Текст книги "Heartless hunter"

Автор книги: Kristen Ciccarelli

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Текущая страница: 2 (всего у книги 23 страниц)

At the sight of the rubies, Verity’s mouth pinched. Turning away from Rune, she quickly cleared her throat.

“Well, I’ve always thought Missus Blackwater is the Moth,” she said, commanding the group’s attention as she glanced across the loud, brightly lit hall toward an old woman with frizzy hair and a neck strung with too many pearls. Missus Blackwater sat alone on the opera café’s terrace, murmuring to herself. “Can you imagine the old biddy leading the Blood Guard on a wild goose chase? What a perfect disguise!”

At that, everyone burst out laughing.

As more guesses were made, Rune took the chance Verity gave her and slipped silently into the crowd, armed with a new purpose: tracking down Gideon Sharpe.

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THREE GIDEON

ANOTHER NIGHT, ANOTHER WITCH.

Gideon Sharpe pressed his fists against the shower tiles. Letting the hot water scald his back, he stared blankly at the blood running like ink down his skin and swirling around the drain.

He couldn’t tell if the blood was real or imagined. The nightmares were no longer confined to his sleeping hours; they often struck in the middle of his waking ones now.

But this was no nightmare. He knew whose blood this was. It was as real as he was.

You shouldn’t have left them alone with her.

The Tasker brothers had a lust for disobeying orders. And though Gideon himself had no love for witches, he didn’t tolerate unnecessary cruelty. He’d wanted to discharge the brothers the last time they’d bludgeoned a witch half to death, but had been told by his betters that beating a witch senseless was no different from beating a disease-ridden rat.

So the abuse continued. Tonight was just one more occurrence.

And what are you going to do about it?

Gideon closed his eyes and turned his face into the steaming hot water.

A problem for tomorrow.

Right now, he was too tired to think. Too tired to move from this spot. It had taken him nearly a year to track down the high-profile witch he’d brought in tonight, and he’d ridden hard to get her.

He’d prefer not to see a saddle for another week at least.

But he’d agreed to meet Harrow, one of his sources, at the opera tonight. It was Harrow who’d tipped him off to Seraphine’s whereabouts, and she had news of the Crimson Moth—that perpetual thorn in Gideon’s side. Gideon was desperate to hear it.

The thought gave him renewed motivation. Rubbing the bar of soap between his hands, he scrubbed his weary body with suds, washing all over until he came to the brand seared into his left pectoral: a rose with knifelike thorns half enclosed inside a crescent moon.

Her brand.

Despite the heat of the shower, Gideon shivered.

The youngest Sister Queen might be dead, but she’d marked him forever.

Gideon often thought about cutting it out, just to be rid of every last fucking trace of her. But digging the brand out of his skin wouldn’t carve the memories from his mind. Or rid him of the flashbacks. Or soften the nightmares.

It didn’t matter. Every time he got out the knife and put the honed edge to his skin, his hands shook too much to do the job right. So, for now, it stayed.

The thought of her made him wonder if the spirits of particularly evil witches could live on past their deaths, returning to haunt those they’d tormented while alive. He immediately wished he could unthink it. Gideon turned off the water, eying the steamy room around him as the cold air rushed in, raising the hairs on his arms and legs.

She’s dead, you fool. And there’s no such thing as ghosts.

Cressida might be dead, but there were equally dangerous witches out there. Three nights ago, another mutilated body had been found dragged under a bridge. Chest ripped open. Blood drained out. Gideon wasn’t surprised when he learned it belonged to a Blood Guard officer. They always did. It was the third one this month.

Gideon couldn’t prove the Crimson Moth was committing the heinous acts, but he had a strong hunch. The murders usually took place right before she struck, breaking his charges out of their prison cells and escaping his ever-tightening security. To do that, the Moth needed spells, and spells required blood. Fresh blood.

Which of us is next?

