Sneaking out of the Rellar estate had proved more troublesome than Tasha might have expected. For one, the servants seemed to be out in abundance despite the late hour, and twice she’d had to make excuses when she was stopped and asked if she needed anything.

  The thought of having a refreshment or a bath while her stomach twisted itself into knots was less than appealing. And so she had waved them off, claiming she’d just needed a bit of fresh air. That was when she had encountered her second hurdle.

  The guard at the gate of the estate still wore his plumed hat. The gate itself was locked, and the only key, she knew, was on his person. Even if she were to get her hands on it, she couldn’t very well use it while he was present. That left her in a bit of a bind.

  How in the name of the gods was she supposed to get out of this elegant prison? Tasha had watched the guard for several minutes before retreating back into the hall. She’d tried several side passages, hoping there might be a door that led to the outside. But for all her searching, she’d come up short.

  “Shit,” she muttered to a giant suit of armor. The suit stared back at her, its visor most decidedly unimpressed. She sighed, pressing her palms into her shut eyes until she could see spots. This wasn’t how things were supposed to go. What she needed was to think.

  Tasha paced back and forth before the suit, tapping at her chin with manicured fingers. From what she’d seen, the wrought iron fence wound its way around the entire estate, with only one way in or out. Scaling the thing would be impossible, even if she did possess the athletic ability, on account of the spikes affixed to the top of the fence itself.

  That left only limited options. She supposed she could attempt to make her way to the roof and jump. Though broken ankles would make the journey to the Fane manor a bit of a bother.

  “Shit,” she muttered again, clenching her hands on her hips. She glared at the suit of armor, which glared most irritatingly back. The sound of voices drifted to her from across the hall, and Tasha’s heart leapt into her throat. She glanced around, eyes flicking from point to point, but she didn’t see any servants. Tentatively, she crept forward past a decorated vase and poked her head around the corner. There was a small room off the hall, one that looked like it was dedicated almost entirely to storage. Boxes, blankets, and several decrepit-looking scrolls were strewn across the ground, but what caught her attention wasn’t the clutter.

  There was a window on the far end of the room, and that window was ajar. From it, drifted the voices she’d heard moments ago.

  “I’m telling you, it’s too late to make the shipment tonight. Last call was hours ago. There’s nothing I can do.”

  “Nothing you can do?” The wheedling feminine voice came with a bit of a bite to it. “This batch of wine was supposed to go out two days ago. We’re running behind, Fredrick, and I don’t need to remind you just how much late shipments have been costing this estate since… everything.”

  Tasha crept up to the window and, after a moment, chanced a glance. A woman was standing near the back servants' entrance, her hat in her hands. She was wearing boots and trousers, and judging by the leather gloves, she was a wagon driver.

  The man, presumably Fredrick, looked like a servant of the household. He was holding his hands up in the universal sign of placation as he shook his head.

  “Look, there’s nothing I can do here, my hands are tied. You’ll have to wait til tomorrow.”

  “Wait until tomorrow?” scoffed the woman. “Do you know what it is you’re asking? Tell me, what is the most valuable export from the south?”

  Fredrick seemed to consider this.

  “Fish.”

  The woman frowned.

  “Well, what’s the second most valuable export?”

  “Let me guess, it’s wine.”

  “Right you are. Wine from Bridgeport’s local vineyards, might I add. Vineyards that have belonged to the Rellar family for countless generations. The only problem is that nobody wants to do business with us. Not with….” She waved a hand again. “You know, everything. It took me long enough to find suppliers who will take our shipments. If it’s delayed and our precious clients lose money, how long do you think those channels will remain open to us?”

  “Well, I –”

  “Not very long,” said the woman earnestly. “So throw me a bone here, Fredrick. Otherwise, I’m naming you personally when his lordship asks why exactly we have forty cases of Bridgeport's finest still in the warehouse come morning.”

  Fredrick let out a curse that made the woman grin.

  “Knew you’d see it my way.”

  The servant shook his head, turning back towards the house. Tasha ducked beneath the sill to avoid being seen as he stormed back into the house.

  “I’ll speak to the guard. You have ten minutes. TEN. Not a second longer.”

