His cheeks flushed with anger, and he shoved me in the chest. “Keep telling yourself that. Your pride is going to get her killed. She’s in trouble—” He shoved me again for emphasis, but I caught his arm and twisted it behind his back, slamming his chest into the wall. He didn’t even flinch. “Who cares if the Archbishop lied? You’re better than him, better than this.”

I snarled, quickly approaching my breaking point.

Lou, Ansel, Morgane le Blanc, the Archbishop . . . it was all too much. Too sudden. My mind couldn’t rationalize the emotions flooding through me—each too quick to name, each more painful than the last—but the time to choose rapidly approached.

I was a huntsman.

I was a man.

But I couldn’t be both. Not anymore.

I let go of Ansel and backed away, breathing ragged. “No, I’m not.”

“I don’t believe that.”

I balled my hands into fists, resisting the urge to smash them through the wall—or Ansel’s face. “All she’s ever done is lie to me, Ansel! She looked me in the eyes and told me she loved me! How do I know that wasn’t a lie too?”

“It wasn’t a lie. You know it wasn’t.” He paused, lifting his chin in a gesture so like Lou I nearly wept. “You . . . you called her she. Not it.”

Now I did strike the wall. Pain exploded from my knuckles. I welcomed it—welcomed anything to distract me from the agony ripping my chest in two, the tears burning my eyes. I leaned my forehead against the wall and gasped for breath. No, Lou wasn’t an it. But she’d still lied to me. Betrayed me.

“What should she have done instead?” Ansel asked. “Told you she was a witch and tied herself to the stake?”

My voice broke. “She should’ve trusted me.”

He touched my back, voice softening. “She’ll die, Reid. You heard the Archbishop. If you do nothing, she’ll die.”

And just like that, the rage left me. My hands fell to my sides. Limp. My shoulders slumped . . . defeated.

There had never been a choice. Not for me. From the first moment I’d seen her at the parade—dressed in that ridiculous suit and mustache—my fate had been sealed.

I loved her. Despite everything. Despite the lies, the betrayal, the hurt. Despite the Archbishop and Morgane le Blanc. Despite my own brothers. I didn’t know if she returned that love, and I didn’t care.

If she was destined to burn in Hell, I would burn with her.

“No.” Deadly purpose pounded through my veins as I pushed from the wall. “Lou isn’t going to die, Ansel. We’re going to find her.”

Hell Hath No Fury

Reid

A few initiates lingered outside my destroyed room when Ansel and I returned. They ducked their heads and scattered upon seeing me. Glowering at them, I stepped inside to think. To plan.

Lou had spent the last two years as a thief, so she was better than most at disappearing. She could’ve been anywhere. I wasn’t foolish enough to think I knew all her haunts, but I did have a better chance of finding her than Jean Luc. Still, the Chasseurs swarming the city complicated things.

Closing my eyes, I forced myself to breathe deeply and think. Where would she go? Where could she hide? But the magic in the air scorched my throat, distracting me. It lingered on the bedsheets, the splintered desk. The bloody pages of my Bible. On my skin, my hair. My eyes snapped open, and I resisted the urge to roar in frustration. I didn’t have time for this. I needed to find her. Quickly. Each passing moment could be her last.

She’ll die, Reid. If you do nothing, she’ll die.

No. That couldn’t happen. Think.

The theater seemed her most likely hiding place. But would she return there after she’d shared it with me? Probably not. Perhaps we could stake out Pan’s instead. It would be only a matter of time before she visited the patisserie—unless she’d left Cesarine altogether. My heart sank.

Ansel moved to the window and peered out to watch my brethren march past. He knew better than to suggest we join them. Though we shared a common purpose in finding Lou, the Archbishop had lied to me—had broken trust, broken faith. More important, I didn’t know what they planned for Lou when they found her. Though the Archbishop might try to protect her, Jean Luc knew she was a witch. How long would it take before he told the others? How long before someone suggested killing her?

I had to find her first. Before them. Before the witches.

Ansel cleared his throat.

“What?” I snapped.

“I—I think we should visit Mademoiselle Perrot. The two are . . . close. She might know something.”

Mademoiselle Perrot. Of course.

Before we could move, however, what was left of my door crashed open. Standing in the threshold—panting and glaring—stood Mademoiselle Perrot in the flesh.

“Where is she?” She advanced on me with threat of violence in her eyes. She’d abandoned her white healer’s robes for leather trousers and a blood-speckled shirt. “Where’s Lou?”

I frowned at the lattice of scars on her exposed collarbone and forearms.

Startled, Ansel stumbled forward to explain, but I shook my head curtly, stepping in front of him. Forcing the words out before I could swallow them back. “She’s gone.”

“What do you mean gone? You have thirty seconds to tell me what happened before I spill blood, Chasseur.” She hurled the last word at me—like she meant it as an insult. I scowled. Forced a deep breath. Then another.

Wait—spill blood?

“Tick tock,” she snarled.

Though I loathed the thought of telling her what had transpired between me and Lou, it was no good lying. Not if I wanted her help. If she didn’t know where Lou was, I had little else to go on. Little chance of ever finding her. That couldn’t happen.

“The witches attacked the castle as a diversion and came here—”

“I know.” She swiped an impatient hand. “I was at the castle with Beau when they vanished. I meant what happened with Lou.”

“She ran off,” I repeated through clenched teeth. “A witch—she followed us up here and attacked. Lou saved my life.” I broke off, chest tight, and considered how to break the news. She needed to know. “Mademoiselle Perrot . . . Lou is a witch.”

To my surprise, she didn’t even blink. A slight tightening of her mouth was the only indication she’d heard me at all. “Of course she is.”

“What?” Disbelief colored my voice. “You—you knew?”

She gave me a scathing look. “You’d have to be a total idiot not to see it.”

Like you. Her unspoken words echoed around the room. I ignored them, the sharp sting of yet another betrayal rendering me momentarily speechless. “Did . . . did she tell you?”

She snorted, rolling her eyes toward the ceiling. “There’s no need to look so wounded. No, she didn’t tell me. She didn’t tell Ansel here either, yet he knew too.”

Ansel’s eyes flicked between the two of us rapidly. He swallowed hard. “I—I didn’t know anything—”

“Oh, please.” She scowled at him. “You’re insulting everyone by lying.”

His shoulders slumped, and he stared at the floor. Refusing to look at me. “Yes. I knew.”