Page 20 of Of Blood and Banes (The Arterian #2)

LATE NIGHT RENDEZVOUS

L ost to dreams of blood and fire, my sleep is interrupted by a force smacked over my mouth. Flashing my eyes open, I instinctively arch up off the bed and grapple for the hand covering my mouth, then slow my fight as a pair of hazy amber eyes fill my vision.

Cole.

He shakes his head, throwing strands of his auburn hair around his face as he holds a single finger up to his soft lips.

Quiet…got it. I flash a glance off to the right where Darian’s back is to us, his slow breath the only movement in his dark figure. I sweep my gaze over the windows, the door. How in the hells did he get in through the locks without making a peep? And why is he out past curfew again ?

Cole removes his calloused hand from my mouth finger by finger, his eyes still burrowing into me, reiterating the need for silence.

I nod, and he leans away from where he stands at the edge of my bed before holding out an open palm for me to take.

Slowly, I pull the sheets off my body and slide my legs over the edge of the bed.

Placing my hand in his, he helps me up and motions to my boots on the floor. I glance up at him, arching an eyebrow.

After all the years we’ve known each other, we don’t need words to communicate.

He dips his head to the boots again. I slide them onto my feet, lace them up, and as I straighten my spine, he wraps my cloak over my shoulders and attaches the clasp at my throat.

Once I’ve slid on Marge’s gloves, he grabs me by the hand and leads me to the door.

He opens it and scans the streets in every direction before pulling me out of my room with him and closing the door.

I squeeze his hand, silently questioning what’s going on.

He squeezes back— it’s okay .

We edge along the front of the building, my heart thundering in my chest. Where is he taking me?

He whips to me, pressing a finger to his lips.

His eyes fall to the floor, finger still pressed to his mouth and stance rigid as he strains to listen.

After a few still seconds, he leads me wordlessly down street after street to the northern part of Midkeep.

Once we cut down a corner into an alley bathed in shadows, he turns toward me, but I beat him to the punch before he can say anything.

“Why the hells are you pulling me out of bed after curfew? Don’t you realize it’s a breach of?—”

“Not for me,” he interjects before I can get far. “I didn’t agree to the blood pact.”

“Yes, but I?—”

He grabs the space between my neck and shoulder, leaning his face down closer to mine so I might listen to him. “Look, I don’t know how much time we have, but I saw something earlier in Sethan’s office when he and I were discussing getting our weapons back.”

“Tawny said we were supposed to get them back earlier today. Did you piss Sethan off?” I ask.

“No. I’ve been told maybe tomorrow. It makes some of his soldiers nervous knowing we’ll be allowed to have them back. But that’s beside the point. I need you to see something, and I don’t think you’ll believe me until you see it for yourself.”

“What is it?” I whisper.

He suddenly whips his attention back to the main street, then pulls the both of us down into a crouch and shuffles me back into the wall.

Our direct sight line of the main street is blocked by two stacks of wooden crates.

His hands still grip me between my shoulders, his laser-focused attention caught on the street beyond the crates.

That godsdamned fidget sparks in his fingertips, dancing in my muscles and spiking my own anxiety.

What happens if we’re caught? They can’t kill me…or at least I don’t think they will. But what about Cole?

A steady fall of footsteps approaches, growing louder and louder until they reach their peak and begin to fade away.

Cole finally turns his face toward me, and we are close enough I notice sweat beading on his forehead.

Though I’ll admit, out of the two of us, he’s much more functional than I am under pressure.

His quirked eyebrows ask the question his lips don’t have to. Do you want to do this?

I nod.

He lifts the hood on my cloak over my head, then tucks the long strands of my silver-blonde hair into the back and out of sight.

“C’mon,” he mouths and then tugs me back toward the main street. He peers around the corner of the alley wall, still managing to find and lace his fingers through mine.

Is this for my own peace of mind or his?

I don’t have long to determine which, as he tugs me after him into the street.

A mob of shadowed figures shifts far down the road, and Cole follows them at a slow, cautious pace.

We stop a block away from Sethan’s office and slink down a shadowed alley with multiple barrels up against the brick wall of an old tavern.

As we peek around the corner, down the street are two guards posted at the front of the building.