  And the door swung shut behind him. Tasha waited a beat before glancing over the sill again. The woman was mounting the wagon again, swinging into the drivers seat. Tasha realized with a little thrill that this was her chance. It was insane, being a stowaway in an attempt to get out of the well-guarded and very high class estate she’d been staying in. But when it came to her sister, there was very little she wasn’t willing to do.

  Tasha said a prayer to the gods before she ducked beneath the open window. She gripped the sill tightly, cursing her lack of upper body strength as she dangled ten feet above the ground. Why did she have to be on the second floor? Belatedly she realized she probably could have used the stairs. Damn it all. That suit of armor was probably laughing at her, and rightfully so.

  Mercenary’s daughter indeed. At last, Tasha dropped to the ground, her fall fortunately broken by a bush just below the window. Unfortunately, it was a thorn bush. Things, she decided as she fought her way free of the damn thing, never really seemed to go her way.

  When at last she was free, albeit with a few scratches and a tear or two in her travel coat, she glanced cautiously around. The grounds were silent, devoid of any sound but the chuffing of horses as the two animals hoofed the ground, clearly eager to go. Tasha could hear the low murmur of voices as Fredrick talked to the gate guard.

  It was now or never. Tasha bent low, running towards the back of the wagon. She had gotten halfway there when she heard Fredrick call the all clear to the driver.

  The reins snapped, and moments later the cart started to move.

  “Are you bloody kidding me?” whispered Tasha, pouring on the speed as she now sprinted towards the moving wagon, all stealth forgotten. She had seconds to make it, and if she failed… no. She couldn’t afford to fail. She was doing this for Elise. For her father, too.

  So Tasha ran, leaping into the air, her hand grasping for the fixed metal rung set into the back of the wagon. Her fingers curled around it, and Tasha nearly fell as her boots scrabbled to find purchase. At last, she managed to pull herself up, falling forward and through the cloth covering the back. It was not a soft landing. Wine crates, it turned out, did not make the best pillows.

  She pushed herself up in the darkness, wishing she had some sort of light. But the only light visible was that of the lanterns she saw through the slit of the cloth of wagon. The guard called something, and the driver answered. And then they were through the gate.

  Tasha leaned back against one of the crates, her breath coming harder now that her blood was pumping. A bit stupid, really, but what other option did she have? The wagon trundled along through the streets, and Tasha parted the cloth with one hand, trying to get her bearings. The city looked different at night, that much was sure.

  But she was still able to pick out several of the landmarks she’d come to know. It wouldn’t be far now. The driver suddenly pulled on the reins, and the wagon slowed to a halt. Tasha froze, her heart leaping into her throat. So soon? But surely the wine shipments had to leave the city.

  Was the driver making a stop in Bridgeport? Tasha wasn’t entirely sure how she’d explain being a stowaway on a wagon of goods owned by the Rellar household. Expensive goods. Oh gods, would they assume she was a thief? In this wagon full of wine crates, there was nowhere to hide.

  Tasha tensed as she heard the driver dismount. There was the sound of boots on cobblestone only… They didn’t seem to be growing louder. From somewhere in the distance, she heard the gravel of a deep male voice.

  “You’re late,” the man growled.

  “Yeah, well it’s getting harder these days. The servants are more suspicious than they used to be. A girl can never be too careful.”

  “And Rellar?”

  The driver laughed.

  “Hah, that old man? I wouldn’t worry about him much longer – not with the way his health is going. He’s nothing like what he was at his prime, and even if he was, would Rellar really be a threat to him?”

  Tasha’s heart was racing a mile a minute. Hearing one of the servants talk about their lord with such disdain was unexpected. But even more chilling was the man’s response.

  “No,” he growled. “Not anymore. The master made sure of that. All of the pieces are in place; now we just need you and –”

  The wind picked up, and Tasha cursed under her breath as the words were whipped away from her. While she might not know what exactly was going on, she had no doubt that this information was vital. Something was happening, though what exactly she wasn’t yet sure. Could she report this conversation? Get the driver into trouble?

  Then again, last time she’d called someone out, she hadn’t been believed. She supposed if she was going to report potential fraud, she’d better have some evidence. The wind died down, and Tasha heard the voices come through more clearly once again.

