Tarnished Knight - By Bec McMaster Page 0,15

the stubble on his scalp, he stared out across the frost-rimed rooftops. Scars rippled beneath his fingertips; the reason he razored his hair so short. If he grew it, thick silvery half moons gleamed in the coarse blackness of his hair and Rip preferred not to look a fool.

His fingertips traced the deeper scar at the base of his scalp in a familiar rhythm that helped him think. A half circle. Shaped like the bottom of a bottle. Or, more accurately, a broken bottle. The scar’s jagged edges bore testimony to that.

No matter how much he tried to keep his mind on the business at hand – he had the midnight guard shift – he couldn’t stop thinking of Esme. Jaysus. What in blazes was he going to do? She’d kissed him on the mouth, her body pressing against his as if she were almost greedy for him. At the time he’d been so afraid he’d hurt her that the surprise of it hadn’t begun to set in.

But he’d had all day to think, his mind chasing itself around in circles.

“Because I wanted it to be me…”

Seven little whispered words that tore his chest in two. Did she mean that she wanted to be his thrall? She’d never once given him any indication that their friendship was anything more – had she?

And now she wanted nothing to do with him.

The worst thing was, he didn’t know how to fix it. Oh, she smiled at him and spoke to him, but he felt as though there were a wall between them. Treating him with polite courtesy until he choked on it.

Shadows flickered in the distance and Rip’s head jerked up as he peered across the stark snow-blanketed rooftops. A reminder to keep his mind on the task at hand and not on a green-eyed witch who’d knotted his heart in chest. Easiest way to get himself killed out here.

The shadows melted in the moonlight, vanishing. Too big to be a cat. Whatever it was they were gone now but the uneasy feeling remained. Who else would be on the rooftops at night? Or had a right to it?

His footprints left their mark behind him as he crossed the rooftops that served as his own private highway here in the rookeries. The streets were as crooked as an old man’s grin and cramped with refuse and the odd shivering human. But up here the world was clean and he could seemingly see for miles.

He knew as soon as he hit Angel Alley what he was about to find. Blood was thick in the air, a metallic scent in the freezing night. Footsteps mingled on the roof, leading directly to the edge of the wall that circled Whitechapel to keep the Echelon out. South. Toward the nearest entrance to Undertown.

“Hell,” he swore, trying to breathe through his mouth. Saliva pooled. Go after the Slashers? Or check to see if there was anyone alive down there?

A soft whimper made his decision for him. So quiet that no normal human would hear it. Quiet as a mouse.

Swinging over the edge of the roof, he saw the window in the attic and dropped to the ledge, the muscles in his forearm bulging. Easy work to break the latch. He’d cut his teeth as a cracksman. Of course, it had been easier when his shoulders weren’t as broad.

Moving quietly, Rip eased through the narrow window, landing with cat-like silence on his toes and fingertips. The smell of blood was stronger here; a god-damned aphrodisiac. His head spun, the hunger clutching at his guts with iron claws. Another scared, panting gasp came from below and he tracked the sound, the faint whisper of breathing and the barely-stifled sobs.

More blood. Still warm. He just had to find the source of it…

Swallowing hard, Rip ground his head into the palms of his hands. Not his thoughts but the demon within. Damn it. When would this ease? When would he stop seeing everyone around him as merely a source of nourishment?

Or would he?

He’d seen the blackness rise in Blade’s eyes many times. Was that what he had to look forward to?

“Mama?” A little voice whispered, down in the dark.

For an instant all the years rushed away and that was him. Locked in the cellar and listening to the sounds of fists pounding on flesh. His mother’s muffled gasps as she tried to spare him the worst of it.

The hunger was thick and unquenched in his throat but suddenly Rip found he