Their spines are straight and gazes fixed on the distance.

Cole draws me back from the corner and unlaces his fingers from mine. He flips my palm up. With a series of points and drawing words with his fingertip across my gloved palm, he sketches out a plan.

My eyebrows raise as the pieces click together.

He wants to be the distraction. To lure them away as I slip into the office by myself, and he’ll meet me inside.

I shake my head. I don’t even know what I’m looking for, and I’m not trying to chance that even if I get in there, he can’t join me.

It’d all be pointless. I glance down at my boots, mentally searching for another way.

A grin splits my lips as I stare down at what’s beneath our feet.

I grab a small loose cobblestone in the street and pluck it free, my gaze anything but innocent as I smile up at Cole.

I chuck the stone down past us in the opposite direction of the guards, and as planned, they both flinch, exchanging a glance before one of them heads our way. Cole leans his head to the side. Eyes wide in a are-you-trying-to-get-us-killed look.

But we don’t have long to discuss it because the guard unsheathes his sword from his side as he walks toward us.

As he passes the entrance to our alley, Cole strikes like a serpent.

He snatches the unsuspecting soldier and rips him into the shadows with us, clapping a heavy hand over the man’s mouth to muffle any sounds as I pry the sword from him.

Quick as the night, Cole wraps his second hand around the thrashing man’s throat and squeezes.

I keep watch on the second guard still posted at the office down the street and flinch when Cole’s victim kicks a stone and it skitters across the road.

The second guard’s attention whips from the stone that stills in the middle of the street to our direction.

Now or never.

A heavy, sliding thump hits the ground behind me, followed by Cole stepping in front of me as the second guard approaches.

He does the same as he did with the previous guard, quick to silence and knock the second man unconscious.

After checking to make sure they’re still breathing, we take their swords and slice off strips of their tunics and wrap the fabric around their wrists and ankles into makeshift restraints.

Cole takes another piece of fabric and bunches it into a ball, his eyebrows pinched in shame as he opens the guard’s mouth and stuffs it in.

I follow suit, and then we slide them into the empty barrels stained with a stench of old ale.

Once we close the lids, I pull out the stoppers on both barrels to ensure they can breathe.

I tell myself at least this way, it’ll afford us extra time if they awaken. Without another moment to spare, we head to the office, checking over our shoulders and down every direction the street splits into with each step.

I reach the door and turn the handle. Locked. Damn…well, it was worth a try.

Cole and I turn to each other at the same time, and he nods toward the eastern side of the structure.

We slip away from the front and edge around the side of the building until we get to a set of tall, skinny windows.

The inside is nearly pitch black, with only vague silhouettes of furniture scattered inside.

Cole tries each window then stops at the third one, finding with a little resistance and a creak, it opens. We freeze, waiting for any neighboring buildings or guards on patrol to hear it, but slip inside after a few still moments. My heart pounds in my chest.

Something about seeing this room in pure darkness is eerie, and my gaze is immediately drawn to the painting Cyrus shredded. The shadows accentuate how violently the art had been torn through. And I’m supposed to be related to him? It’s still a truth I can’t yet swallow.

Cole takes a few steps across the room, his profile blocking out half the painting against the far wall until he turns his attention to me. “What? What is it?”

When I don’t answer, he turns, following my gaze over his shoulder toward the painting, before he blows out a soft breath through his nose. “Yeah, Sethan has quite an eclectic taste in furnishings…”

I shake my head, ridding myself of the distant intrigue tingling at the base of my skull. “He said Cyrus did that. But I still can’t understand why he’d hold on to something so damaged.”

Cole blinks, as if the statement drives a dagger into his heart.

Like I meant it in some other, roundabout way.

Before I can try and say anything more, he stalks across the room to Sethan’s desk and waves a hand over the pieces left in plain sight, squinting in the dim light. “Shit…I don’t see it here.”

I sigh, then join him. “Can you at least tell me what we’re looking for?”

“It was…” he turns to the bookcase, scanning each tome. “It was a book. Or a journal, I suppose.”

“He already showed me the old dragon journal.”

“No. It wasn’t a study on dragons. This spoke of breaking magical bindings.”