Page 61 of Steel Heart Iron Claws

My vision begins to go dark around the edges.

“Breathe, Sabine,” Vale urges again, his eyes locking onto mine. His tone is gentle, but there’s an edge beneath it, something ancient and dark.

Breathe?

I’m not sure I can even blink.

My foot moves a fraction toward the door. Vale’s expression darkens as his gaze flicks to Artain. The God of the Hunt snaps into motion like an arrow loosed from a bowstring.

Artain grabs a rope of strung pearls dangling from the chandelier, looping it into a lasso.

Finally, my body screams.

Run, now!

Bolting, I tear across the stone floor, bare feet slipping on the high polish. Members of the court shriek as I narrowly avoid barreling into them.

I hear the slow, confident thud of Artain’s steps behind me but don’t dare risk the time to look back.

“Clear the hall!” My father slams his fist against the banquet table, and the crowd immediately disperses to the room’s edges.

I’m left alone. Exposed. Heart racing, I pump my arms as I sprint toward the exit.

The double doors are open. If I can make it to the stables, to a horse?—

As I rush through the doors, I suddenly slam into a wall of rigid muscle dressed in a black leather doublet. Black gloves grip me by the shoulders to steady me, and in a daze, I tilt my head up to find myself face-to-face with Night.

The stoic third member of the Blades wears his dark hair loose today, hanging over his mist-colored, clouded eyes. His deathly pale face tips in my direction with a perplexed tilt.

“Lady Sabine?” His voice ripples like velvet. “What has happened?”

When I see that Night is human—rounded ears, skin unbroken by fey lines—a cry of relief breaks past my lips as I collapse into his hold, tears rolling down my cheeks.

Night places a protective hand on the small of my back as I bury my face against his broad chest. He pets my hair in slow, comforting strokes as his other hand gently loops around one of my wrists.

I’m no fool—I know that Night works for my father. He’s a Blade, so he must know Ghost and Whisper’s true identity. But feeling a human’s protective touch makes me forget, if only for a moment, the crushing danger around me.

“Night.” My breath condenses on the supple leather of his doublet. “Help me.Please.”

The rest of the Hall of Vale fades away. Here, in his arms, I feel sheltered from the storm. His warmth seeps into my bones, dissolving the chill that seems to have overtaken every inch of the room.

He tips my chin up with one gloved hand until I face him. He takes his time running his knuckle slowly over my cheek, his sculpted lips parting.

“Such a pretty soul,” he murmurs. “One day, it will be mine.”

There’s something about his voice that forms a noose around my neck.

Oh.My heart beats off-kilter.Oh, gods. No.

I try to pull back from Night, but his grip on my wrist is a vice.

“You’re—” I start, too awe-struck to finish. “You’re?—”

Night shoves me back into the Hall of Vale like a rag doll. My footsteps echo amid the rafters. The dance floor is empty now. Wide open. I stagger into the center, all alone. My bare feet leave damp prints as I turn in a slow circle.

“She’s all yours, brother,” Night says darkly to Vale.

That word.Brother.

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