  “Does this really benefit us?” the driver was asking. “I mean, he has his objectives, but I worry about the rest of us. All of this, allying with… them. Was it really necessary?”

  Tasha slunk forward until she was at the edge of the wagon. She took a deep breath, steeling her nerves before she moved aside the cloth and lowered herself to the cobblestones. The street was dark but for a single spirit stone lamp that illuminated the street before them. Tasha moved slowly sideways until she could see beyond the large wooden wheel before her. She almost gasped. Standing before the driver was a man she recognized.

  He was broad and muscular, with tattoos snaking up the side of his neck. When he turned it, his bald head caught the light. It was Declan Fane’s bodyguard.

  “And you’re asking all this now?” he asked, his teeth flashing in a feral grin. “If there was ever a time to question him, it would have been before we committed. Do your job, girl. That’s all that’s required of you now.”

  He reached for something at his belt and tossed it to her. The driver caught the pouch with a sound of clinking coins.

  “I’m sure you’ll find the amount suitable,” said Fane’s man. “Now do it just as we discussed, and the rest will be delivered to you.”

  There was a pause, and Tasha squinted through the semi-darkness, trying to get a read on the driver.

  “Don’t tell me you’re having second thoughts.”

  There was a note of danger in the man’s voice. The driver shook her head slowly and turned back towards the driver's seat.

  “No, no second thoughts. It’ll be done tonight.”

  “See that it is. He’s away for now, but if he returns and finds out you’ve failed... Well, let’s just say a new name and profession won’t save you this time. Even if you try to run.”

  And with that, the bodyguard turned, striding back towards the estate. The driver watched him go, and Tasha heard the woman curse under her breath as the estate door closed behind him. Then she snapped the reins. Tasha looked around hastily before darting across the street into the alley beside the garden. Now that the wagon was out of sight, the street and surrounding houses were dark and silent. Tasha peered over the brick wall and spied the servant’s garden gate around back. The chain had been left unlatched, just as her sister had promised.

  Tasha took in a deep breath, trying to prepare herself. She needed to speak with Elise and find out what was going on. But at least now she had evidence that Declan Fane was up to something. If she could tell the bailiff, then there might be a chance to save her sister.

  The wrought iron gate was cold on her hands as she gripped it, pushing it slowly open. She winced when it creaked softly, but when she looked towards the estate, she could see no sign of disturbance.

  Pull it together, Tasha, she told herself. You know what it is you need to do.

  Funny how much her inner champion sounded like her father. Tasha slipped through the gate, letting it close softly behind her. Even in the dim moonlight, Elise’s garden looked beautiful. There were planters of thyme, rosemary, tarragon, and oregano elevated on one side, while several species of late-blooming flowers and plants lined the gravel path. Her boots crunched softly as she walked, admiring her sister’s handwork.

  Elise had always had a green thumb. Something that Tasha herself had never managed to pick up. At last she reached the door of the greenhouse. The structure was large, with an elevated glass roof and a sturdy door set within the front. An old-fashioned iron lock was visible on its surface, and Tasha pulled the key from her pocket, clutching it tightly in her hand. With one last look over her shoulder, she slid the iron key into the lock and turned it.

  There was a deep hollow click from within the depths of the door. And then, almost as if of its own accord, it swung soundlessly inward. Warm air hit her, along with the smell of soil and greens. Tasha stepped inside, one hand on the door and the other hovering towards the hilt of the knife her father had given her, which was now concealed in a band around her waist.

  “Elise?” she whispered, her eyes drifting from corner to corner. There was no answer. Tasha’s fingers closed around the hilt of the knife as her pulse began to throb. She stepped further into the greenhouse, allowing the door to close softly behind her. The shrubs and sapling trees were set in rows beneath the building, and she found herself walking along an aisle of young apple trees. She stopped before a tree with yellow apples. Golden cherubs. Elise’s favorite apple for baking into pies.

  “You came.”

  Tasha managed to muster the dignity not to shriek as she whirled. Elise was standing at the end of the greenhouse, her hands clasped before her as she stared at her sister. Tasha felt a surge of relief as she stepped forward.