Running his hands over his face, Gideon shook the water from his hair, grabbed a towel, and dried himself off, directing his thoughts somewhere else. Anywhere else.

The opera.

Yes. Good. He would go over tonight in his mind, and the preparation would banish the eerie chill in his bathroom.

First, Gideon would button his tired body into a uniform and drag himself to the opera house. There, while some useless story played itself out across the stage, Harrow would tell him what she’d learned about the Moth. And finally, Gideon would come home, devise a plan while falling into bed, sleep dreamlessly—or so he hoped—and resume his hunt for the fiend upon waking, armed with new information.

And this time, he would catch her.

But first Gideon needed to get through a night at the opera. An activity even less tolerable than trudging through mud and rain on horseback, hunting down a witch.

The only good news was, he was going to miss the first half.

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FOUR RUNE

HERE IN THE FOYER, the Blood Guard stood out like red poppies in a meadow. Their uniforms were impossible to miss, even in the brightly dressed crowd. But not a single one was Gideon.

Maybe he’s not here tonight.

If Alex’s elder brother had indeed brought Seraphine in, he might still be processing her. Or possibly taking the rest of the night off.

Rune couldn’t stop herself from wondering if it was Gideon who’d ripped the dress off Seraphine and forced her to stand naked in the rain while he and his soldiers raked their eyes over her body, searching it for scars.

Her teeth clenched at the thought.

Gideon Sharpe.

She loathed him.

As Rune’s rage simmered like a red-hot coal, she moved skillfully through the crowd, presenting a smiling, happy face, commenting on new fashions and hairstyles, or the delightful dinners of the New Republic’s well-to-do that she’d attended last week, never lingering long, all while constantly looking for the next scarlet uniform.

She passed her usual marks: Blood Guard affiliates, daughters and sons of Tribunal members, people who not only were well connected, but enjoyed flaunting those connections and, in doing so, unwittingly giving information away. Their conversations droned in the air like bees drunk on pollen.

The chandeliers overhead lit the ceiling, which was painted with a blue-black sky full of stars—a rendering that had been allowed to remain untouched in the revolution’s aftermath. There were two salons on either side of the foyer and along the wall, behind the columns lining the room, were several small alcoves for more … illicit meetings.

Rune was headed toward the salon, where Blood Guard members often gathered, when a hand grabbed her wrist, pulling her out of the crowd and into one of the shadowed alcoves.

Spinning to face her assailant she found golden-brown eyes peering at her from beneath tawny brows.

The tension bled out of her.

It was only Alex.

“Rune.” His fingertips pressed against the sensitive skin of her wrist as he drew her deeper into the darkness. “You look like you’re prepared to walk into hell itself.”

Rune had the sudden urge to rest here with him awhile, where it was safe, before throwing herself back into danger.

“What happened tonight?” he asked.

Rune shook off the urge, remembering her mission.

“Did you hear Noah? Your brother happened tonight,” she said, annoyed at the thought. “Gideon got to Seraphine before I did.”

Alex frowned. “So you—”

A chorus of voices—one of them Laila Creed’s—echoed nearby. On instinct, Rune drew Alex deeper into the shadows, until they were nearly chest to chest. She wasn’t worried about someone seeing them in here together. They’d simply assume it was exactly what Verity had pretended to accuse Rune of having earlier: a tryst.

What she worried about was being overheard.

They both fell silent, waiting for the voices to pass. The tip of Rune’s nose was less than an inch from Alex’s chin, and the smell of him—like leather and oak—filled the air. The small space seemed to shrink around them, and for a moment, Rune remembered the night she turned Nan in. Alex had raced to Wintersea, then held her through the night while she wept.

“You worry me,” he whispered, close to her ear.

His voice was careful, soft. As if Rune were made of glass and he needed to handle her with caution.

“You spend your days looking out for everyone else, but who’s looking out for you?”

