against my palm, then her pinkie winds around mine, deliberately connecting us while it’s too crowded for anyone to notice.
I am flooded with a blinding sense of joy at this simple contact from Anna—this small gesture that shows I still mean something to her. Recklessness overcomes me, and while the street is too crowded for anyone to notice, I pull Anna by the pinkie and she follows easily. I’m holding my breath, so hungry for this moment I can hardly stand it.
I lead her quickly into a small alcove stairway where we rush down, away from the others. It’s dark and smells of damp earth as I turn her to face me and press my mouth to hers. She doesn’t push me away; she pulls me closer. She meets my fierceness with her own, and together we heat each other in the icy air. Our frozen noses and cheeks thaw. Even the air around us steams with warmth. We cling and taste and breathe each other’s breaths.
This stolen kiss tells me everything I need to know. Anna still wants me. Still cares for me. Still needs me.
We break the kiss and I press my forehead to hers. Our breath clouds around us, too hot for the winter air. I watch her as she touches my face, and I can’t understand how anyone could want to hurt her. I don’t want to live in a world where someone like Anna Whitt is in danger for being who she is.
I would trade places with her if I could. In fact, if Anna is to die tonight, so will I. I won’t let her die alone.
When Ginger orders us up from the stairwell, back to reality, everything is a blur. I take a long draw from the flask, relishing the burn and how it dulls my senses. Is this what it’s like, when you know you’re going to die? I’m a zombie as we make our way down into the comedy club for the summit. A dead man walking.
The six of us sit as far from the Dukes as possible. The Aussie Neph guarding the door doesn’t find the knives hidden in the compartments of my boots. I bend down at our table while everyone’s busy and take them out, sliding them into my pockets. Blake notices, his jaw tightening. He won’t look directly at me, but he’s blinking and I know he wants to ask me what the hell I’m thinking.
I lace my fingers over my abdomen and lean back. When the time comes, I don’t want him involved. I don’t expect anyone to try to save me.
I drink more.
Father takes the stage and I stare without expression as he cordially welcomes the Dukes and Legionnaires and Azael, the personal messenger of Lucifer who might’ve been the spirit circling Anna at that party before Belial showed—still don’t know what that was about. Father welcomes Rahab, the Duke of Pride, to the stage, and I feel the burn of bile and bourbon rising as Rahab reminds all of us Neph of our place in the world.
“Your life is not your own. You were bred to serve us. . . . There is one among you who has been warned, and yet still chooses poorly.”
Has been warned? Was Anna ever warned? I wait for the bomb to drop, but Rahab never even looks toward Anna. He stares toward a middle table full of Neph.
“Gerlinda. Daughter of Kobal.”
Bloody hell. My eyes shoot around the room as it all becomes clear.
It’s not about Anna. They’re after another Neph.
I school my body and my face not to react. I must not exhale loudly or slump with relief. I sit rigidly and take a celebratory sip of bourbon, though I’m quite buzzed enough to block any bond from showing.
I lean forward and steal a glance toward Anna, and the look on her face punctures my heart, deflating my relief.
She is staring at the stage and the Neph Gerlinda with unguarded horror, as if she might scream or cry as the Dukes begin to heckle.
No, Anna, I want to say. Sit silent and be grateful. There’s nothing you can do to stop it. You don’t even bloody know her . . . but since when has that mattered to Anna? She is a bleeding heart for injustice, and I know it will scar her to witness this. I don’t particularly want to view this show myself, so I know it’s a million times worse for her.