  “Of course I came. Elise, I –”

  Elise had been standing in shadow, but when she stepped forward, the moonlight illuminated her face. Tasha’s words died on her tongue as she beheld her sister. Elise was smiling sadly, but there were heavy bags beneath her eyes. Her face was sallow, her body gaunt beneath clothes that appeared entirely too large for her. Her shoulders were slightly hunched, as if even the act of standing took more energy than she had to give.

  “Elise,” Tasha whispered, her voice catching. “What happened to you? Are you truly ill?”

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  She stepped forward, taking her sister’s thin hand in her own. That hand was cold.

  “My gods, you’re skin and bone.”

  “I’m recovering,” said Elise, a sad smile touching her lips. “Things were difficult for a time, especially at first. I couldn’t easily keep things down, even water. It’s been a long road to recovery, but I’m feeling better now.”

  Tasha took her sister's shoulders.

  “I’m glad you’re feeling better. Father and I, we were worried, and…” She swallowed hard. “Elise, I’ve been meaning to apologize to you. All the things I said about your marriage and your choices. I was just hurt, and I lashed out at you. I shouldn’t have.”

  Elise stepped forward, wrapping Tasha in a hug. Tasha felt her eyes prick with tears as she held her sister. She was so thin.

  “It’s alright, I mean it. I’m sorry I worried you. I should have written but things are… things have been more complicated than you can imagine.”

  “Because of him?” Tasha stepped back and Elise looked away, wiping a tear from her eye.

  “Yes. Listen, Tasha, I want to catch up with you. You don’t know how much I’ve missed you. How badly I’ve wanted to…” she closed her eyes, her lips trembling. “But I can’t. It’s too dangerous, T. He’s too dangerous. I brought you here because I wanted you to know that I was alright. I know how much you worry, and I know how stubborn you are.”

  Tasha’s tears spilled over, and she couldn’t help but laugh a little.

  “Stubborn and foolish. Especially when it comes to you.”

  A phantom of a smile crossed Elise’s face.

  “I know. And I know how all of this looks. I’m glad I was able to see you again, even if just for a moment.”

  Tasha’s brows furrowed.

  “A moment? Elise, you can’t mean to stay here. Declan is –”

  “I know what he is,” Elise interrupted. A note of steel had entered her voice, and Tasha blinked in surprise as her sister stepped away. “I know what he does and what he’s capable of. Far better than you or anyone else. Which is why I wanted to warn you myself. Declan is not who he says he is. He never has been. When he first courted me, things were different, you know. He was sweet, kind, and quick-witted. I found his humor to be delightful, really. He never seemed to miss an opportunity to make me laugh. It was only in the months after we were married that things began to change.”

  Elise’s eyes dropped, and she clasped her hands together before her.

  “That kind man who enjoyed long strolls and ridiculous jokes was gone. He began to go out more. He said it was for work, but sometimes he was gone for days. Weeks even. The company he kept began to change. He started bringing strange men to the house. Men that looked like…”

  “Criminals?” asked Tasha, her heart beginning to sink. Elise glanced up at her and nodded slowly.

  “So you’ve suspected it too. I should have known. You’re nothing if not shrewd. Perhaps if I had the foresight you did, I could have avoided all of this.”

  She shook her head slowly.

  “All of what?” Tasha stepped forward, holding out a hand to her sister. “Elise, the past is the past. Declan may have a lot of money, but if he’s involved in criminal activity, then the bailiff can and will have him arrested. Hell, he might not believe just me, but if we went to him together –”

  Elise’s face paled, and she shook her head, taking a step back.

  “You don’t understand. You don’t get what he’s capable of, T. If it were as easy as turning him in or running away, don’t you think I’d have done it long ago?”

  A prickle started at the base of Tasha’s neck, but she did her best to ignore it.

  “What do you mean?” she asked, her lips pursed. “The bailiff is practically a lord. Surely he has authority over a simple businessman, criminal or otherwise. If we go to him, we can tell him everything.”

  Elise put her head in her hands, shaking it violently back and forth.

