Sins of the Flesh

No. He couldn’t mean that he’d—


“Put down the sword, darlin’. You can’t win. You know that. Cut my heart right out and lay it on the floor, and I still won’t die. Trust me, I’m far more pleasant to be around when I’m not angry. Your sword’s not going to do much more than piss me off.”

Actually, it would do much more than that.

Time to act. She surged toward him, harnessing the power she’d stolen from him, channeling force through her arm, through her blade. She stabbed at his gut.

As expected, he was faster than she was. His arm came up to deflect the blow, and she ended up thrusting her sword through the left side of his chest instead of his belly. That was fine. She wasn’t finicky. Her only regret was that her blow wasn’t positioned to skewer his heart.

Thanks to the power she had siphoned from him, her blade sank through skin and muscle, clear through his back and deep into the wall. The hilt vibrated as she let go, leaving him impaled.

Everything felt as if it moved in slow motion, when in truth they were both moving with incredible speed. He looked down. His mouth fell open. Then his head lifted once more. Gray eyes, pale and bright and cold, pinned her as her blade pinned him.

His hands came up to close on the hilt of her abandoned weapon.

She dipped, shoved her shoulder into Kuznetsov’s belly and flipped him up into a fireman’s carry—she didn’t want to think about where his naked dangly bits were at the moment. At least she had the comfort of knowing they’d be shriveled by the cold.

With the reaper’s blood surging through her veins, the maneuver was no more challenging than slinging her purse over her shoulder.

She hated to lose her weapon, but she hated to lose Pyotr Kuznetsov even more. A sword could be replaced. The information his brain held couldn’t.

The Asetian Guard wanted his secrets.

And so, it seemed, did the soul reaper.

From the corner of her eye, she saw him pulling on her sword, the blade inching free, dripping fat drops of luscious blood.

The smell taunted her, lured her.

That was the risk. She’d tasted him. Savored him on her tongue.

She wanted to taste him again.

But the bigger risk was that he was almost free.

The blade was longer than his reach. He took a breath and switched his grip so he could pull the final half of her steel from his chest.

He made not a sound, though she had little doubt he felt pain. Deep, searing pain.

His gaze met hers, cold, angry. But still, that interest lingered, as though by breaching his defenses, she’d earned even more of his awareness.

His gaze shifted to Kuznetsov, who hung heavy across her shoulder.

The sand in the hourglass had run out.

She spun, snatched up the marble statue on the nightstand, hauled back and used the strength she’d stolen from the soul reaper to amp up her throw.

Stone slammed against glass.

The window shattered, a thousand glittering shards arcing outward into the night and raining down to the ground below.

She didn’t hesitate, didn’t flinch.

Head bowed to protect her face, arms tight around Kuznetsov’s naked back, she launched herself through the jagged hole into the star-tossed night.

And she fell, the cold air stinging her skin, the ground rushing up to meet her.





MAL DRAGGED THE LAST FEW inches of the sword free of his flesh, wincing at the raw pain. She’d stabbed him. She’d fucking pinned him to the wall like a bug. She’d fed from him and used his own blood and power against him. He hadn’t seen that coming.

He was both affronted by—and admiring of—her resourcefulness. Calliope Kane had brass ones the size of cantaloupes. The wound in his chest hurt like a bitch. His pride stung almost as much. She’d bested him, for now. The outcome of a small skirmish did not a battle decide.

Pressing the side of his balled fist tight to stanch the blood, he staggered to the window, cursing and snarling and wishing her to every territory of the Underworld that had fire. Hot, unforgiving, devouring fire.

At the same time, she’d left him feeling exhilarated.

Calliope Kane was a riddle. Cool. Calculating. She’d jumped out the damned window without a second’s hesitation. He’d have liked to make the jump alongside her. Doubly so, given that she’d taken the damned High Reverend with her.

He looked down at the terrace a few stories below. An empty terrace. She was already gone, moving with uncanny speed. Thanks to her little snack of reaper blood.

His blood.

Which was currently leaving his body in steady spurts.