Page 67 of The Unweaver

“This is the only thing I’ve asked of you and you can’t even give me that.” She grabbed the lapels of his suit and shoved. He didn’t budge. “You don’t care about me or anyone but yourself.”

Anger smoldered in the black pits of his eyes. “I might be the first person who really cares about you.”

“Is that what you tell yourself?”

“If you’d calm down and see reason—”

“Calm down?” She shoved again. Harder. “When has telling someone to calm down ever bloody helped?”

The internal battle to harness his temper played across his face. His grip remained firm while his gaze softened. There was an understanding in his eyes that took some of the wrathful wind from her sails. An understanding that was in some ways worse than the reproach she’d expected.

“It’s not your secret to tell,” she said, the plea in her eyes creeping into her voice.

“And I wouldn’t, if your reasons weren’t fuckin’ mental.” He continued over her rising protests, “I understand that secrecy is sacrosanct to you. But this secrecy isn’t about survival. It’s about shame. You’re shackled to it. This self-imposed exile doesn’t serve you. Don’t underestimate the protection of a bad reputation, Unweaver.”

Fury rekindled, she wrenched out of his grasp and stalked away. As far away as she could get from Malachy Bane. Whichwasn’t far. She jostled the door that was locked by more than a key. Not even the Portal Key worked. The portal mage had trapped her.

She turned and glared at him. “Unlock. The bloody. Door.”

He watched her with a look dangerously akin to pity. “Let them fear you, Cora. Fuck them. If they slander you, rot out their tongues. If they strike you, rot off their hands. Send their arses to the Death Realm and be done with it.”

She looked away. “I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

“Why? Because you’re the only one who deserves to get hurt? If you gave half a damn as much about yourself as you do about Teddy, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

“And fuck you too,” she bristled.Gusting a breath, she searched his unyielding features with a growing sense of hopelessness. His gaze held the steely determination of an unswayable man. “Just… don’t tell anyone, Bane. Please.”

“Or what?” He arched a brow. “You’ll put another hole in my wall?”

Her expression shuttered. Here was the cost of his generosity—bowing to hisbetter judgment. There’d be no arguing or bartering with him. Her concerns did not signify to the Realmwalker.

Bane’s money sat heavy in her pocket. She wondered what she’d sold herself for and if it was worth it.

Joining his gang hadn’t been an upward move, but a lateral one, from the lowest rung on one ladder to the next. She’d swapped one master for another. A passive aggressive Mother for an obsidian-eyed tyrant. Worse, Bane hadn’t leashed her. She’d handed him the leash herself.

“I hate you.” She rusted the handle off, flung the door open, and stormed out.

“You only hate yourself,” he called after her. Then, “Jesus, not my fuckin’ door, too.”

Cora rounded the corner and collided with a wall. A wall that reached out and grabbed her shoulders with enormous hands. Her head craned back. The giant Hydromancer stared down, emotionless.

“Take your hands off me,” she spat.

When Dimitri didn’t, she pulsed death magic. He dropped his mitts with a hiss of surprise. She marched to the Emerald Club’s entrance.

Anita—mostly clothed, this time, in a scandalous crimson dress that bared her calves—was unloading bottles of booze behind the golden bar with a tinkle of glass bottles. The Sanguimancer flagged her down. Cora ignored her.

The club’s front doors wouldn’t open, either. Not by the Portal Key or her magic or shouted enchantments or her banging fist. Bane had her penned in like an animal.

“Oi!” Heels clacking, Anita made a beeline for her. “Where you running off to, love? Mal says you’re part of the gang now and we got ourselves a meeting. There’ll be some other humans so you should feel right cozy.”

Human.If only.The realization sank like a stone in her stomach. Soon, everyone would know just how little humanity Cora possessed.

Dimitri stomped to the doors and opened them without a key or an enchantment, returning a moment later with a stack of crates he hefted to the bar. The door closed too quickly for Cora to dash through. She tested the handle. Locked.

Curiosity piqued, she puzzled over the mechanics. The door had permitted Dimitri but not her. Was it enchanted to recognize individual people? She’d never seen anything like it.

She was poised to sprint through the door as Dimitri returned when Anita linked arms with her and dragged her to the bar.

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