Page 45 of The Spark that Ignites (Shattered Soul #1)

Half a teaspoon of some substance filled that bag, the sun battling the cloudy skies above and illuminating it with ethereal light.

What in the world was she trying to give her?

Shaking her head again, Emmery shrank into the wall, craning her neck to see the cloaked man over the woman’s shoulder.

Her hand drifted toward her dagger. “I’m fine. ”

“I insist.” The pig-faced woman grabbed her wrist and plunked the bag into her hand, before closing Emmery’s fingers around it. The woman’s fingernails were dirt crusted, her skin leathery as a worn chaise. “Enjoy.”

Nothing was given without cost. Vesper’s words rang in her head: Nothing is free. Nothing is fair.

“Take it back. I don’t want it,” Emmery snapped. Stomach sinking, she thrusted it away, but the woman retreated.

“You will.” Her toothless smile raised the hair on the back of Emmery’s neck. “It’s merely a gift. Remember it was Lellean who showed you such generosity.” The woman scuttled away, leaving Emmery clutching the pouch. She tucked it in her breast pocket, to deal with later. Whatever it was.

Emmery searched for the cloaked man again.

Unexplained relief flooded her as she found him. What did he say to the children to inspire such joy on their faces? Some even giggled, despite their grim circumstances. The man tended to three other children before dusting himself off and heading in Emmery’s direction.

And she couldn’t help but think he was heading directly for her .

Emmery’s stomach lurched and she hid beneath her hood, but the cloaked man breezed past her into the alley, though she noticed a beat of hesitation as he stepped beside her.

No, she must have imagined it.

Peering cautiously around the corner, she spotted him approaching the white-blond shopkeeper and the two women. With feral intent, he lunged and gripped the shopkeeper’s throat.

Clawing feebly at the cloaked man’s hold, the shopkeeper sputtered, his face flushing impossibly red. The cloaked man slammed his blond head into the wall with a sickening thud, grinding his scalp into the rough stone.

“You have been misbehaving, Guthrie.” The cloaked man’s voice was low, deep, his accent like Callias’s. “What did we discuss a week ago?”

The man sputtered before croaking out, “You ... don’t—understand.” A ragged breath ripped from Guthrie’s throat.

The two women slowly shuffled away, clutching the hilt of their blades at their hips.

The cloaked man held up a gloved hand, keeping his stare locked on Guthrie but he spoke only to them. “Unless you want a slow death, I suggest you don’t move.” His voice was a warning as he cocked his head to the side, sizing Guthrie up like prey. “And what shall I do with you ?”

Guthrie grimaced. “Please, let me go. I ... will pay you. I—I will get you money.” He gasped around the hold on his throat. “Just ... let me”—a rattled breath—“ go .”

A wicked glint consumed the cloaked man’s stare, but a smile tainted his voice. “Money? You think money will save you now? After the atrocious, heinous things you’ve done?”

“Please—” Guthrie choked, his voice thin as he wheezed out, “I’ll do ... anything .”

“All this begging is a tireless bore, sad really, for a grown man to babble like an infant. If you meant that, you would have done what I asked of you. You’re a lost cause, Guthrie.

A real shame.” The cloaked man tsked softly before he leaned in and whispered in Guthrie’s ear.

Guthrie’s eyes flared before the cloaked man swiftly snapped his neck with a twisting jerk.

He moved with such ease, as if he had done it countless times, and the action held no consequence. Like he hadn’t just stolen a life. Guthrie’s limp body crumpled to the ground and Emmery clasped a hand over her mouth to stifle her gasp. One of the women screamed.

Shit . Guess she wasn’t getting her transcription today, though Emmery had much more pressing worries. Had he seen her watching? Could she slink away? Her heart pounded as she eyed the crowd in her peripherals ready to slip into it.

The man’s sharp whistle sliced through the air and an enormous wolf, the height of his waist, prowled from the shadows on massive paws. Its glossy black fur and curling ram-like horns indicated it was no normal wolf.

Was it the same one she saw in Bellamere? It couldn't be.

A deep rumble emitted from its chest and Emmery froze, her limbs disconnecting.

It leapt on the women, blood spraying as it tore out their throats before they could even scream. Leaving the mangled bodies behind, the cloaked man and the wolf strolled from the alley.

Was this common for Malheim? This sort of violence and barbarism? Would there be no consequences? They just abandoned those bodies like they were as expendable as the rubbish lining the curbs.

