Zoe Archer - Sinner’s Heart

“He tried to frighten me, too.”

“It didn’t work. Look at you.” His gaze moved over her, admiring. “Naked as the morning but ready to fight.”

“He threatened you,” she said.

Bram stared at her for a moment, then lowered his head and put his lips to hers with a kiss so sweet her heart shattered.

He broke away, frowning, his head tilted as if to catch a faint sound. She heard it, too, a scrabbling—the sound of claws belonging to large animals. And the sound was growing closer.

Without speaking, she and Bram threw on their clothing. As they did so, the scratching reverberated up the walls. Something climbed up the sides of the warehouse. The ceiling shook from the weight of heavy bodies, and the scratching of claws.

“He found us,” Livia said, grim. “Through my dream, the Dark One found us.”

Bram already held his sword. He grabbed her hand, and together they ran for the small side door.

The warehouse shuddered. With a crash and shower of splintered wood, the ceiling broke apart. Massive black-furred bodies fell from above, landing in front of Bram and Livia.

Rats. Three gigantic rats, each the size of ponies. Their eyes glowed yellow, and they hissed at Livia and Bram, revealing fangs and tongues of flame. Both their claws and metallic tails gouged trenches in the stone floor.

The creatures blocked the only way out.

As Bram raised his sword, Livia reached for her magic—an Etruscan fire spell—yet when she grasped at the power, it guttered and died like a candle caught in a gust. She strained for her power, again and again, trying different spells. Every time, her magic dwindled to nothing. She was still too weakened from her journey back from the dead.

Leaving her without any means to fight these Hell-sent beasts.

The monsters attacked.

Bram lunged the same time that one of the giant rats leapt forward. He aimed for the creature’s heart, but it dodged his strike, and his sword plunged into the creature’s shoulder. It squealed in rage and pain. He pulled out his blade and jumped aside, narrowly missing its whipping tail.

A second rat attacked, fangs first. He vaulted backward before it could tear a chunk out of his leg.

Glancing over at Livia, he saw her backing slowly away from the third beast, as the rat growled in its advance. Though she held her hands up, no glow of magic encircled them. She’d always been quick to summon her power.

“Use your magic,” he shouted.

“I cannot,” she yelled back. “I am still not strong enough.”

“Damn it,” he growled. She had no way of defending herself. Not even a mortal weapon.

He sprinted toward Livia, determined to protect her. But the two other monstrous rats blocked him. Both creatures attacked, keeping him from coming to her aid. He leapt and dodged, striking the beasts wherever he could. The damned things took far more damage than any normal animal might, their black fur glistening with patches of blood drawn by his blade.

One dragged a claw across his thigh, and pain followed in a burning line. He hardly noticed. He had to kill these things and get to Livia, safeguard her.

Peach silk flashed in the corner of his eye.

“Don’t run!” he shouted. Running meant turning one’s back, inviting attack. But she didn’t listen. She ran straight toward the couch.

As he held back two rats, he saw her tearing off the blanket. She put the couch between herself and the creature stalking her, twisting the blanket into a rope as she did so. The beast clambered up onto the couch, its lips curled in a snarl, the fur on its back raised up in spikes.

It would tear her apart.

To his shock, she didn’t run. Instead, she allowed the rat to attack, and shoved the twisted blanket into its mouth. The beast choked on the fabric. Its flaming tongue set the blanket alight. Fire spread quickly along the clot. The creature couldn’t drop the blanket in time before flames jumped onto its fur. In seconds the monster was engulfed. It careened around the interior of the warehouse, shrieking, then collapsed in a heap of charred fur.

As one of the rats made another feint at Bram, he slammed his foot down on its muzzle, pinning its head to the floor. He stabbed the beast directly behind its left shoulder, skewering its heart. It shuddered then stilled, blood spreading across the ground.

The second rat lunged, and Bram kicked it so the thing flew back. It collided with the desk. He darted forward and attacked, thrusting his blade between the creature’s ribs. He pushed hard, until the sword’s tip hit the wood of the desk. The beast squealed, thrashing and scraping at the air with its claws. He wouldn’t relent. Not until it went motionless, and the glow of its eyes dimmed, bereft of life.

