Chapter 21
Boots raced toward our huddled group.
Suddenly the adrenaline had turned to panic as people barreled over one another to get out of sight.
“Someone snitched!” another voice shouted. “Run!”
I grabbed my dress in my fists and ran, not caring what I looked like. Vanya hurried beside me, her little legs pumping.
“Stupid shoes,” she said, flinging her pumps off one at a time, then tucking into a sprint. I considered doing the same, but I didn’t want to lose the shoes—to me, shoes were a privilege.
“Go ahead,” I shouted at her, kneeling to take my new shoes off. She hurried on ahead.
A torch shone from the street above as booted constables made their way onto the bridge, then the nearest stairs.
Holding my shoes, I slipped into the shadows underneath the bridge.
I leaned my back against the wall, breathing hard.
It was so dark down here that my eyes stayed pinned on the amber glow of the streetlight.
It occurred to me that I was alone in the dark without a weapon.
Clattering sounds announced the arrival of the constables, and their shouts indicated they’d spotted someone.
I ducked farther back into the shadows, feeling trapped, but a hand reached out and grabbed me, turning my body, and another hand pressed against my mouth as I screamed.
“It’s me.” Covington pressed my back against his chest, his voice hissing in my ears. He lifted his fingers from my mouth. “Sorry. I knew you’d scream. Let’s get out of here.”
I nodded as I cupped my hand over my mouth where his fingers had been. The terror flooding my veins dwindled as I rushed forward, following Covington into the dark.
“This way.” He touched my elbow as he darted to the right, down an alleyway between buildings.
I closed my mouth and followed. We took two more turns before he stopped jogging. I slowed to a stop beside him and finally dropped the hem of my dress, pausing to slip my feet back into my shoes. He watched with a sour expression but said nothing.
“What excuse did you give Scarlett?” I said, marching forward. “I’m sure she’ll be looking for you.”
Covington’s arm shot out, halting me.
“Wait,” he ordered, his voice low. His arm was rigid, the muscles under his jacket flexing as he stopped my movement.
He stared into the shadows, knees slightly bent, hand still stretched across my midsection. Lightning bolts of fear danced down to my fingertips.
“Saints,” he cursed, drawing a knife from his waist in a flash of movement.
From the deep shadows of an alleyway ahead, several faces appeared. First one, then two, slowly, seeping from the darkness until there were five of them. From their hands hung sawn pipes.
A horrible, pathetic sound escaped my lips. Covington ripped off his jacket and pushed me behind him. Little good he would do against five gang members. But I flattened one hand against his back nonetheless, cursing myself for wearing this stupid dress and not bringing a knife.
Covington’s left hand drew a second knife and passed it back to me. I clutched it with both hands.
“Look, a peacock, boys,” said one of the men. He had a scratchy beard and arms as thick as tree trunks.
We were dead. Or at least, Covington was. Me…I couldn’t stomach the thought of what they would do when he was dead.
“Not just any peacock, brothers,” said the tallest man. “Duke Covington’s boy.”
A low whistle from one of the men. “The future king, boys.”
Covington’s neck twitched, then he sprang forward, drawing a scream from my lips.
The first of the gang members lunged for him, a second cutting in from the left.
Covington bent his knees, arcing his knife around in a circle.
He sliced the first man, then the second, before any of us had realized what was happening.
He moved faster than I’d seen anyone move.
The glint of steel flashed in the slim light from a distant streetlamp.
He had two knives now, but I no longer had time to watch him.
A dark-haired wraith of a man, tall and skeletal, came at me, pipe brandished.
A knife wouldn’t do any good if that pipe hit me first.
I’d never been particularly adept at throwing blades.
I preferred to keep the weapon in my hand.
Adrenaline and a sheer desire to live helped me avoid his first blow.
Cursing myself for not learning more from Bennett before he moved out, I let out a shrill yell and jabbed my knife at the man’s arm as it swung by, cutting across his bicep. The man howled at me.
I backed against the stone foundation of the nearest bridge, keeping the fight in front of me. Covington was fending off two men still, but one lay on the ground, rocking back and forth in a pool of his own blood.