  “You’re not getting it. You don’t understand. Declan isn’t some petty criminal. He has power and authority outside of just the city. He has men that work for him and allies that are far more dangerous than the garrison or the bailiff. That’s why I wanted to meet you. I wanted to explain everything and to stop you from interfering. You need to go home, Tasha. Go home to dad and stay out of it. You must.”

  Tasha was stunned. For a moment, she stood there, her hands at her sides, unsure of how to respond.

  “And leave you?” she asked at last. “You expect me to walk away knowing you’re in danger?”

  Elise’s eyes glistened with tears.

  “It’s not just about me anymore,” she whispered, and she turned. That’s when Tasha saw the basket sitting on the floor behind her. It was a round, woven piece, and the interior was lined with soft blankets. Tasha stepped forward, her throat bobbing as she approached the thing.

  She knew what it was. Had seen them before in her village right after mothers had given birth.

  “Elise,” Tasha whispered, her voice catching with unexpected emotion. She approached the cradle and gasped when she saw the tiny swaddle of blankets move.

  “You had a child.” She turned to her sister, a smile spreading across her face. “So the rumors were true. Was it your pregnancy that made you sick?”

  “In a manner of speaking.” Elise was smiling too, even as tears swam in her eyes.

  “I have a little niece or nephew.” Tasha was grinning now, as she approached the basket. “A boy or a girl?”

  “A boy. Tasha.”

  Elise’s voice was strained. Tasha glanced at her sister and saw something in her eyes that made her pause. Was that… fear?

  “Listen, you don’t understand. But it isn’t his fault, alright? He can’t control what he was born as. What he is.”

  Tasha’s brows drew together in confusion. What was he? A creeping feeling of dread filled her as Tasha closed the distance between her and the basket crib. The tiny newborn was swaddled tightly, a smaller knitted woolen hat tucked around his round head. His nose was pointed, much like his mother's, and his small hands opened and closed.

  “What do you mean?” she asked, shaking her head. “He’s beautiful. He’s –”

  The boy opened his eyes then, and Tasha froze, her mouth open in shock. Because the boy’s eyes weren’t the light color of hers and her father's. Or even the green of Elise’s. No, they were something else entirely. The boy's eyes were a deep burning crimson, and within them were two slitted pupils like those of a cat.

  “She means,” said a masculine voice from behind them, “that our son is not entirely human. And I am afraid it is I who is to blame for that.”

  Tasha and Elise whirled as one to confront the dark figure who stood in the green house doorway. Declan Fane was dressed the same as he had been the last time they met. In a fine suit and overcoat, a gold-crested cane clutched in one hand. But his features had shifted. His face was longer, more angular than before. When he smiled, his teeth were pointed. And his eyes… those crimson eyes… that seemed to burn like fire from the depths of hell itself.

  “Demon,” Tasha breathed. Declan only smiled. Tasha found herself stepping between the creature now standing before her and her sister. She held her head high, even as her hands trembled. A demon? But demons weren’t real. Everything she knew, every story, every fairytale, every book she’d ever read claimed that demons were a lost threat. The first Saints had battled them, or so the stories said. But demonkind had always been a metaphor for the enemies of the Empire. They weren’t real. Couldn’t be real. At least, that’s what she’d always believed.

  “I had a feeling you were as stubborn as your sister.” Declan stepped into the room, his glowing eyes glinting with malice. “I knew you couldn’t leave well enough alone, even after the bailiff himself chastised you at dinner. People like you never seem to know when to quit even when you’re ahead. Perhaps I should have offered you money and sent you back to your father.”

  “As if money could make me betray my only family. You can shove your offer up your ass.”

  Tasha’s voice was steadier than she expected, given that she was facing off with a devil.

  “Declan,” Elise’s voice was pleading. “Listen to me. She didn’t do anything to hurt you. To hurt us. She was only worried about me. She won’t say anything, not if I tell her not to. Please, let her go, she’s my sister.”

  Declan’s eyes flickered to her, and his smile turned feral.

  “Ah, yes,” he said. “The ever loyal wife. There’s no need to pretend, my dear. I’ve been aware of your attempts to thwart me for some time. You think I didn’t catch your attempts to warn the Rellar household of my exploits? Or perhaps your foolish pursuit of reconnecting with your sister even after you’d discovered my secret?”

