Page 25 of A City of Smoke and Demons
‘Maddog made you get it?’
‘Maddog didn’t make me—well, he did, but it was my choice to be as outrageous about it,’ Ezra explained. ‘Just as it was my choice, sort of, to get a dragon and not a dog.’
Analise ran her eyes over him, taking in every detail—the brightness in his eyes, the flush of colour to his skin, the lack of lines on his face. He didn’t look like he’d spent his life in The Credges. ‘How old are you?’
He hesitated. ‘Thirty.’
‘Definitely not a slum local.’ She tapped her fingers on the edge of her cup. ‘What happened? Daddy cut off your fortune?’
The look he gave her was dark, and she realised she’d hit a nerve. Suddenly, she was angry again.
Who the fuck was he?
Ezra collected his empty plate and cup and strolled over to the sink. He was so calm, so composed—regal, almost—that it made her want to smack him in his perfect mouth. Sobriety was not a good look on her.
‘You know what I think?’ she said, standing and marching over to the bench, finding herself closer to him than she’d intended. ‘I think you’re full of shit. You and your friend. You’re a poor little rich boy with connections.’
‘You are too suspicious for your own good.’ Ezra laughed, but it was brittle.
‘Then tell me the truth.’
When he didn’t respond, she made a grab for his cup. If there was any tea left in there, she’d tip it over his bloody head.
Ezra’s hand shot out, fingers closing around her wrist. Every line of his face was filled with the rage of an afternoon thunderstorm. Boiling clouds banked the horizon of his eyes. She tried to rip herself free, but he was much stronger. A quick assessment of his hands told her he’d spoken the truth—his knuckles were swollen, fingers bent. Boxer’s hands.
Analise huffed a laugh. She refused to show any fear, refused to flinch, magic shifting under her skin. The man in the alley flashed into her mind. She tilted her chin. ‘What now, Ezra? Is it only men you beat?’
‘You don’t know a thing about me,’ he growled, releasing her.
She scowled, then returned to the bedroom.
The convent garden was flowering. Analise trailed her fingers over the petals of a rose. She loved the deep red colour, the smell and velvety texture of them. She touched the rose again, reaching for the stem. Thorns bit her skin and the sky darkened as the sun slid behind the clouds. The flower bed trembled. Frowning, Analise bent over, reaching out. Fingers suddenly shot free of the soil and closed around her wrist. She screamed, trying to pull herself out of an inhumanly strong grip. Dread sank through her as the rose bush shuddered, transforming into a gravestone covered in lichen and age.
‘No,’ she sobbed.
A hand slid along her forearm. The skin was pristine, fingers long and slender. A white sleeve glowed in the darkened garden. The dirt-smeared hand holding Analise let go; she stumbled backwards, only to be caught in a pair of strong arms.
‘What should you do next time?’ The voice was like honey, smooth and rich.
She gasped a shaken breath. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Use what you’ve been given,’ he whispered. She twisted her head to look up at him. His face was cloaked in shadow - she couldn’t see him, and she wanted to. She reached for his face - he caught her wrist, brought her hand to his lips, kissed it. She thought she felt teeth. She thought his skin felt like fire.
He chuckled. ‘My beautiful death witch,’ and the world shattered.
With a choked scream, Analise sat up, her heart beating so hard she thought it would explode from her rib cage as that voice echoed through her ears. It took her a moment to realise she was in bed. Whimpering, she clutched the blankets close to her chest.
A hand touched her arm. She twisted around, gasping, the desire to hurt something surging through her. Death burnt her fingertips, searing her skin, and terror coated the back of her throat as she stretched out her hands.
But it wasn’t the white-suited man from her dreams who caught her wrists.
Ezra held her hands away from him as he pulled her down until she was lying half on top of him. In the moonlight slinking through the window, his expression was wary.
Analise winced, and her magic retreated. ‘You’re hurting me.’
Ezra let her go. ‘Are you alright?’
‘Bad dream,’ she breathed.