“You’re looking out for me,” she whispered to his double-breasted lapel. “Not to mention Verity. And Lady.”

“Lady is a horse,” he countered. “And Verity throws herself into as much danger as you do.”

He seemed about to say something else when the bells signaling the end of intermission chimed throughout the foyer. Rune stepped away from his familiar, steady frame and glanced out of the alcove. A column blocked most of her view, but she could see Laila’s black hair, braided into that fashionable crown, heading toward the doors of the auditorium. The drone of conversation was already dwindling. In a few minutes, the foyer would be empty and silent.

And Rune had yet to find Gideon.

She refused to let tonight be a waste. She needed Seraphine’s whereabouts.

“Is your brother here?” she whispered, scanning the emptying foyer like a hawk searching for the plumpest field mouse.

“I don’t know. I haven’t spoken to him all week. Why?”

She didn’t answer. She didn’t need to. Alex knew the thoughts in her head.

“Rune, no. My brother is a danger.” He gently gripped her bare shoulder, turning her to face him. “To you especially.”

“Your brother is a danger to every witch in the New Republic.” She tugged herself free of his hand. “Seraphine especially. If I don’t find out where he’s put her …”

Didn’t he understand? She didn’t know where Seraphine was or when they planned to transfer her. For all Rune knew, she might already be en route to the palace prison. And if she was …

I’ll never get her out. They’ll kill her like they killed Nan.

Once the Blood Guard brought a witch inside the prison, Rune couldn’t save them. The prison was impregnable.

And if I don’t save her, I’ll fail to do the last thing Nan asked of me.

It was unacceptable.

“Rune.”

“What other choice do I have?” she said, coming back to him. “You won’t do it.”

As loyal as Alex was to the Crimson Moth, to her, he drew a line at his brother. Under no circumstances would he ever manipulate Gideon the way he, Rune, and Verity manipulated the rest of their peers. Rune had asked him once, and watched his bright gold eyes dim. His uncharacteristically sharp answer—Absolutely not.—stopped her from asking again.

Rune knew Alex had helped kill the youngest Sister Queen, Cressida Roseblood. He never spoke of it, except to say that he had done it for Gideon. At which point, he turned the conversation to other things. Rune didn’t know what that meant. Had Gideon asked him to kill Cressida? Had he forced him to? Or had Alex done it to save his brother, somehow? The latter, if true, struck Rune as odd, since Gideon was the violent one; a natural predator. Unlike his brother, Alex was warm and kind and scorned the killing of witches. Not to mention, he was devoutly loyal to Rune.

The problem was, he was equally loyal to Gideon. Sometimes Rune suspected he was more loyal. But for some strange reason, it didn’t make her trust him less. She knew, in her heart, Alex would never betray her.

He would just never betray his brother, either.

Which often put them at odds with each other.

Once, Rune might have understood Alex’s devotion to his brother. Years before the revolution, Rune had wanted to earn Gideon’s approval. Alex was her closest friend back then, and though Rune hadn’t met Gideon yet, she’d heard stories about him. Biased stories, she now knew, told by Alex. Who worshiped his older brother.

Young, naive Rune had believed the stories. And the more of them Alex told her, the more she felt like she knew Gideon. She soon developed what some might call a crush. It was important, therefore, that she make a good impression the first time they met.

In retrospect, the whole thing was childish and absurd.

When they did meet, Rune was thirteen and Gideon fifteen. He not only refused to shake her hand, he outright insulted the outfit she was wearing: a dress she’d selected for the sole aim of impressing him. When Alex asked Gideon to apologize, he refused.

Alex’s stories were wrong. So wrong. She learned that day it was the one thing he couldn’t be relied upon for: accurate judgment of his brother.

Gideon was a beast of a boy, and Rune never cared to win his esteem again.

“I’ll cast an illusion,” she told Alex now, her fingers tapping the corked vial of blood concealed in her dress. Blood she’d collected from last month’s bleeding. “He won’t know it’s me.”

