Page 88 of The Spark that Ignites
Emmery’s stomach lurched and she hid beneath her hood, but the cloaked man breezed past her into the alley, though she noticed a beat of hesitation as he stepped beside her.
No, she must have imagined it.
Peering cautiously around the corner, she spotted him approaching the white-blond shopkeeper and the two women. With feral intent, he lunged and gripped the shopkeeper’s throat.
Clawing feebly at the cloaked man’s hold, the shopkeeper sputtered, his face flushing impossibly red. The cloaked man slammed his blond head into the wall with a sickening thud, grinding his scalp into the rough stone.
“You have been misbehaving, Guthrie.” The cloaked man’s voice was low, deep, his accent like Callias’s. “What did we discuss a week ago?”
The man sputtered before croaking out, “You ... don’t—understand.” A ragged breath ripped from Guthrie’s throat.
The two women slowly shuffled away, clutching the hilt of their blades at their hips.
The cloaked man held up a gloved hand, keeping his stare locked on Guthrie but he spoke only to them. “Unless you want a slow death, I suggest you don’t move.” His voice was a warning as he cocked his head to the side, sizing Guthrie up like prey. “And what shall I do withyou?”
Guthrie grimaced. “Please, let me go. I ... will pay you. I—I will get you money.” He gasped around the hold on his throat. “Just ... let me”—a rattled breath—“go.”
A wicked glint consumed the cloaked man’s stare, but a smile tainted his voice. “Money? You thinkmoneywill save you now? After the atrocious, heinous things you’ve done?”
“Please—” Guthrie choked, his voice thin as he wheezed out, “I’ll do ...anything.”
“All this begging is a tireless bore, sad really, for a grown man to babble like an infant. If you meant that, you would have done what I asked of you. You’re a lost cause, Guthrie. A real shame.” The cloaked man tsked softly before he leaned in and whispered in Guthrie’s ear. Guthrie’s eyes flared before the cloaked man swiftly snapped his neck with a twisting jerk.
He moved with such ease, as if he had done it countless times, and the action held no consequence. Like he hadn’t just stolen a life. Guthrie’s limp body crumpled to the ground and Emmery clasped a hand over her mouth to stifle her gasp. One of the women screamed.
Shit. Guess she wasn’t getting her transcription today, though Emmery had much more pressing worries. Had he seenher watching? Could she slink away? Her heart pounded as she eyed the crowd in her peripherals ready to slip into it.
The man’s sharp whistle sliced through the air and an enormous wolf, the height of his waist, prowled from the shadows on massive paws. Its glossy black fur and curling ram-like horns indicated it was no normal wolf.
Was it the same one she saw in Bellamere? It couldn't be.
A deep rumble emitted from its chest and Emmery froze, her limbs disconnecting.
It leapt on the women, blood spraying as it tore out their throats before they could even scream. Leaving the mangled bodies behind, the cloaked man and the wolf strolled from the alley.
Was this common for Malheim? This sort of violence and barbarism? Would there be no consequences? They just abandoned those bodies like they were as expendable as the rubbish lining the curbs.
Emmery pinned herself to the brick wall wishing she could disappear into it. Maybe if she pretended to loiter like she hadn’t seen anything, they wouldn’t pay her any mind.
The man paused at the alleyway mouth, only a few paces away, as if he contemplated something. Emmery’s heart stuttered as the wolf’s orange gaze fixed on her and, ever so slowly, the man turned his attention to her. He tilted his head. Her breath snagged as his bottomless black eyes locked with hers. “Are you lost, angel?” he drawled.
Not able to make a sound, Emmery shook her head. Her legs twitched, willing her to run. And he must have read the terror on her face because he clucked his tongue and said, “I don’t think so. Follow me.”
The cloaked man strolled forward, the wolf breaking off in the opposite direction. Emmery stumbled after him, as if pulled by a noose, visualizing her own neck snapping like Guthrie’s.
She panted, searching any faces for help but only vacant stares and people indulging in scandalous activities answered her. When they came upon a skeezy tavern, Emmery made a snap decision and sprinted, bursting into the crowd.
The man shouted behind her as her feet pounded the pavement. She shouldered through the throng, dashing around the bone-dry, massive stone fountain centering the town square, when her toe caught a protruding cobblestone and she toppled to the ground. Emmery scrambled to her feet, yanked her dagger free, and hurled toward the crowd’s edge.
Skidding around a corner, she halted just in time before colliding with a solid brick wall.
No, no, no. Not again.
She pounded her fist on the stone as if it would shatter under her rage. As footsteps rounded the corner, she whirled, cold sweat sliding down the nape of her neck.
“You’re faster than I’d thought,” the man breathed, though he appeared just as composed as moments ago.
As he stalked closer Emmery clutched her dagger, flames ready to spark at her command. “Take one more step. I dare you.”
