Page 19 of The Silver Spider
Serephone left the building—he heard the faint tap of her heels as she fled down a flight of stairs. Amnan cursed, and increased his pace. What was she thinking? A woman alone, at night, fleeing in the kind of attire she was wearing was an invitation to all kinds of predators looking for exotic morsels. Stupid woman.
Outside the rain scented air wafted her scent into his nostrils along with a faint undertone of ink and wet paper. The streets were mostly cobbled here, building brick and lit with gas lamps at the entrances, the entire block a pattern of shadow and flickering light under a thin mist of fog. The climate controls in the Dome were top notch.
Her scent thickened and Amnan reared back a split second before he would have crossed the opening of an alleyway.
Just in time to avoid a swarm of tiny, silver spiders.
* * *
Serephone jogged, knowing Amnan would follow, eyes scanning the block to choose the ideal location for her tête-à-tête with her so-called stepbrother. He was not her brother, damn him. He had no claim to her. Why hadn’t her mother come? She wanted her mother, not this interfering, bossy, overbearing dragon, who looked at her with possessive eyes. She’d ambush him, discourage him with a few choice words and then go back to work before her absence was noted.
She passed a human leaning against the wall of his newspaper shop smoking. They’d spoken briefly before, sharing a few kindred minutes of conversation as two people, who worked the graveyard shift.
She stepped into an alleyway, whispering, and her creations emerged from underneath the velvet sleeves of her jacket. She placed her palm flat on the rough brick of the building and they crawled along waiting until her command. Without her pipe to propel them, they could only jump short distances. But a short distance was all they would need.
“Don’t kill him,” she said. “Just make him hurt a little.”
Her hearing couldn’t be as good as a dragon’s—but it wasn’t bad. Plus, the subtle silence that descended as the little night creatures—crickets, birds, rodents— scurried to get out of the way of a predator warned her. The subtle scrape of the soles of a pair of fancy men’s shoes was loud in her ears.
“Go,” she breathed, and the spiders flew as she stepped out from her hiding spot.
Amnan cursed, green eyes gone gold with fury, skin taut over his cheekbones. He was dressed as well-born as she’d ever seen, in black trousers and a black jacket with matching satin gloves, a high-necked white collar covering the base of his strong throat. His hair was still loose—he wasn’t dandy enough to use cream to slick the strands back into a ‘civilized’ style. The glossiness of the strands echoed the polished silver buttons on his jacket, winking in the deep of the night.
“Go away,” she said. “Next time they won’t miss.”
His eyes narrowed. “Why did you run?”
She ignored the growl in his tone—or at least she appeared to. Serephone suppressed a wince as the spiders crawled up her legs—she’d have to replace the sheer hose. Their tiny feet cut sharpest when agitated.
“Peace, my darlings,” she murmured. She knew they hated to miss their target.
“I hope you reveal your power to no one in this city, Serephone,” Amnan said coolly. “There are things that would use you for the skill with these…things…alone. Use you without your permission.”
She snorted. “I don’t think so.”
His laugh was cold. “You think you can’t be broken? You’re naive.”
“I’m not naive. Any woman can be broken.”
He stared at her, and some of the tension emanating from him dissipated. “Only if she has no help,” he said.
Serephone forced her jaw to relax, rather than snapping at him. “Why are you here?”
“Why do you think? None of the family wants to see you harmed, Serephone. I don’t want to see you harmed. You should have trusted me, I would have come with you.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You would have tried to stop me.”
“No.” He paused. “Maybe, at first. But I’m not trying to stop you now. I only want to fulfill my promise to your mother, to make certain you’re safe.”
“Don’t tell me about my mother—she never would have sent a boy to do a woman’s work.”
His voice dipped, deep and dangerous as he glided a step forward. The spiders hissed. “I am no boy. On what field of challenge shall I prove it to you?”
Her body tightened, a shocking, unwelcome response to the deliberate caress of his words. Working in the club must be rubbing off on her—the wrong way.
“Stop it.” She pitched her voice low, flat, eliminating the betraying tremble.
“Stop what?”
