Page 88 of The Dagger and the Flame
‘I intend to.’ A breath of hesitation. ‘But I need your help.’
‘So that’s why you lured me here.’
‘Luredis a strong word. I’m hardly a siren,’ she felt compelled to point out. His eyebrows rose, as if to say,Aren’t you?Ridiculous. She couldn’t make this Dagger do anything he didn’t want to do, and they both knew it.
‘What is it that you need from me, Seraphine? I don’t know how to make Lightfire.’
‘But you want it,’ she said, quietly. ‘Don’t you?’
‘Yes.’ The word throbbed between them. He leaned closer, his scent surrounding her – woodsmoke and sage, and a hintof wild mint on his breath. His gaze dropped to her mouth. ‘Badly.’
Sera scrambled for her words before they eddied away. ‘Lucille Versini is the one who discovered Lightfire. Mama managed to crack the recipe but without her, I can’t work it out. I need Lucille’s journal,’ she said, all in one hurried breath. ‘I know it’s buried with her in the catacombs.’
He cocked an eyebrow. ‘You only know that because I told you.’
‘For which I’mverygrateful.’ She flashed a smile. ‘I have to read it, Ransom. I have to see if it holds the answers I need.’
‘So, you would have me play Cloak?’ he said, eyes flashing with amusement. ‘You want me to thieve for you.’
She jutted out her chin. Too close to his face, those dancing eyes and teasing mouth. ‘Do you want to rid Fantome of these monsters or not?’
‘Of course I do,’ he said, without missing a beat. ‘But you’re asking me to break into the sacred crypt of Lucille Versini. Which means going against the rules of the Order, and Dufort himself. And don’t forget, I’m supposed to be killing you.’
Fair points.
‘And all for the price of a lullaby,’ he added.
‘And Lightfire,’ she reminded him. ‘I have an artificer I trust. Whatever we make, I’ll give you half of it. You can do what you want with it. Swallow it. Bathe in it.’
He cocked his head. ‘Together?’
Her cheeks flamed. ‘I’m serious, Ransom. Bring me the journal, and let me try.’ At his silence, she went on, frustration sharpening her words. ‘Or return to your hovel with the restof the vermin and let this city rot. Let yourself rot, too, until those shadow-marks run so deep they eat your soul.’
‘You’re asking me to rob a crypt,’ he said through his teeth. ‘Can you give me a damn minute to consider the risks?’
‘I’m asking you to do the right thing for once in your life,’ she said, voice rising. ‘Here’s a tip, Ransom: if you want to actually atone for all the depraved shit you’ve done and be the kind of man your sister would be proud of, then it’ll take more than erasing those marks on your hands.’
He recoiled as if she’d slapped him. ‘And do you think killing all those monsters in one fell swoop will atone for thedepraved shityour mother did?’
She prodded him in the chest. ‘Don’t talk about my mother.’
He caught her finger. ‘Don’t talk about my sister.’
She shook him off, glaring at him.
He glared right back. ‘If you’re not careful, spitfire, I’ll go back to killing you.’
She didn’t know what possessed her but before she could think better of it, she grabbed his hand and pressed it against the hollow of her throat. He let her do it, his calluses rough against her skin. Her pulse raced against them. His breath caught as he noticed, and she went utterly still, letting his fingers curl around her neck.
He watched her through lowered eyelids, waiting for her to flinch.
‘Go ahead, Dagger.’ She held his gaze, daring him to do it. Something feral burned in his gaze, and for a fleeting moment, she didn’t know what he wanted: her body, or her corpse. His fingers twitched. Slowly, so slowly, he slid his palm up her neck and brushed his thumb along her jaw.
‘Wicked game,’ he breathed against her lips. ‘Have you ever kissed anyone in a church, Seraphine?’
She closed her eyes, her chest aching, Her skin was so hot she felt like she would catch fire under his touch. She was putty in his hands. His to kill or kiss, to torture as he liked. When she opened her eyes to his molten gaze, she saw that she was torturing him too.
Something flitted across the back of her mind. ‘The journal,’ she remembered.
