Page 18 of The Unweaver

Arching a dark eyebrow, Malachy Bane draped an arm over the back of his chair and stretched out his long legs. He watched her with a predatory stillness, his expression composed as a sheet of music she couldn’t read. But there was an undercurrent of the effortless violence she knew all too well he was capable of.

Silence, taut as a wire about to snap, stretched between them.

She palmed the gun, its solidness her only reassurance. Regretting every choice she had ever made, she met his piercing stare and stepped forward. “My brother Teddy Walcott was m-murdered.” She swallowed the lump of grief that threatened to choke her. “Did you kill him, Realmwalker?”

Gaze not leaving hers, he languidly shook a cigarette out of a silver case and set it between his lips. A lighter appeared with a smooth motion of his fingers.

It was more than a sleight of hand. His fingertips disappeared for a heartbeat, as if dipping into opaque waters with the faintest of ripples. And it was more than a casual display of his magical finesse, to displace only a part of his body across an unseen distance. It was a threat. The portal mage could strangle her from across the office at his leisure.

The lighter’s flame danced in his eyes. Dark pools that swallowed light, so black they defied nature. If eyes were the window to the spirit, his was surely forsaken. He took a languorous drag on the cigarette and exhaled a cloud of smoke.

“What if I did?” A menacingly soft challenge in a melodic Irish lilt. Beneath the deep calmness of his voice was a chord of unrelenting resolve. The Realmwalker did not need to shout to be heard.

Her shaking betrayed her, but her grip remained firm as she aimed the gun at his chest. “I’d shoot your fucking heart out.”

The ghost of a smile haunted his lips as he took another drag. “And what if I didn’t?”

“Don’t play games with me, you bastard!” Her finger twitched on the trigger. “Did you kill him or not?”

“Does it matter?” He crossed his ankles, smoke curling from his lips. “You won’t shoot me.”

She shot him.

Or rather, she shot where he’d been sitting a moment before. Now the only thing behind the desk was a smoking bullet hole in the wall. The gun was knocked out of her hand and skidding out of sight before she could make sense of it. In an instant, he rematerialized across the office. Behind her.

An arm banded around her middle and crushed her back against the solid wall of his body, trapping her arms and holding her breath captive. His other hand fisted in her hair andtugged. Pain seared across her scalp. She cried out, head bent back and throat exposed.

Few could tower over Cora. Unfortunately, Bane was one of them. He had a couple inches on her in height and much more in breadth. The unyielding prison of his embrace surrounded her.

She bucked against him, landing a kick to his shin. He cursed, and the floor warped and swallowed her feet, rooting her to the spot. She struggled in vain. If not for his biting hold, she’d topple over.

Fathoms. She was fathoms out of her depth. With the lucidity of a cornered animal, she knew she’d only made it this far because he’d let her, out of curiosity or amusement. She might have created this disaster, but Bane was at the helm.

Leaning down, his lips grazed the shell of her ear and whiskey-warm breath caressed her cheek. Even, steady breaths to her labored panting. “What are you?”

Her blood chilled. “A woman that doesn’t appreciate being restrained,” she said, jerking away.

His grip tightened. “How did you get in here?”

She heaved and writhed and said nothing. Eventually, the cage of his arms loosened. Her relief was short-lived. One hand manacled her wrists behind her back while the other glided down her front.

Cora drew in a sharp breath and held it while his palm skimmed over her, turning out the pockets of her dress. Knives and lock picks clattered to the floor.

Long, deft fingers brushed over her ribs, down her hips, circled her thighs. Her muscles fluttered at the intrusion. Those clever fingers found the weapons tucked into her garters and unmentionables, tossing them across the office. The back of his hand slid up her stomach and traced the curves of her breasts to the hard lump over her swift-beating heart.

They both stilled.

With agonizing slowness, his hand sank into her dress’s hidden pocket and pulled out the Portal Key. He dragged the skin-warmed metal up her throat and held it in front of her face, so she had nowhere to look but at it. Her damnation resting in the palm of his hand.

Bane came to stand before her. He lowered his face until he was inches away, his eyes as dark and forbidding as a starless night. Under the entirety of his unnerving focus, Cora felt even smaller.

“How did you get this?” he demanded.

Mother’s third lesson came automatically. The best lies come from truths. “Moriarty… gave it to me.”

He raised a brow. Silence lengthened as he considered her like a riddle he couldn’t solve. “Before or after his face was fuckin’ shot off?”

She winced, desperately willing her trapped feet to move. He circled her, a shark scenting blood in the water. The proddingweight of his scrutiny was more invasive than his hands had been. After a lifetime of heartbeats, he stopped before her.

---