Page 29 of A City of Flames

A clash to my right makes me snap my head in that direction, forgetting everything for one moment.

Trinkets knocking together follow from a Jeweler store. The only store without any boarded-up windows. I still can’t see anything through it except displays of necklaces, and then a dark silhouette sweeps by.

Someone is in there.

The hairs on my skin tingle and stand. Whether it is anticipation or worry, I can’t decide. Slowly, I make my way over, careful not to make a sound as I notice the latch on the door has been broken.

Sucking in a breath, I push through and stumble inside the room lit with the shine of stars coming through long, glass-paneled windows everywhere. Thousands of rings and necklaces glistening in all kinds of colors lie on top of mahogany counters. And right there... right there in the middle with his back to my front is a man dressed in a tight black leather jerkin hugging his built figure.

A single candle to the left casts his shadows on the wooden walls, tall, intimidating, fearless. And almost as if he can sense my presence, his head turns first, then his whole body.

My eyes narrow in on his raven mask—the one that covers the top half of his face and the one I’d seen sketched across wanted posters.

The Golden Thief.

* * *

I stand still, staring at him. I don’t know what I expected to happen when I saw the Golden Thief, but I certainly didn’t expect it to be tonight.

Despite the mask, you can tell he’s young. Then again, all shifters are immortal. Illias had said shifters stop aging after they turn thirty. The Golden Thief seems to be at least a few years older than me.

With his short hair tousled and of onyx color like ink on paper, it flows across as he tilts his head, surveying all of me. My first thought is that he looks like someone I’d carve; the cut of his jaw, the shape of his full lips. But it’s the dark amber eyes that draw me in the most, against the hue of black smudged shadow under them. Almost as if they are decadent pots of melted gold, entrancing enough to make anyone surrender.

I swallow. “You’re the Golden Thief.”

“That I am, what gave it away?” He grins, flipping a gold coin between his leather gloved fingers as he leans his back by the counter.

I don’t respond.

“So serious.” He pouts, clearly goading me. “Tell me, is that common for venators?” His chin jerks up to my garment.

“Tell me,” I repeat, narrowing my gaze. “Are you the one creating the new deadly breed?”

“Is that what they’re saying now?” His grin never falters. “Interesting.”

I don’t like that answer. I don’t like it one bit.

“What else are they saying about me?”

I stare at his face, trying to grasp something beyond the mask and the glittering mischief in his eyes. Everyone says he has no weaknesses, but I don’t believe it. Lorcan had shown me shifters’ weak points: eyes and abdomen.

“How dangerous you are,” I reply. My hand silently slides to my thigh, and a hateful smile stretches my lips. “But all I see is a lousy thief of a shifter.” I’m pushing it. I’m beyond pushing it.

He chuckles deeply, unaffected by everything I say regardless. “If I’m so lousy, then the venators would have had my head on a stick by now.”

I focus where his heart lies. I can’t kill him, I need his blood, but the question is how do I get it?

“Careful with what you say.” My gaze locks onto where his abdomen is as my hand unsheathes one of my blades. “It might just happen.” I cock my arm back as the dagger falls from my grip so fast and effortlessly, flying in a sharp straight line. But the Golden Thief seizes it with one hand, inches away from piercing his jacket.

“Now that’s not playing fair, venator,” He tsks. “Here, I thought we were just getting acquainted?”

I pay no attention to his last teasing words. “And you think having powers is fair?”

Sighing over my glare, he rolls his neck in such a dramatic way. “No, you’re right. Powers are just another means to inequity against mortals.”

Again, I go back to staying silent because I can tell he didn’t mean any of that.

“How about we do this—” The Golden Thief throws the knife in the air and catches it before pushing himself off the counter “—since you seem so keen on... hurting me, I won’t use any powers, and if you manage to strike me right here.” He gestures a finger to where I’d thrown the blade. “You win, and I won’t steal. I’ll even let you capture me.”

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