Except Rune only had one full vial left after this one. Once it was gone, she would have nothing until the start of her next monthly cycle. And she needed as much blood as possible to save Seraphine.

Alex shook his head. “He’ll smell the magic on you. Gideon’s not one of your moony-eyed suitors, Rune. He’s—”

“So I’ll invite him to my after-party.” Where she would keep his cup full of enchanted wine and probe him with innocent questions that would lead to the answers she needed.

“He hates parties.”

Rune threw up her hands and hissed: “Then I’ll think of something else!”

She turned her back on Alex and was about to walk away when his strained voice said, “I’m sick of watching you walk into danger.”

She paused, sighing as she stared out into the empty foyer. “Then don’t watch.”

Rune didn’t wait for him to respond. She stepped out of the alcove—

And straight into a Blood Guard uniform.

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FIVE RUNE

HER FOREHEAD COLLIDED HARD with a chest as solid as concrete. The force of the soldier’s stride would have barreled her over had he not grabbed her elbow, steadying them both.

“Forgive me …”

Rune looked up. Straight into eyes as black and cold as a bottomless sea.

Gideon Sharpe.

His penetrating gaze seemed to cut her open, peeling back the layers of the girl she pretended to be. Like a knife carving off the protective skin of an apple to get at the soft, vulnerable flesh beneath.

Rune’s stomach tumbled over itself. She yanked her elbow out of his grip and staggered back, her heart beating fast. The Blood Guard captain before her—responsible for sending more witches to their executions than any other soldier—straightened, his features shifting from startled surprise to something dark and unreadable.

Rune cursed herself. The Crimson Moth might have reason to cower from this monster. But Rune Winters—the silly, shallow heiress she pretended to be—wouldn’t think twice about it.

Before she could find her courage, Gideon’s gaze ran sharply down her. The force of his attention was like a rifle aimed at her heart. It made her pulse race and her breath stick in her throat. Rune was a deer, and he was a hunter. Taking her measure, noting every detail and flaw, trying to decide if she would be worth the hunt.

A second later, he frowned and looked away.

Evidently, she wasn’t.

“Citizen Winters. My apologies, I—”

Gideon’s incisive gaze flicked over her shoulder, drawn to the sudden movement of his younger brother emerging from the alcove. At the sight of Alex, his rigid form relaxed.

Gideon stepped around Rune as if she were not only disappointing but entirely forgettable. “Alex. What’s the matter? You look perturbed.”

“What? Oh.” Alex shook his head. “Nothing at all. Must be the terrible lighting.” He motioned to the gaslights glowing on the walls.

Gideon cocked his head, unconvinced.

Alex quickly changed the subject. “When did you get back?”

“This evening.”

The two brothers were inverse mirrors of each other. They had the same tall frames and handsome features: firm jaws, prominent brows. But where Alex was golden and warm as a summer day, Gideon was closed and dark as a locked, windowless room.

The two brothers were also the sons of the Sharpe Duet—a pair of lovers who started as humble tailors during the Reign of Witches. When their work caught the eye of the Sister Queens, Alex and Gideon’s parents were recruited by the Roseblood family to become the royal dressmakers, launching them to short-lived fame. Both died that same year, right before the revolution.

Anyone in fashionable circles still fell reverently quiet whenever someone spoke the dressmakers’ names.

“And?” Alex was saying, his voice a little strained. “Was your hunt successful?”

Gideon sighed and ran a hand roughly through his damp hair. “Despite an unfortunate incident, yes. We have the witch in custody.”

He’s speaking of Seraphine.

Rune felt her mask slip further as she remembered the torn clothes discarded in the mud. Had he and the others laughed as they stripped the garments off of the woman’s back? She thought of the red X smeared across Seraphine’s door, knowing whose blood he spilled to mark it.

Like a deer shaking off the paralyzing fear of its hunter, Rune reached for her voice, ironing out the hatred before speaking.