I gagged. The other two men stalked toward me, closing in from two sides. I nearly lost control of my bladder as I read what was written in their faces.
When the first one shot toward me, I spun away, cringing at the loud clunk of metal on stone.
The other man cupped his wounded arm with his free hand, blood dripping from his elbow.
He came at me, but his swing was weaker.
I lifted my left hand and caught the pipe, but I wasn’t strong enough to push it down.
With his weapon stabilized, I jammed my knife in the man’s shoulder.
I’d never stabbed anyone, never intentionally hurt anyone in my life, but the way he crumpled away, hissing in agony, flooded me with renewed energy.
Until the second man’s pipe knocked into my back, sending me sprawling to the cobblestones.
Covington’s knife spun on the ground a few feet away.
The man had grazed the wall with the edge of his pipe, which was the only reason my shoulder hadn’t shattered with the impact.
I couldn’t draw a breath, couldn’t even hold myself up.
My chest flopped against the cold stones, my vision dancing.
Heavy steps approached. Then, suddenly, the man dropped to the ground with a sickening crunch. A knife protruded from his back.
Covington hurried toward me, his hands flecked with blood as he lifted me to my feet.
His eyes roamed my face. “Look at me,” he commanded. But I couldn’t focus. “Look at me,” he said again. I tried, but I had to blink, cramming my eyes shut against the rush of fear threatening to pull me under. “Where are you hurt?”
I couldn’t answer, could only stare at the two men on the ground.
The others had fled. I fell against Covington.
He held me upright, setting me back on my feet.
Sobs of relief burst from my mouth. Covington’s hands held my shoulders and he bent forward, examining my entire body with searching eyes, worried eyes.
He spun me around, then paused. His fingers roamed over the tender spot on my back. His touch was gentle, quick.
“Here?” he asked, his featherlight touch hovering over my left shoulder blade.
I nodded, unable to calm the violent shaking in my core.
“He missed the spine. It’ll leave a nasty bruise, but you’ll be fine.
” He stepped around to face me, his hands still holding me steady.
His blue eyes looked as sharp as blades as they met mine. “Are you okay to walk?”
I swallowed, staring at his shirt collar instead of his piercing eyes. My head nodded, but the motion was a lie.
“Ari, look at me.”
I did.
“We’re okay.”
I nodded again, still not sure. “You’re bleeding.”
“I’m fine.” He had a gash on his forearm. “You’re okay. They aren’t going to hurt you. They’re gone.” This time, I nodded and believed it. “That’s it,” he urged, still gripping my upper arms as if he knew letting go would be like ripping the buttresses from the cathedral’s spire.
After a moment, he said, “Let’s do this another night.”
“No,” I breathed. “I’m okay.” I straightened, squinting slightly from the soreness in my back, and glanced at the skies.
Covington eyed me narrowly for several seconds. “I don’t think it’s the best time to try—”
“Try what? I want to know what you’ve been up to. What all this is about.”
Covington’s long pause drew my eyes back to him. “Okay. Let’s go. It’s not far.”
We strolled silently down the streets, neither one of us speaking as we rounded two more corners.
Finally, Covington said, “You were good back there.”
“I fell on my face.”
“After you stabbed a grown man. Most girls would’ve just screamed and watched. How’d you learn to fight like that?”
I nearly burst into tears, but I reined my emotions in, not wanting to appear fragile. “Out of necessity.” He glanced at me, but I didn’t meet his gaze. “How’d you learn to fight?”
“Out of necessity.”
I snorted, but he didn’t elaborate as we rounded another street corner. Then I recalled the wound on his side the first day I’d spoken to him at his lair. He was a good fighter, fending off several attackers at once tonight. Whatever he’d been into on race day, he’d not escaped as easily.
“There.” Covington pointed toward the sky. “He’s early. Must have sensed your distress.”
Myth’s black shape was barely visible in the sky at night. My heart soared.
Covington was staring at me. He nodded, as if confirming something to himself. “Come on; we can do this in the courtyard.”