  Elise made a sound in her throat, half whimper, half sob.

  “That’s right,” said Declan, stepping forward. “I know that you tried to betray me. I know that your maid was implicit in assisting you with your little plans, as well. I had her followed yesterday, you know. That’s how I caught on to your little plan. Pathetic as it was, of course.”

  “Where is she?” Elise’s throat was tight. “She didn’t come visit my rooms this evening. I thought she retired early.”

  Declan shook his head slowly, his eyes narrowing.

  “You must understand it isn’t personal. But I simply cannot allow any sort of disloyalty in my household. You know the rules, beloved. You know what I ask for isn’t much. I’ve always liked Penelope, but she was a threat to me. To us.”

  “What did you do?” Elise’s voice had risen now. From behind them, the baby began to whimper. Tasha took up a defensive stance, her heart hammering.

  “Get back,” she told him. “Stay away from us.”

  Declan paid her no mind. His eyes were fixed on Elise.

  “Surely you cannot blame me for this. It was you who put her up to it. You who ordered her to be complicit in your betrayal. While I can forgive you your lapse, I owe the servants no such leniency.”

  He stopped short, twisting the cane between his hands. Tasha took that moment to grab her sister, pushing her backwards towards the basket.

  “Is there another exit?” she asked out of the corner of her mouth. Elise shook her head, her face pale. Tasha sized him up. If he continued to follow them, there might be an opportunity to run to the side. Lose him down the rows of the orchard, perhaps, and make a break for the door. It was fleeting, but it just might…

  That hope died as another shadowy figure stepped up to the door. Declan’s bodyguard came to stand in the doorway, his head tilted to the side as he regarded Elise and Tasha.

  “Did you take care of it?” asked Declan, glancing at his man. The bald giant slowly nodded, whipping his hands on a handkerchief. The cloth was stained red. Elise let out a cry, and Tasha held her, cradling her sister's head against her chest.

  “It’s alright,” she said, even though she wasn’t sure she believed the words. “We’re gonna be alright.”

  “It’s done, chief,” said the bodyguard. He stopped wiping, and his eyes fell upon Tasha. “What do you want to do with this one?”

  Declan stuck a tongue in his cheek and slowly shook his head.

  “No!” shouted Elise, breaking away from Tasha and running forward. “She’s my sister, Declan! You cannot do this. She is my family, and if you hurt her, you hurt me. Please –”

  “You already hurt us!” Declan’s shout was so loud that the windows in the greenhouse rattled. Tasha flinched as Elise slowed to a halt before him. “You…” said Declan, his eyes seeming to burn with anger. “I gave you everything. Gave us everything. Money, status, power. A place in this new world. You have no idea what’s coming… no idea what I had to sacrifice to make things work.”

  He slammed his cane on the ground, sending up a shower of red sparks.

  “Everything I did, I did for us. But you lack the ability to see that.”

  “So it’s my fault,” said Elise, tears flowing down her cheeks. “Blame me then. Punish me, not her.”

  Declan snarled, turning away.

  “We’re far past that. She might be your sister, Elise, but you don’t see the danger she poses to us. To everything. She would have our family torn apart if it meant she could wrest you from me. I know you can’t see it, beloved, but I can. And I won’t let anything come between us.”

  And he lunged. Tasha cried out a warning, but it was already too late. Declan grabbed Elise’s wrist, pulling her to him as he marched towards the door.

  “Elise!” Tasha made to go after them, but the bodyguard stepped in the way. He was larger up close, and imposing. There was still blood beneath his fingernails, and Tasha’s stomach flipped over when she realized she was likely staring her own death in the face.

  “Bring me my son,” said Declan, stepping aside to allow two other servants into the greenhouse. They went for the cradle, lifting the newborn as the baby started to cry. Tasha hesitated, unsure whether or not she should try to intercede, but the servants were gentle. Perhaps he meant no harm to the child. “Take care of her,” said Declan as the servants reached him. His eyes were as cold as shards of ice. “Don’t draw it out.”

  Elise shrieked, slapping at Declan.