“What kind of unfortunate incident?”

Gideon glanced over, as if surprised she was still standing there.

He paused, reconsidering her.

This time, Rune studied him back, letting her gaze roam over him. The fit of his red uniform hinted at a hard, efficient form beneath. No softness. No warmth. Just unyielding muscle and strength, like an impenetrable fortress.

He had a strong, cruel mouth, and his black hair was still wet from the rain, or possibly a shower. And though he must have run himself as ragged as she had hunting down Seraphine, he stood before her polished and clean, from the pistol at his hip to the brass buckles on his boots, making Rune wonder if he had scrubbed off the blood with the same precision as his parents once sewed their elaborate garments for the queens.

The only disorderly thing about him were the knuckles on his right hand. They were red and raw, as if from pummeling something.

Or someone.

Rune’s blood burned beneath her skin. Afraid he would see the fury in her eyes, she peered up through her eyelashes, knowing the effect it had on other young men.

“I dearly hope you weren’t harmed in this … incident?”

He seemed about to answer her when the sudden, final chime of the intermission bells cut him off.

All three of them looked to find the grand foyer transformed around them. Without the socializing crowds, its emptiness loomed large. The chandeliers overhead suddenly seemed too big and too bright, and the painted ceiling more glorious than their insignificant selves deserved.

The ushers began turning out the gaslights, casting annoyed looks in their direction. Beyond the auditorium doors, the orchestra started to play.

Taking the hint, Gideon began backing away from his brother. “I have the ring booked for tomorrow night. Want to go a few rounds?”

Alex nodded. “Sure. That would be nice.”

Before turning, Gideon glanced from Alex to Rune to the alcove they’d both come out of. His lips parted ever so slightly, and something dawned in his eyes. Whatever it was, he kept it to himself and strode off.

Alex blew out a breath.

Rune swore quietly. She had let him intimidate her and found her courage too late, botching her chance to get the information she needed.

Her hands curled into fists. She needed to remedy this, and fast. She only had so much time before they transferred Seraphine to the palace prison.

Smoothing down her gown, she replaced the snarl on her face with a sweet smile, preparing to slip into the role she’d grown so good at playing these past two years. Seeing it, Alex reached for her. “Rune, don’t …”

She stepped out of his grasp.

“Rune.”

He didn’t follow as she stalked after his brother. Her silk shoes barely made a sound on the mosaicked floor of the foyer, giving Gideon no inkling that he was being tracked. For now, their roles had reversed. Rune was the predator; he was the prey. And she was closing in on him.

At the far end of the hall, where the arches of the loggia framed the foggy city outside, Gideon turned and headed up a staircase. One that led to the box reserved for Blood Guard members.

A moment later, Rune followed.

Hitching her skirts, she ran up the steps, shoved aside the velvet curtains at the top, and stepped out onto the darkened balcony and into a sea of red.

It was teeming with witch hunters.

Rune hesitated.

She was the Crimson Moth—a wanted criminal, not to mention a witch, hiding in plain sight. But this wouldn’t be the first time she had walked into a space full of the people who hunted her kind. She’d done it hundreds of times before without batting an eye.

So why was there a tiny seed of fear sprouting inside her?

Because Alex is right.

In a war room full of weapons, Gideon was the deadliest, and Rune was heading straight toward that honed edge, her throat bared.

He doesn’t suspect you, she told herself, trying to calm the buzz in her blood. All these stupid brutes see when they look at you is exactly what you want them to see: a silly little socialite. Gideon Sharp is no different.

Armed with this reminder, Rune headed toward the empty seat at the front of the box. Beside it, Gideon reclined, elbow resting across the backrest. Perfectly relaxed. As if Seraphine’s impending execution didn’t plague him at all.

Rune gathered her courage the way she gathered her dress. Sitting down beside him, she said, “Mind if I join you?”

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