Page 69 of Devotion

“Nothing.”

“And I am no princess. I am queen.”

“My mistake. You wouldn’t happen to need a king, would you?”

“Hm. Perhaps a serf to drive me back to my castle.”

“I’m starting a rebellion, so hard pass.” He grins, dodging my fist. “You know the streets better. And apparently, which neighborhoods people leave their car doors unlocked.”

He mutters the last bit, circling the old gray four-banger.

His lighthearted chatter helps me keep from spiraling as we make our way back toward the Volk center of power. Until we reach the first outpost, finding it occupied by a couple of invaders.

From there, we keep the lights off, taking side streets.

Ciro is right. I know the city better than anyone.

And my city is scared. Dead silent. Holding its breath.

Like its protectors suddenly went missing.

As we cross the heart of town, still far from our compound, I sense the presence of the enemy. The citizens watch us drive by through closed curtains. It’s more than unsettling.

It’s poison. Eating at my soul.

My blood is pumping in my ears by the time we get near the compound. It’s that tense sort of quiet stress. Like when you are creeping up on an opponent. Trying to surprise them.

Waiting to be discovered suddenly.

Another outpost, the closest to the house, and I am starting to unwind.

“These men, they were supposed to go off duty at midnight. Relief should have come.” I follow the logic, my mouth drying out. If they did not get backup, or reinforcements…

Panic rears its head in my chest.

“Hey, don’t think the worst yet,” Ciro says. “We’re almost there. No signs of any more goons. We’ll find Matvey, get a radio or whatever and?—”

“Shh!” I hold up my hand, opening my door and easing out.

I have a better idea.

And Ciro follows my lead, shuffling around to my six.

A single man stands leaning against the wall in the alley leading to the office we keep above the pool hall, his arms folded tightly against the cold. They do not look prepared for our weather. He is alone, left to guard the dead.

Or to wait for someone like me. I let him spot me, pulling my hoodie around my face and walking like a defenseless woman clutching her purse. He rises, striding toward the street with a dark look on his face.

But he does not see Ciro coming behind him.

My Shakal takes him behind the knee, dropping him and looping a chord about his neck.

“Gentle. I need him to be able to speak,” I implore, sauntering up to them and lowering my hood.

Immediately the man scowls, trying to spit at my feet. He raises his nose, even as Ciro tightens the chord.

“Hm. Interesting. I take it you do not respect women where you come from?”

No answer. Ciro’s lips peel back in a vicious grin, but I hold up a hand. A flick of my fingers and he releases the man to drop down, coughing. Right before he lunges at me.

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