Page 4 of The Spark that Ignites (Shattered Soul #1)

As Fallon groaned, blood trickled from his face and pooled on the collar of his uniform. From the way the guard’s nose hung crookedly it was certainly broken, and maybe his jaw too. Worse was the incriminating handprint burned into his cheek.

Emmery’s stomach sank. “You hit him really hard.”

“I wasn’t going to ask more than once,” the man said and lifted his shoulder in a half-hearted shrug while he scuffed his boot through a smear of blood on the stone. “The guy deserved far worse. I gave him a chance, and he refused. It should’ve been a blade rather than my fist.”

And he could easily do the same to her. Emmery needed to form a plan, but she couldn’t think through the pain. Each swallow burned, her head ached, and her hot cheek stung. That slap had really sent her mind reeling, not to mention her scars throbbed again.

Once she found her dagger everything would be all right, but as she brushed her hand over the dark ground once more, she found nothing.

Like magic, the dagger appeared in his outstretched hand. “Looking for this? You know, these do work better when they’re in your hand, rather than thrown across the alley.” He flipped it, extended the hilt to her, and chuckled. Emmery clenched her jaw at the humour in his voice.

None of this was funny. None of it.

Still on her hands and knees, Emmery reached for the dagger but thought better and recoiled. How fast could he turn it on her?

He tilted his head at her retracting hand.

What did he expect? That she would trust some stranger in a dark alley. Then again, she’d trusted that note. Maybe her judgement was truly rubbish, and she deserved to be stabbed by her own dagger.

“Though the fire was a nice touch,” he said, crouching to her level. His eyes captured her. Circling his blown-out pupils were corneas like strikingly white moonlight. Incandescent. They glowed in his shadowed face, and he winked from under his hood. “Impressive, little demon .”

Emmery’s stomach clenched. If he’d seen her magic and overheard Fallon’s accusation, he could turn her in or use this as leverage.

“Look, I don’t know who you—” she started, but Fallon stirred, mumbled to himself, and his hand rose to his bashed nose. Relief flooded her as she realized, he was alive, followed by fear for the same reason.

The guard leapt and grabbed the man’s tunic, tearing his collar as they struggled. The wraith-man swept Emmery’s dagger across the guard’s throat with ease, like he’d done it countless times. Blood sprayed and she shrank away, squeezing her eyes shut as it splattered her cheek, warm and wet.

Fallon's throat yawned open, and he gurgled, his uniform soaking with crimson. For a few excruciating seconds he bled, clawing at his neck, and then didn’t stir again.

The man shoved the guard’s corpse aside with a disgusted sneer.

“Bloody Hollow,” he groaned, fingering his torn collar before swiping the fresh blood smeared across his chin. “That was my favourite tunic.”

A weighted silence stifled the alley along with a metallic tang.

Emmery’s last nerve snapped as she blinked rapidly. He—he’d killed the guard, and he was worried about his shirt ? He was out of his damn mind if he thought he could murder one of King Silas’s guards and escape unscathed. He’d protected her and yet plunged them both into unfathomable danger.

How was she going to get out of this? If she ran, would he grab her before she reached the main street? Would anyone hear her scream?

Would anyone even care?

He wiped the bloody dagger on Fallon’s uniform and handed it to her. Emmery scrambled away, not daring to turn her back to the black blade.

His eyes widened. “Hey, it’s all right. I won’t hurt you.” His voice was low, soothing, like coaxing a frightened kitten from its hiding place beneath the bed.

“How am I supposed to believe that?” She gestured wildly to the guard’s body. “You just—you just—” Her wrist buckled, and her elbow slammed into the cold stone, but she barely felt it through the adrenaline humming in her veins and her magic pulsing with it.

He exhaled hotly through his nose, clearly done with this whole situation. “Look, if I wanted to kill you, I would have already.”

Emmery eyed her dagger in his hand, wanting to believe him. He had every opportunity to use it on her and he hadn’t. Unless he was relishing the kill for some twisted reason.

The man shook the dagger at her again. “Take it.”

No way was she reaching for it. “Lay it on the ground and slide it over.”

“You’re not very trusting, are you?” he observed and with a roll of his eyes he gave it a toss, the metal clanging against the stone before it landed at her feet. His gaze notably rested on her ring before returning to her face.

Emmery wrapped her fingers around the hilt, and with the weapon in hand, her chaotic heart slowed to a steady drum as her magic retreated. “I’ve never been given reason to be.”

“Fair enough.”

Maybe it was the shocking gentleness in his eyes or his mouth twisting sideways, but he looked—of all things— fearful for her. He stood and extended his hand. And it was that look of kindness that almost made her take it. Almost.

Ignoring him, Emmery stumbled to her feet.

The red-hot handprint on her cheek throbbed followed by a wave of dizziness.

The man caught her shoulders before she toppled and, to her dismay, she steadied herself against his chest. Under her palm, a familiar thrum of magic stole her breath, leaping through his calm demeanour.

“You’re—” she sputtered, her mouth suddenly dry. A puzzled look crossed his face as she staggered back. Emmery clutched the dagger in her sweat slickened palm, her wrists stinging from scraping the cobblestones.

Her gaze dipped to his exposed chest lit by moonlight, and it looked—

It couldn’t be.

The guard’s corpse was forgotten, along with the dagger clutched in her hand, as she pointed. He tensed at the blade’s dangerous proximity to his throat.

But Emmery didn’t care. Everything else fell away and her attention narrowed to the rosy scar tucked under his collarbone. The one which was identical to one of hers.

There was no mistaking it. He was a Damned One like her.

“It’s rude to point.” He angled the blade away with a single finger, but humour glinted in his eyes. “And I specifically mean pointing a dagger at your saviour’s throat.”

She ignored his snarky comment. There were too many emotions flowing through her, too much unearned hope surfacing. She hadn’t seen a Damned One in decades and never interacted with one. For all she knew, most retreated beyond the gate after it was sealed away.

Reaching for her collar, she peeled back the shredded fabric to reveal three intertwined circles, each with its own unique pattern, scarred into her chest in a mirror image of his own.

“Whoa!” He shielded his eyes with a hand. “You could warn a man before flashing him.”

Asshole . Emmery scowled. Maybe she should have stabbed him.

“Would you—” She sighed, exasperated, her nerves too taut, sure to snap at any moment. “Just ... look.”

Shifting his hand away, he cracked an eyelid. A wicked grin swallowed his face as he squinted in the dark, hands sinking into his pockets. “It seems we’re a formidable pair.”

She reached into her cloak to retrieve the note and demand answers when voices rang out behind them. Three men in grey uniforms passed the alley. Emmery prayed they would continue, but they doubled back, peering into the dark. Her heart sank when one of them called out something indistinguishable.

The man grumbled. “You should go. And quickly .”

“But—” she protested, and he held up a hand, cutting her off.

“Leave, while you can. I’ll handle this.” His voice was shockingly calm with the guards barrelling down the alley. She paused, but he urged, “ Go . Take a right at the end. It’ll lead back to your inn.”

She wasn’t sure how he knew that, but if he did, he likely left that note.

Fleeing now would only be a temporary solution, but she spun and sprinted down the alley like a coward anyway. After all, that was what she was best at.

“Find me!” she hollered over her shoulder, but the smoke now clouding the passage devoured her words.