  “I’ll scream!” she said. “We’ll both scream, Declan, and then you’ll have to explain everything to the city watch and the bailiff’s men.”

  Declan snorted.

  “Go right ahead, my dear. Scream to your heart's content. Right now, most of the watch and household garrison are many miles from here, chasing a lead on the goblins. Young boys are so easy to manipulate, especially when what rules them is nothing but their ego and their false sense of honor. Shawn always wanted to make his father proud. So when I gave him the map coordinates of the goblin lair, he decided to take matters into his own hands. By the time he realizes he was set up, he’ll be lying in the bottom of a gorge, and this city will be mine. I told you not to bet against me, didn’t I?”

  And with one last desperate look from her sister, the greenhouse door slammed shut, sealing Tasha inside with her killer.

  “I suppose,” said Tasha, her voice only slightly quavering. “It’s too late to ask for best two out of three?”

  The man didn’t smile. Instead, he moved forward, his heavy boots crunching fallen leaves beneath them as he went. Tasha took a step backwards, heart pounding.

  “You don’t have to do this,” she said, her voice small. “You can tell him that you did. Say you killed me. I’ll slip out of here and flee this city, and you’ll never see me again.”

  The bald man didn’t answer. Tasha was backing up now her hands held out before her. All her father’s warnings about fighting bigger opponents were coming back to her.

  “Wait,” she said as he approached. “Just hold on a moment.”

  He didn’t hold on, so Tasha did the only thing she could think of. She threw herself sideways, diving between planters as he lunged for her. His hand caught her foot, and she shouted, kicking out at him and hearing the gratified sound of fingers crunching. The pressure on her foot released, and she scrambled forward, shoving herself to her feet as she dashed for the door.

  He got there first. He moved incredibly fast for a man so large, and Tasha was forced to scramble, boots sliding on loose soil on the floor before she managed to get purchase again. The bald man’s hand gripped at the front of her coat, and Tasha cried out, throwing her weight forward. Fabric tore, and she managed to scramble away, leaving him holding a bit of her coat in his clenched hand.

  He threw it down, his eyes flashing with sullen anger.

  “Don’t make this harder than it needs to be,” he growled, his eyes narrowing. “If you fight, I can’t guarantee a clean death.”

  Tasha spat on the ground between them, surprising even herself.

  “If you expect me to just lie down and die, then you’ll be sorely disappointed.”

  The man only grunted.

  “Very well.”

  He lunged for her one way, and Tasha feinted, darting past him and vaulting a discarded flower pot, and she made it again to the door. Her heart soared as her fingers closed around the handle. She was so close to freedom. If she could escape into the streets and find a guard…

  But the door only opened a few inches before a heavy hand slammed it shut. Tasha tried to dodge again, but this time the bald man knew her tricks. His free hand clenched around her hair, wrenching her head back and making her cry out. She kicked at him, her boot slamming into one of his knees, and he grunted in annoyance.

  “Stop struggling,” he growled. “It’ll only make things worse.”

  Tasha only struggled harder. She shouted for help, kicked, and even tried to scratch at his eyes, but the giant merely leaned back, smirking when her hands hit empty air.

  “Quiet, you,” he hissed, clamping a hand over her mouth. The smell of metal and leather overwhelmed her, and her world flipped as she was shoved against the ground. The man’s crushing weight bore down on top of her, pinning her beneath him. She glared up at him, tears gathering at the corner of her eyes.

  “There now,” he said, his smirk falling away. “It will be over soon.”

  It took her a moment to realize he had mistaken her tears of rage for weakness. Well, that simply wouldn’t do. Tasha bit his hand. Not a small bite either, like one a troublesome child might give. She opened her mouth as wide as possible and sank her teeth into his fingers.

  “What the fuck!” Tasha felt a blow to the side of her head, and her ear started ringing. But she didn’t let go. Refused to let go. “You little bitch, let go!”

  He leaned back, shifting his weight to raise his fist. Tasha focused on the blow. She wasn’t very strong, and she’d never been the best fighter. But her father had taught her the basics, and she remembered them even now. As his fist sailed towards her head, Tasha tucked her chin. His knuckles struck the thick bone at the top of her head with enough force that she nearly blacked out. But the angle had been right. The bald man cursed, jerking back his hand and staring incredulously at the dislocated knuckle of his ring finger. Tasha grinned, her teeth around his other hand. A vicious little smile.

