“Dominic . . .” I began, and stopped, not sure how to continue. “I’m sorry I broke into your apartment” probably wasn’t going to cut it.
A very small smile crossed his face. “You found the place faster than I expected you to. I was actually stopping by to pick up a few things.”
“Like what?” I asked, before I could stop myself. “There’s nothing here to pick up. You might as well be living out of cardboard boxes.”
“I threw those out months ago.” His smile faded, expression composing itself. “Verity . . .”
“Are you okay? Those people from the Covenant, they’re not hurting you or anything, are they?” It was a stupid question. I didn’t know what else to ask.
“Why would they hurt me? They think I’m one of them.”
“Are you?”
Another smile crossed his face. This one was sadder, and died even faster than its predecessor. “I don’t know, Verity. I wish I did.”
“I’m not in my apartment anymore.”
“Good. I’m glad. You weren’t safe there.”
“You wouldn’t tell them where to find me, would you?”
Dominic sighed. “I don’t know. If I knew . . . there are a great many things that I don’t know, right now. It’s not a pleasant sensation.”
“I’m sorry.” I stepped toward him, offering my hands. After a moment’s hesitation, he took them. “If you need me, call. I’ll try to come.”
“If I call you, run. There’s no guarantee I’ll be doing it for the right reasons—or of my own free will.” He leaned forward to rest his forehead against mine. “Either I’ll have betrayed you, or they’ll have compelled me. It’s not worth the risk.”
“I wish—”
“I know.” He ducked his head enough to bring his mouth to mine. The kiss was long, and slow, and sweet in a way that was difficult to describe. Kisses on the eve of battle almost always are. When he pulled away again, it was only to murmur, “I have something I need to tell you. I should have told you before. I shouldn’t tell you at all.”
“What?” I blinked at him, puzzled.
“I love you, Verity Price. Regardless of how things go from here, please remember that. There was a time, however short, where I was a boy, and you were a girl, and I allowed myself to love you.” He smiled ruefully. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry.” This time, I was the one leaning in. I kissed him hard, hard enough that when I pulled away, my lips felt bruised. “Covenant boys and Price girls . . . it’s sort of the natural order of things at this point, don’t you think?”
“Nature is cruel,” Dominic murmured, and tugged his hands free of mine. I let him go. “You can’t come here again. Once they’re settled, they’ll begin patrolling, and this is technically Covenant property. They’ll feel free to come and go here as they like. I can’t risk them stumbling over you because they stopped to resupply themselves.”
“I don’t suppose you can give me their names, can you? Just so I can find out who we’re dealing with.”
Dominic hesitated.
“Come on,” I said, a bit more sharply. “I’m the one who’s standing solo here. It’s not betraying the Covenant to tell me who I’m going to be fighting against.”
He sighed. “All three are from the British arm of the Covenant, possibly because that was where I had the bulk of my training, after my parents died. The men are Peter Brandt and Robert Bullard. The woman . . . Verity, please understand that I had absolutely no influence in choosing who would be sent with this team.”
“I know that.” I frowned. “Why?”
“The woman’s name is Margaret Healy. She’s your third cousin. And if there is anyone in the Covenant who hates your branch of the family more than she does, I have yet to have the misfortune of meeting them.”
I stared at him. “Oh,” I said, finally. “Well, shit.”
Dominic sighed again. “My thought exactly.”
Eleven
“Nobody loves you like family. Nobody hates you like family, either. That’s why it’s so important for us to stick together. If we don’t, we’re going to wind up hunting each other down.”
The rooftops of Manhattan, heading back toward the Meatpacking District
I RAN ACROSS the rooftops faster than I ever had before, managing to make the leaps and changes in elevation needed through a combination of skill and raw terror. Terror is a powerful motivator toward perfection. Even so, it was something of a miracle when I reached the Meatpacking District without falling to my death.
Margaret Healy. The woman who was almost certainly going to kill me was named Margaret Healy. Her friends probably called her “Peggy” or something—if being a member of the Covenant of St. George left her any time for making friends. She was probably a really nice person in her off hours. And she had all the training, resources, and focus she needed to take me down.
I was so screwed.
That thought clung to the front of my mind like a Pacific Northwest tree octopus clings to a branch as I grabbed the rail of the nearest fire escape and jumped off the slaughterhouse roof. By swinging hand over hand, I was able to make it to a low enough point to let me safely drop down to the brick courtyard attached to the Nest. I landed harder than I would have liked, still too distracted by my encounter with Dominic to balance myself right. Pain shot up my heels and into my calves as my legs protested the impact.
“Walk it off,” I muttered, and straightened, starting toward the slaughterhouse door. The pain lingered for the first few steps, but then it faded, except for a few distant grumbles that would probably be bruises in the morning. There’s a reason I buy my Tiger Balm in bulk.
When I was sure that the pain was on the way out, I broke into a run, and kept running until I was inside the Nest. The door echoed as it slammed closed behind me. There was no one there.
“Uncle Mike?” I looked around before cupping my hands and shouting, “Uncle Mike! If you’re here, we need to talk!”
“He is not present.” The voice came from behind me. I whirled to find Istas standing less than two feet away, her head cocked to the side, a quizzical expression in her dark brown eyes. She was wearing her hair loose for once, hanging around her round face in heavy black waves, and had a bright blue feather fascinator clipped above one ear. She was probably the most stylish waheela in the world, for certain values of “stylish.”
She was still a waheela. I took a step back. “Personal space, Istas, remember? We’ve talked about this.”
“My apologies.” She also took a step back, creating an acceptable bubble of emptiness between us. Istas was a coworker, a friend, and someone I was perfectly happy to share a converted slaughterhouse with. Sometimes, she was also a giant, man-eating wolf-bear from the primal heart of humanity’s nightmares. I like her a lot, but having her stand too close can still remind my reptile hindbrain that part of her will always view me as prey. “Your not-relation and Ryan are currently not present.”
“Where are they? I have news.”
“They said we required provisions, and Ryan wanted to inform Kitty that we would be accessible via telephone only for the duration of the crisis.” Istas suddenly smiled, showing teeth that were too sharp to be entirely human. “I am very pleased that we will be staying here. It makes Ryan feel better, and increases the potential for carnage.”
“Oh, trust me, the potential for carnage is veryhigh right now,” I muttered. Then I paused, an unpleasant thought striking me. “Uh, Istas? Not to be indelicate or anything, but what is it that you, you know, eat?”