre and Grue lay. Forced myself to stare into their cold, dead eyes. They gaped at the ceiling, unseeing. Blood still seeped from their wounds.

Revulsion coiled in my stomach.

Vaguely aware of Reid disentangling himself from my arms, I stared down at my cloak. The white velvet was ruined now—stained irrevocably red.

Two more deaths. Two more bodies left in my wake. Just how many would join them before all was said and done?

“Here.” Reid thrust something into my limp hand, and I wrapped my fingers around it instinctively. “An early Christmas present.”

It was Andre’s knife, still slick with its master’s blood.

Of My Home

Lou

The sun was setting by the time we made our way back to Chasseur Tower. Reid had insisted on reporting the whole messy affair to the constabulary. Question after question they’d asked, until I’d finally snapped.

“Do you see my throat?” I’d jerked my collar down to show them my bruises for the hundredth time. “Do you think I gave them to myself?”

Reid had been quite keen to leave after that.

I supposed I should’ve been grateful for his reputation as a Chasseur. Otherwise, I had little doubt the constabulary would’ve seized the opportunity to throw me in prison for murder.

Outside, I turned my face to the dying sun, breathing deeply and trying to collect myself. Andre and Grue were dead. The Chasseurs still hadn’t found Monsieur Bernard, which meant he probably was too. I hadn’t seen or spoken to Coco since our disagreement at the ball, and Reid and I—we’d just—

He halted beside me without a word, slipping his fingers through mine. Closing my eyes, I savored the callouses on his palm, the roughness of his skin. Even the bite of the wind on my cheeks wasn’t unbearable with him near. It swirled around us and filled me with his scent—vaguely woodsy, like fresh air and mountain pines, with a hint of something richer, deeper, that was entirely Reid.

“I want to show you something, Reid.”

His lips quirked up in my favorite lopsided grin. “What’s that?”

“A secret.”

I tugged his hand to lead him away, but he dug his feet in, suddenly suspicious. “It’s not something illegal, is it?”

“Of course not.” I tugged harder, but Reid didn’t budge. Trying to move him was like trying to move a mountain. He raised his eyebrows at my futile attempts, clearly amused. I finally gave up, slapping his chest. “God, you’re a huge ass! It’s not illegal, all right? Now move, or I swear to God, I will strip naked right here and dance the bourrée!”