Emmery pinned herself to the brick wall wishing she could disappear into it. Maybe if she pretended to loiter like she hadn’t seen anything, they wouldn’t pay her any mind.

The man paused at the alleyway mouth, only a few paces away, as if he contemplated something.

Emmery’s heart stuttered as the wolf’s orange gaze fixed on her and, ever so slowly, the man turned his attention to her.

He tilted his head. Her breath snagged as his bottomless black eyes locked with hers. “Are you lost, angel?” he drawled.

Not able to make a sound, Emmery shook her head. Her legs twitched, willing her to run. And he must have read the terror on her face because he clucked his tongue and said, “I don’t think so. Follow me.”

The cloaked man strolled forward, the wolf breaking off in the opposite direction. Emmery stumbled after him, as if pulled by a noose, visualizing her own neck snapping like Guthrie’s.

She panted, searching any faces for help but only vacant stares and people indulging in scandalous activities answered her. When they came upon a skeezy tavern, Emmery made a snap decision and sprinted, bursting into the crowd.

The man shouted behind her as her feet pounded the pavement.

She shouldered through the throng, dashing around the bone-dry, massive stone fountain centering the town square, when her toe caught a protruding cobblestone and she toppled to the ground.

Emmery scrambled to her feet, yanked her dagger free, and hurled toward the crowd’s edge.

Skidding around a corner, she halted just in time before colliding with a solid brick wall.

No, no, no. Not again .

She pounded her fist on the stone as if it would shatter under her rage. As footsteps rounded the corner, she whirled, cold sweat sliding down the nape of her neck.

“You’re faster than I’d thought,” the man breathed, though he appeared just as composed as moments ago.

As he stalked closer Emmery clutched her dagger, flames ready to spark at her command. “Take one more step. I dare you.”

He blinked at her, almost surprised. “Why so hostile, angel?”

“I swear if you try to hurt me—" Emmery bared her teeth. “I’ll make you regret it.”

He stopped several paces away and raised his hands, palms out. “Who said I was going to hurt you?” The bastard was amused. A smile lit his voice though his mouth didn’t get the message.

Hand shaking, she snapped, “I thought it was implied. After watching you brutally murder those people.”

“Oh that? That was merely business. A misunderstanding, really. I’m not interested in harming innocent women.” He inched closer and Emmery gripped her dagger until her fingers ached. “I only wish to chat.”

“Chat?” She scoffed, eyeing the sword strapped to his back. It was half the size of Vesper’s, but it could easily do as much damage. “What could we possibly have to talk about?”

“We have a lot more to discuss than you think.” He took another step closer. “For example, why were you following Guthrie?”

“That’s none of your business,” Emmery snarled. Her heart pounded, her tight chest withholding the air from her lungs.

“You should tell me.” He bit down on his full bottom lip. “I’m not a very patient man and I don't like to be kept waiting.”

“That sounds like your problem, not mine.” The words tumbled from her mouth, and she winced, unable to believe she said it. What good could it do? Encourage him to kill her faster? Idiot .

But his eyes gleamed with fascination at her coarse words. “I’m afraid it’s very much your problem since you’ve piqued my interest.” He took a large step toward her, now only an arm's length away.

Her palm slickened with sweat as she gripped her dagger.

“Tell me and I’ll leave you be,” he offered, his obsidian stare swallowing her whole.

Heart battering her ribcage, she managed, “I’m not afraid of you.”

A sinful laugh rumbled in his chest. “No. It seems you aren’t.”

They stood in silence, eyes locked and challenging one another.

She refused to back down though her hammering pulse swept her breath away.

He was effortlessly handsome for a murderer, with a strong jawline and full lips that likely had women swooning.

But that blackened stare sent a chill down her spine.

For some reason he seemed ... familiar. Maybe she had seen him in Bellamere. Especially if his wolf was there.

“Have we ... met before?” She choked out the question.

He tilted his head again in that predatory way.

“A long time ago, perhaps.” His answer only raised more questions but her mind quieted as he drew a long knife from his belt and pricked his gloved finger.

“I’m in no hurry. I’ll wait all day. Though you should know my patience is wearing thin.

And I’m not accustomed to being denied.”

A curse slipped from her lips as she eyed the knife. “Fine ... I was trying to get something transcribed, but you killed that dream when you murdered Guthrie.”

Knife still in hand, he spread his arms as if presenting some big revelation. “See, was that so difficult?” He sheathed it in his belt. “It’s your lucky day. I happen to be fluent in four languages. One of them being the language of seduction.”