Page 50 of The Dagger and the Flame
There – a flash of emotion in his eyes, gone as quickly as it came.
‘Perhaps it’s foolish to assume you have a conscience at all,’ she went on.
He inched closer, daring her to flinch. ‘For your sake, you’d better hope I do, spitfire.’
‘I’m not afraid of you.’
Lie, lie, lie.But he wasn’t watching her eyes; he was watching her lips.
‘Then why did you try and squawk your friend’s name a moment ago?’
‘I thought she might like to see the Dagger I skewered with my letter opener.’
He tapped the hand that clutched her necklace. ‘What’s in that thing?’
She tightened her grip on it, her words coming in a whisper. ‘A tiny, ancient piece of paper…’
His throat bobbed, his expression hungry. ‘What does it say?’
‘It says,Fuck off, Ransom.’
He glared at her. ‘Are you always this immature?’
She smirked now that the Dagger’s curiosity was plain to see. This was no longer a murder; it was a conversation, a careful trade of information. ‘I have a better question. Why did you kill my mother and burn our house to the ground?’
For the second time since she had met him, the Dagger bristled at that question. ‘I told you I didn’t kill your mother. And I didn’t burn your house.’
‘So, what? You were just there to warm your hands on the bonfire of my life?’ She had seen him, that tall, broad figure flickering through the flames. When he said nothing, only glared harder, she went on. ‘Why did Dufort order my mother’s murder?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Liar,’ she hissed.
His attention returned to her own white-knuckled fist. It occurred to Sera that he probably believed she had discovered the magic herself, that she knew exactly how to use it. As far as Ransom was aware, she was a skilled artificer, a shredder of Shade, a force to be reckoned with. The thought made her laugh right in his face.
His frown hardened the edge of his jaw. It also dimly occurred to Sera that Bibi was right. He was murderously handsome. ‘Something funny, Seraphine?’
‘I told you I’m not scared of you,’ she said, pressing her hand against his chest. She was surprised by the gallop of his heartbeat beneath her fingers. She shoved him back, and he let her do it. ‘I’m laughing becauseyoushould be afraid ofme.’
Maybe it was the wariness in his eyes, or perhaps it was the teardrop warming in her hand, but Sera really didn’t feel afraid just then. She felt in control, so she made a blade of her fury and drove it home. ‘You see, Ransom, you kill for coin. For praise from a rat like Gaspard Dufort. For a cold bed in a stone room far beneath the city. But me? My spirit – my fight – comes from my mother. And so does my magic.’ A huff of breath at that word –magic. A dent in his composure. She went on, emboldened. ‘My strength is your weakness. My secret is your nightmare. And that makes me a lot more dangerous than you.’
He nipped at the scar on his lip, his gaze never leaving her knuckles. She couldn’t tell if it was fear or hunger that drew him closer, but she knew the balance of power between them had shifted to her.
‘Even now, you can’t take your eyes off it.’ She knew she should stop – that taunting a Dagger was like waving a red rag at a bull – but she couldn’t help herself. She wanted to frighten him just as he frightened her. She wanted him to cower at the thought of what she could do with Mama’s magic, to scare him so badly that he left her alone for good. ‘You’re afraid of my magic. And you should be. Because sooner or later, it’s going to—’
He pushed her back against the wall, his hand resting at the base of her throat. Her senses were scrambled, her breathpunching out of her in sharp, shallow bursts. It was a threat – a demonstration of how easily he could choke the life out of her if he wanted to. He had knocked her from her pedestal with a casual sweep of his hand.
‘Now who’s afraid, spitfire?’ he crooned, gazing down at her through a veil of black lashes. ‘Look at that smart mouth tremble.’
She drew a shaky breath.
‘Let’s clear one thing up,’ he said, his breath on her lips. ‘I don’t fear your magic, Seraphine. Iwantit.’
‘Then let’s talk,’ she rasped. ‘I’ll talk.’
‘Nice to see you return to your senses.’ He slid his hand around the back of her neck, into the knot of her hair. It came loose, the long strands threading through his fingers. ‘Must be the concussion,’ he said, frowning. ‘So much blood…’
Sera looked down and saw that he was right. The blood from the back of her head had run down her neck, staining the top of her sweater. There was blood on the cobbles too, his and her own, mingling in the dark grooves. The sight of it made her woozy. She closed her eyes, fighting the sudden tremble in her knees.
