Page 110 of You Only Love Twice
There'd be otherdhampirout there, far more dangerous than this one.
She had to get out of here before Malloryn and the others walked into a trap.
Rifling through his coat, she found a pair of knives stashed about his person. Not as well-crafted as her own, but they'd do in a pinch. Stalking toward the pistol, she checked how many bullets she had, and then snapped the barrel shut.
Instinct told her to get the hell out of here and spring the trap before it was too late, but there were... a lot of crates. And they had a very familiar scent about them.
Snatching a crowbar from a nearby bench, she jacked the lid off one of the crates, her heart dropping through her chest when she saw what was inside it.
Oh, heck.
Explosives.
* * *
He couldn't find her.
Obsidian's worst fears were coming true. Hours passed as he searched all of Silas's usual haunts. Then the entire night. Panic began to bloom in his chest as he expanded his search to include every known safe house and cell that belonged to Lord Balfour.
And then the sun rose.
Desperation became his driving force. He stole a cloak and hat to shield his skin from the searing sunlight, and staggered into the city, slipping from shadow to shadow.
What the hell had he done?
He'd told Ghost the cost of his compliance depended upon Gemma's safety, and then Ghost had gone out and kidnapped her.
What if this was Ghost's answer?
I will kill him. Slowly.
But first, he needed to find her. No matter what.
He was just nearing the East End docks, and one of the munitions factories Ghost had abandoned last year, when he caught a glimpse of a pair of familiar figures.
Obsidian ducked behind a pile of crates.
"Device is clicking," the tall verwulfen friend of Gemma's muttered. "I've got two clicks, so she's got to be less than three hundred yards away."
Gemma was here. His gaze slid unerringly toward the warehouse on the end of the docks, and his knife slid into his hand.
Then he paused.
Why put her here? The warehouse was near empty, was it not? Everything about the situation had the makings of a trap.
Obsidian crept through the fog, slipping after the pair of Rogues. They moved well, using shadows to hide in as they checked the device.
"Getting closer," Ingrid murmured. "Which one is it?"
And Obsidian made a decision.
He cleared his throat. Loudly.
Instantly, the tall ex-Nighthawk spun around, his pistol locking upon Obsidian. He stepped out from the crate he'd been using for cover, hands in the air.
Caleb Byrnes stared at him, and then slowly lowered the pistol.
"If you wanted us dead, we wouldn't have heard you coming," Byrnes said, drawing a swift conclusion. "Hence, you don't want us dead."
