Page 18 of A City of Smoke and Demons
‘Am I now?’
‘Someone hit you, someone broke in here, there’s a body out there … it’s not safe and what sort of man would I be if I let you walk out of here after you’ve hit your head?’ He leant against the doorway, watching her, wondering if she remembered more than just his face, wondering if she had any idea what he used to be.
‘The sort who minded his own business,’ the woman grumbled, then told him to lead the way.
The front door to the Canem Club was locked. Ezra pulled the key from his pocket and let them in.
‘You live in the Canem Club?’ The woman wrinkled her nose.
‘I live upstairs.’ She’d not spoken a word to him since they left the morgue and he hadn’t seen any more evidence of her magic. His eyes kept drifting to her hands, those delicate, feminine hands that held so much power.
‘You work for Maddog?’ she asked. Then, before he could respond, ‘Figures.’
He didn’t care what this witch thought of him, but she could at least be a little grateful he’d saved her life. When he didn’t show up in the morning, Jem would come to the club, and then, Ezra could get on with his life.
And what about hers? He pushed the thought aside and headed for the stairs, the death witch trailing him, cursing under her breath.
When she didn’t follow him into his room, he raised his eyebrows at her over his shoulder. She stood in the doorway, framed in the dim light from the hall. Her arms were folded, her spine stiff.
‘I’m not going to hurt you.’
She gave him a dubious look, but waltzed in and planted herself in the armchair, much like Father Blackwood had done. ‘Why did you come to the morgue? Were you looking for me, after …’
He lit the lantern on the bedside table; warm golden light reaching across the small room. ‘I realised it was rude that I hadn’t introduced myself. Ezra Tarrenfire,’ he said, pulling backthe curtain and peering out the window. No one in the alley below and no sign of that Familiar.
When she didn’t speak, he dropped the curtain and turned to look at her. Her eyes, he decided. They were the most familiar. So brown they were almost black. Then, it was the shape of her mouth, the curve of her top lip, and the blazing colour of her hair. He swallowed.
‘Am I still not allowed to know your name?’
She hesitated. ‘Analise. Analise Delarosa.’
She undid the knot of hair at the base of her neck with a sigh. Ezra remembered doing that for her that night they …
‘Are you hungry?’ he asked.
Analise froze. ‘No,’ she said, unlacing her boots and slipping them off. She glanced up, meeting his eyes. ‘How did you find me?’ she demanded.
‘Asked around,’ Ezra lied, taking a seat on the bed.
She shook her head. ‘Whatever. I’m leaving in the morning, and there isn’t a thing you can do to stop me—unless you’re going to tie me up, or something.’
‘It could be arranged,’ he said before he could stop himself. He bit the inside of his cheek sharply, tasting blood.
‘No, it really couldn’t.’ She stretched, then stood and shrugged off her coat, sitting again and using it as a blanket. ‘If you’ve got nothing more illuminating to say, I’m going to sleep.’
‘There’s a bed,’ he offered, patting the mattress beside him. ‘Idon’t bite.’
Analise closed her eyes, tucking her legs up underneath her.
‘Suit yourself.’
Analise’s neck was stiff and her throat dry as paper. Where was she? Light from the window illuminated a small table and dresser; the patterned rug was worn in places, as if the owner of this room liked to pace.
The previous night slammed into her brain with the force of a runaway carriage. The attack in the alley flashed into her mind, leaving her palms sweaty and her head spinning. She’d killed a man, and she was so tired, a drawback of using magic she didn’t know how to control, but where the fuck was she?
Her gaze fell on the bed. Ezra Tarrenfire, that was right. He slept on his stomach, arms flung out, face buried in the pillow. The bedclothes were tangled around his hips, leaving his back exposed. She swallowed, her eyes moving up the length of his spine, over the broad sweep of his shoulders and the nape of his neck.
Her cheeks heated at a flash of memory.