  He tore that free, blood spraying along with ribbons of skin. He slapped her so hard that her head bounced off the stone floor. She tasted blood in her mouth. Hers? His? She wasn’t sure. All she knew was that her sister needed her, and she wasn’t damn well going to die here. Not now, and not yet.

  “Now you’ve done it,” he growled, his breaths coming faster. In seconds he had his hands around her throat, squeezing, crushing. She panicked as she felt her windpipe collapsing, and she sputtered, spit flying from her lips. She tried to strike at his eyes, but again he leaned backwards, and she cursed the reach of her arm.

  She was going to black out. There was nothing for it now. She reached beneath her coat, her fingers searching desperately for the only weapon she had. Her fingers brushed metal right as her vision began to turn gray.

  Her hand closed around the hilt of the dagger, and she pulled, fighting the weight of his body to pull it free. He was focused on her now, his face twisted with rage as he concentrated. She had less than a minute before she lost consciousness.

  Please, gods, if you’re there, answer my prayer. Give me strength, and let me stop this man.

  She wrenched with her arm, pulling and twisting, trying to free the knife. But her vision was going dark. All she could see was his face. And then his eyes. The blade of the dagger slid free from its sheath, and with what strength she possessed, she slammed it up and into the meat of his arm. The bald man roared in pain, his teeth bared in fury. He looked down, and a laugh bubbled from his lips.

  “You missed, little girl,” he said, releasing her neck to wrench the dagger free. Blood flowed down his arm, dripping unto the stone in a steady rhythm.

  “When you aim to stab a man, you have to hit him in the vitals if you want to kill.”

  “Ngghfff,” she said, split dribbling from the side of her mouth. The bald man leaned over her, her angry smile back.

  “What was that?” he loosened his hold just enough that she could scrape a few desperate breaths past her battered windpipe.

  “I said, not if it’s poisoned.”

  There was a pause in which they stared at each other.

  “Liar,” he growled, but he was already feeling the effects. Her father’s poison worked fast. As fast as it had been when he’d poisoned the man who’d tried to grope her when she had just turned 13, working at the bar. Sergeant Frost had ruled it an accident, but she knew better. She’d seen the look in her father’s eyes. If there was one thing he hated more than anything, it was men who tried to hurt his daughters.

  The bald man’s eyes bulged, the veins in them swelling. He tried to shout something, but it came out more as a gurgle as he staggered back. His weight left her, and Tasha wasted no time in scrambling to her feet.

  “That’s right, you sick bastard,” she said, snatching up the knife. “You’ve got seconds to live.” She checked the internal trigger and saw that the hidden poison housed within the handle was empty.

  “Antidote,” he gurgled as his face began to turn blue.

  “Not a chance.”

  He lunged for her, but she stepped away, and he fell flat on his face as he began to choke. Tasha glared down at him until his spasms grew weak and the blood that wept from his eyes and mouth slid across the stone. Only when she knew he was dead did she allow herself to let out a shaky breath.

  It wasn’t an easy thing to kill a man. But it had been necessary, and she’d be lying if she told herself that she regretted it. She turned the dagger over in her hand, noting the empty poison charge. At least the big bastard had been right about one thing.

  If she wanted to use this blade to kill again, she’d need to strike for the vitals. Tasha sheathed it and turned towards the door of the greenhouse. She wasn’t sure how, but she knew that she was either going to rescue her sister and nephew or die trying.

  “I have a nephew,” she said aloud as she strode for the doors. She had seen the fear in Elise’s face. Seen the shame. Her sister was no fool. She’d discovered who and what Declan was, but by then it had been too late for her to act.

  Tasha had that chance now. She knew everything, and now at least, she could prove it. Her only chance now was to get back to the estate and warn the bailiff of what was happening. That, and hope that wherever she was, Dean would receive her message. Then she nearly cursed aloud. What good would that do? She’d warned him of her suspicions, certainly. But she hadn’t known then what she knew now. Bridgeport was under attack from within.