Page 17 of A City of Smoke and Demons
The door knob rattled then breaking glass tinkled against the floor. Ezra held his breath, heart pounding like a drum. At least he got to die with a woman beneath him, he supposed. There was wine on her breath. That explained the bottles he’d noticed on the floor in her room.
Footsteps moved around the morgue.
Still human, Ezra reminded himself. Which meant he could hurt it. He could fight if he had to.
Ezra had no idea if the Familiar could sense the woman’s magic like he could, if it could see through walls, punch through steel, rip out his throat. His fists curled as he sent a silent, useless prayer. He’d go to church. He’d behave. He’d do anything.
Those footsteps came closer, and then, they moved away at a run.
Ezra exhaled in relief. When he was certain the morgue was empty, he pushed the door to the cold box open. The redhead groaned and reached up to rub at her head. Her hand hit the roof of the box.
‘What the fuck?’
‘You can thank me later.’
She sucked in a breath. ‘We’re in the cold box?’
He nodded, having no idea how to explain the Familiar to her. ‘I’d like to get out of here because it’s fucking freezing,’ he added.
‘Push us out with your feet,’ she instructed. ‘Brace them on the wall at the back. You’re taller—I can’t reach.’
He did as she suggested, and as soon as the tray slid into the open, she shoved him. He toppled to the floor, hitting the tiles with a thump. She was up before he could blink, racing for the door, glass crunching beneath her boots. Ezra was faster, blocking the doorway with his body.
She looked like she wanted to punch him in the face, which, considering what else she could do with her hands, was a relief.
‘Get out of the way.’
‘You can’t go home.’
‘I can go wherever I bloody well like, and you can’t stop me,’ she snarled. ‘What happened to the door?’
‘Whoever broke that door was just here, and is likely to be waiting for you somewhere out there.’ He glanced around themorgue. ‘They already know who you work for. What have you done, I wonder?’
She stepped back, wrapping her arms around herself, blinking furiously.
‘Do you have a name?’ Ezra asked.
Those dark eyes shot to his again, full of anger. ‘Fuck off.’
‘Fuck off,’ he repeated, tapping his chin. ‘Nice name. I would have gone for something a bit better suited, like "fuck me" perhaps?’
She scowled. ‘You were most definitely a mistake.’
‘You don’t have to tell me,’ he mumbled. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He’d slept with a death witch. He should go home, tell Jem he couldn’t find her, but he knew he couldn’t do that.
She was watching him suspiciously.
‘Right now, you have two choices. One, go home and see if you can outrun whoever came looking for you.’
Her eyes narrowed. ‘And two?’
‘Come with me. I’ll hide you for the night, and then, I don’t know, we’ll work something out.’ He stepped towards her, then froze. Her jaw was shadowed, the first hint of a bruise, and there were marks on her throat.
‘Who did that to you?’
She touched her throat. ‘Some drunk hit me. I hit him back.’
Ezra ran his eyes over the soft, feminine curves of her body. Anger swelled before he could think twice. ‘You’re coming with me.’
