Page 61 of To Catch A Rogue

"Don't think I won't if I need to," she said coldly. "But I don't know who else is here with you. I'd prefer not to bring them all running if I don't have to."

His smile softened, but it wasn't friendly at all. No, it seemed as though she'd amused him, though she couldn't make out the top half of his face with the shadow falling like that.

"Where's my friend?" she asked, for Charlie should have noticed the open fireplace.

"Currently occupied."

That did it. Lark was used to looking over her shoulder and thriving on the edge of danger. But any threat to Charlie....

"If you've hurt him...."

"He's having a lovely little chat with one of my lieutenants right now. His future depends upon how cooperative he can be. I'd be more concerned about yours."

He stepped forward, swinging the cane.

They circled each other, with Lark balanced on the balls of her feet as she summed him up.

Taller than she was. Armed with that cane and who knew what else, though there was a faint limp when he moved. Right leg by the look of it. Could be a weakness. Could also be a ploy.

She had the pistol, true, but she'd only have time for one shot and if he was a blue blood, it would need to be straight through the head or heart.

"I'm curious as to what you're doing here," he murmured. "As you can see, there's nothing to steal. And a sharp penalty for those who attempt it."

"Maybe I came to see if the ghosts are real."

He leaped forward, smashing the pistol from her hand with the cane. Pain clawed through her hand, but she had to move. Now.

She turned, leaped onto the desk, and lunged toward the window. Her heel caught the ledge, and Lark threw herself back into a flip, landing directly behind him on the rug as he launched toward her. Sweeping low, she took his left foot out from under him, hooking her ankle behind his.

The stranger hit the rug, rolling swiftly into a crouch. A glint of silver flashed in his gloved hand. A knife, held backwards along his forearm, like a man who'd learned to fight in close quarters.

Fine.

Lark flicked both her knives into her hands, settling her fingers through the brass knuckles that were attached to the top of the hilt. They made for a dangerous stab-punch combination that gave her the extra edge when she was facing people who were larger and stronger than she was.

He feinted forward, and Lark was forced into a complicated defense that required every ounce of her attention. There was something else in his left hand, though she couldn't quite see what it was, and it made her wary.

"You're good." The stranger held up his left hand. "But I am better."

He threw the thing at the floor, and smoke suddenly erupted around her. Lark started choking, waving her hand to try and see where he was coming from.

Get out of the smoke! Now!

She clawed her way backward, her eyes stinging and her knives slashing blindly.

The faint creak of the floorboard behind her alerted her a second before a sharp blow smashed across the back of her head.

Lark staggered off balance, trying to catch herself. A fist curled in her hair, hauling her backwards and her bludgeoned scalp screamed with pain until she could barely see.

Then an arm locked around her shoulders, hauling her back against a chest, and a knife cut into her throat.

"No one will hear you scream in the House of Wolves," whispered a female voice. "Drop the knives."

House of Wolves.

Holy shit. She'd walked directly into the clutches of theChernyye Volkiwho'd murdered her family.

Lark obeyed and her knives clattered against the floor. She wouldn't get a second warning.