Page 46 of A Vocation of Violence
“I’ll get you out.” Night Horse kept one arm firmly around my waist as he guided me through the dispersing throng. I leaned into him, drawing strength from his powerful frame. Amidst the gathering shadows, he was my flicker of light in the darkness. The clamor of the arena receded as Night Horse steered me through the labyrinth of bodies, his hand an unyielding clamp on my waist. We emerged into the cooler air of the London night, a merciful reprieve from the stifling heat and the fetid stench of blood and sweat that permeated the fighting pits. My lungs strained for clean breath, drawing in the damp chill that hung over the city like a shroud.
I gulped lungsful of it, willing my frayed nerves to settle.
“Easy now,” he murmured, his voice a steadying thrum against the riot that still sought to invade my senses from behind the heavy doors. “You’re safe.”
“Safe,” I echoed, the word sounding foreign on my tongue as we paused beneath the scant shelter of a crooked awning. The shadows loomed around us, thick with secrets and the whispers of unsavory deeds. Yet here, beside this man—a predator cloaked in human guise—I found an unlikely sanctuary.
“Better?” Night Horse asked, his pale eyes searching my face.
I offered a shaky nod. “Thanks to you. I don’t know what came over me in there.”
His mouth quirked. “A mob is a deceptively cunning enemy. Even the bravest hearts can falter.”
I flushed, grateful for the shadowy alley that hid my burning cheeks. Night Horse thought me brave? Hardly. I was a trembling mess.
“The Ripper found me in there.” I unfurled my fist where nervous sweat had dampened the detested letter.
He plucked the paper from my palm and tucked it in a vest pocket before scanning the night in assessment of the few straggling men who’d also sought refuge from the press of humanity inside.
“Lean on me,” Night Horse instructed me, his tone imperious yet laced with an undercurrent of concern that belied his austere exterior.
I acquiesced, allowing the weight of my trembling form to rest against his solid presence. His arm was a band of iron around me, fortifying me against the tremors that threatened to usurp my resolve. In this moment of vulnerability, where the specter of the Ripper’s warning clawed at my sanity, I clung to Night Horse’s strength as if it were the final vestige of hope in a world careening toward oblivion.
“Thank you,” I managed to whisper, my voice ragged with gratitude and the remnants of fear. “For…for everything.”
“Your gratitude is unnecessary,” he replied, scanning the darkened alleyways with a vigilance that bespoke his constant readiness for threat. “It isn’t difficult for me to protect you.”
I hadn’t the strength to feel the surge of emotion that overwhelmed me.
“Even from phantoms?” I asked, half in jest, half desperate to believe in the possibility of being shielded from the terrors that haunted me.
“Especially from them,” he said, and there was a glint of something fierce, something indomitable, in his eyes when helooked down at me, but neither of us could conjure a thing to say.
We wound through a maze of narrow lanes, our footfalls muted on the cobbled streets. Fog swirled around us, muffling the distant sounds of the city. To an observer, we would have seemed two ghosts drifting through the mist.
My thoughts churned as I leaned into Night Horse’s sturdy frame. The Ripper’s note troubled me deeply. How had he known I was at the fight tonight? Was he watching me even now, from the shadows?
What would he think of my present company?
I shivered at the thought, pressing closer to Night Horse. I wondered again at his motives as he guided us expertly through the fog. Perhaps he meant only to keep me safe tonight, to deliver me home untouched by the dangers prowling London’s streets.
Or perhaps he had another purpose entirely.
My instincts warred within me, torn between hope and fear. I remembered Jorah’s warning that Night Horse’s loyalties were his own. Was I a fool to put my trust in this man?
“Where are you taking me?” I ventured, my voice tinged with the trepidation and curiosity that warred within me.
“Somewhere safe. Somewhere…secluded,” he replied, the cryptic timbre of his words wrapping around me like the tendrils of ivy on an ancient mausoleum.
We navigated through serpentine alleys, past shadowy figures that flitted in and out of the gaslight’s touch like phantoms. Each step with Night Horse was a descent deeper into the unknown—a fall into the abyss where one could be caught or consumed.
At last, we halted before a structure that exuded an air of quiet dignity, its façade both welcoming and inscrutable. Night Horse ushered me inside, and I crossed the threshold into hissanctum, a place few knew and even fewer had seen. The hush of the river outside hummed a somber lullaby, its waters bearing witness to the myriad sins of this city.
“Night Horse…,” I began, my voice a ghostly echo in the dimly lit chamber. “Why bring me here?”
“Because it’s the one place they wouldn’t think to look for you,” he said, closing the door with a finality that sent a chill skittering down my spine. “And because I…trust that you will not reveal its location. Even to the Hammer.”
His confession hung between us, heavy with implications that stretched beyond the veil of mere words. In the muted glow of lamplight, his eyes held mine, fierce and unwavering. It struck me then—the gravity of where I stood, at the precipice of revelation or ruin.