He pulled his blade free and turned back to help Livia.

She stood beside the couch, her hands on her knees, gasping for breath. The rat still had the blanket twisted around its neck, but it splayed upon the couch. Dead.

He strode to her. “No magic, no weapons, and still you find a way.”

“I’ve never cared for being powerless.” She straightened and glanced at the trio of dead monsters. “The Dark One will send more.”

“Then we make sure he doesn’t find us.” He ran a hand along her shoulder, down her arm, a quick confirmation that she was sound.

“Where can we go? It must be someplace John doesn’t know of.”

He gathered up their few belongings. “There’s never a shortage of hiding places in London.”

Bram and Livia rode his horse beside the river, past ships at anchor and smaller boats tied to piers. The river embankment was heavily shadowed, and the figures picking their way along the muddy shore seemed distant, lost recollections. Fog crept up from the water, heavy and dank. A girl passed by, selling oyster pies, and Bram purchased two, which Livia and Bram bolted as they walked. A few hoarse and muttering watermen lingered nearby, stamping their feet and complaining of the lack of business, but otherwise there was only tense suspension.

They moved away from the river, into an old and crumbling part of town.

“Here,” he said, nodding toward a tavern. A sign swinging from its shingle announced, BEDS BY THE HOUR OR FOR THE NIGHT.

She eyed the tavern dubiously, and well she might. The two-story structure looked as though it had been built in the time of Henry VIII, and no repairs or maintenance had been done since the reign of Elizabeth. What windows weren’t broken were coated in grime.

Yet Livia seemed to understand that this was the kind of place John would never look, and, as such, was far safer than one of the more elegant inns. So, after Bram paid a boy to tend to his horse, she followed him inside.

Half a dozen men cradled tankards as they sat in chairs and settles, and suspicion glinted in their eyes when Bram and Livia entered. More than suspicion shone in their gazes when they looked at Livia. Bram stepped so that he stood in front of her, blocking her from their leers.

“What do you want?” a haggard woman in an apron asked.

“A room for the night.” Bram coarsened his accent. An aristocrat in Whitechapel would only attract unwanted attention. “Got to have a lock on the door.”

One of the patrons stood and swaggered over. Gin seemed to ooze from his pores. A knife with a worn handle was tucked into the waistband of his breeches. Puffing out his chest, he sneered, “Don’t talk like a nob, but you dress like one, an’ got a sword like them fancy gents, too. Maybe you is a nob, and you got a nice fat purse with you.”

Bram met his gaze without blinking. “Try taking it. You’ll wind up as dead as the toff I stole this gear from.” His grip tightened on the pommel of his sword.

The gin-soaked man blanched. He scuttled back to his seat and paid particular attention to the bottom of his tankard.

“No trouble,” the tavern keeper said sharply.

“Don’t want trouble,” Bram answered. “Just a room.”

The woman led him and Livia up the rickety stairs, then unlocked a room at the end of a hallway. He peered inside. The room held minimal furnishings, and the walls were bowed with age, but the bed appeared clean, at least. He held out his hand, until the tavern keeper relented and gave him the key.

She stepped out into the hallway. “Food’s extra.”

“We won’t be eating.” He shut the door in her face, then locked it. Turning back, he faced Livia, who stood in the middle of the room wearing a wry expression.

“From an abandoned house to a dockside warehouse to a dilapidated inn,” she murmured. “No woman has ever been so overindulged.”

“I’d take you to a goddamn palace if I could.” He glowered at the warped floorboards.

She crossed to him and cupped a hand to his cheek. “There are no palaces for fugitives.”

He leaned into her touch. Even in this shabby place, his need for her roused easily. But he could not give in to that need when peril loomed close on every side.

By force of will, he turned away. “We’ll abide here. The other Hellraisers are making their way back to London, and you need to regain your strength.”

She scowled. “Curse this helplessness . . .”

“Not so helpless. You did manage to kill a giant demonic rat.”

She waved her hand in dismissal. “One creature is nothing. We’ll face far more than that in the coming battle.”

The small window looked out onto the street, but hardly anyone was out. “In the Colonies, we had scouts keeping watch on the French. They’d warn us in advance of hostile action. What I wouldn’t give for those Rangers now.”