August tore his eyes away and looked around the room. They weren’t alone. A man was slumped in the corner, unconscious, hands bound, and mouth covered in duct tape. A label on his shirt read “V-City Cab.”
She followed his gaze. “You’re heavier than you look,” she explained. “I needed his help getting you up here. And then . . . well . . . I didn’t think I should let him go. But I paid him pretty well before . . . well.”
August tried to swallow. His throat felt like it was coated in sand. “My violin.”
Kate rapped her nails on the case beside her. He sagged with relief, and she gave him a look he couldn’t parse. Her attention drifted to the windows, empty frames covered in plastic sheeting. Even through the plastic, he could tell it was getting dark. He should have been home by now. Where was his phone? He couldn’t feel it in his pocket. Had he dropped it?
“Where are we?” he asked.
“My father has safe houses set up around the city.”
A wave of panic hit him like nausea. “And you took us to one? After his Malc—”
Kate shot him a withering look. “They weren’t my father’s anymore,” she said icily. “But I’m not stupid. We’re in a renovation project around the corner from the safe house. I have a lot of questions, Freddie.”
He swallowed again. “August,” he said tiredly. “My name’s August.”
“August,” she said, as if testing it out. “That does suit you better. August Flynn.”
So she did know.
“How long?” he asked, and she must have understood the question because she said, “Yesterday.” August nodded. He’d been right. He’d probably feel vindicated, if he weren’t in so much pain.
“I thought your kind were supposed to be invincible.” She said kind like it was a dirty word.
He cringed. “Nothing is invincible.”
A dry smile flickered across her face. “That’s what I thought.”
“Kate—”
“No,” she cut in, “you don’t get to talk yet.”
He fell silent. The blood pounded in his head.
Kate scraped black gore from her metallic nails. “Why did you help me?” The question came out fast and sharp, like this was the one she’d been waiting to ask.
He closed his eyes. “It was a trap. Those Malchai weren’t just trying to kill you. They were trying to make it look like a Sunai execution. They would have pinned the death on me—on my family—and used it to break the truce.” He dragged his eyes open again. The illness was finally, mercifully, receding. “I meant what I said in the woods. About wanting peace.”
“I’m supposed to believe the monster’s a pacifist?”
“I never lied to you.”
“But you didn’t tell the truth.”
“How could I?” he asked. “Would you?”
Kate didn’t answer. She was staring at the floor, her face taut with pain.
“Are you all right?” he asked softly.
Her head snapped up. “Are you fucking with me?”
August shrank back, confused. “I was just ask—”
“Stop talking.” She got to her feet, revealing the iron spike she’d tucked beneath her knee. “I know what your kind can do. I’ve seen the footage, seen the way you toy with your victims, playing some sick game of cat and mouse. . . .” Footage? thought August. “I am not a mouse, August Flynn, do you understand? I know what you are.”
She was coming toward him. The metal girding she’d bound him to ran vertically up the wall, and he dragged himself to his feet, wrists sliding up the bars until he was at full height.
“I saved your life,” he said.
In response, Kate brought the tip of the iron spike to his throat. It was still stained with Malchai blood, and the scent turned August’s stomach. Kate’s eyes were feverish, but her hand was steady.
“A thank-you would suffice,” he said.
“Why were you at Colton?” she demanded.
“My father sent me.”
“You mean Flynn.”
“Yes.”
“Did he want you to kill me?”
“No. He wanted me close to you in case the truce broke. There aren’t many things in this world Callum Harker cares about, and Leo thought you might prove valuable as leverage in the fight.” August leaned forward against the metal tip. “And for the record, it’s going to take more than this to hurt me.” As if rising to the challenge, Kate pressed down, but the point didn’t break the skin.
Just then, a cell phone buzzed on the concrete floor beside the violin case. Kate turned toward it, and horror washed over August. “You left it on?”
“I took out the GPS,” she said, crouching to retrieve the cell. She frowned at the screen.
“Kate,” he said, tugging against the zip ties. He swore. They were threaded with metal. “Who is it?”
She straightened. “Home.”
“Don’t answer,” he said, wishing for the first time he could change a person’s mind instead of just loosening their thoughts. Her thumb hovered over the screen. “Kate, someone sent those Malchai to kill you.”
Kate stared down at the cell. It stopped buzzing. And then started again. “They broke their oaths,” she said. “Just like Olivier.”