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Authors: Gaelen Foley
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the head.
After a moment, Drake approached her slowly. With her head down, she saw his black boots halt in front of her.
"Look at me," he murmured.
She was not sure she could bear to.
He did not wait for her to lift her head, but grasped her chin none too gently and lifted her face to make her meet his gaze.
"Who else knows you're here?" he demanded in a low tone, staring shrewdly into her eyes.
Emily floundered. She suddenly did not dare confess that she had sent the letter to his former colleagues.
There was no telling how he might react.
"Does Rotherstone know where you are?" he prompted, as if he could read her mind. "Answer me."
"No," she whispered hoarsely. It might have been the first lie she had ever told him.
Meanwhile, she was acutely aware of his fingertips beneath her jaw, pressing into his skin.
"Does anyone else in the Order know where you are?" he demanded in a soft but steely voice.
She shook her head slowly.
His dark eyes probed her, but after a heartbeat, he seemed to take her at her word. He nodded, lowering his hand to his side.
Then he bent down slowly, still studying her face. "Back in London, you followed me to the Pulteney Hotel. I assume you saw my fight with Niall Banks. That red-haired man."
She nodded, her heart in her throat.
"Did the Order find Niall where I left him? What happened after my carriage pulled away?"
Emily swallowed hard. "I saw Lord Rotherstone and Virgil and the others take that red-haired man into custody. He came out screaming when they emerged from the hotel. I think you dislocated his shoulder."
The trace of a cruel half smile curved his lips. "Pity. What else?"
She shook her head, lifting her shoulders. "They drove away. Then I followed you."
His gaze softened slightly as he stared at her. "Stop looking at me like you're terrified of me. I'm not going to hurt you."
"You've taken their mark," she forced out in a strangled voice, nodding at his chest though it was covered now by his jersey. "The Initiate's Brand. I saw it."
He nodded once, holding her stare defiantly.
She couldn't believe it. "Did they do that to you against your will?"
"I cannot say that they did."
"Oh, Drake." She covered her mouth with her hand to stifle a sob, tears rushing into her eyes.
Some of the fire retreated from his eyes, but he shook his head ever so slightly. "It's not worth crying over."
No, Drake, it's a tragedy. She turned away, unable to look at him, in her sheer confusion and disappointment. It was true. The Drake she knew and loved was gone.
The Prometheans had won. He bore the proof on his body that he was now a traitor to everything he had once held dear. And when his friends arrived, they would have to kill him.
She would not stand in their way.
She brushed off his hand when he tried to cup her cheek.
Studying her, he offered no tender word of solace, no reassurance. "Good night." He straightened up to his full height and prowled off toward the balcony. "Leave these doors unlocked. I'll have to leave early. I'm back on duty at dawn." He took one of his pistols with him and went out to sleep on the balcony.
N o word in any of the languages Drake spoke could have expressed his disgusted, miserable fury at the success of his deception as he dragged himself outside and dropped heavily into the chair he had brought out.
Through the balcony doors, he could still hear Emily crying softly as he set the gun down nearby within easy reach. He pulled the blanket over himself, propped his feet up on the balcony railing, and stared across the forest treetops at the white half-moon.
Half in darkness, half in light.
Rather like himself.
Bloody hell. Drake rubbed his eye sockets with one hand, trying to drown out the sound of Emily's little sobs.
But he had to hold the line. Though her tears wrenched him, he could not risk letting her see behind his mask as a Promethean convert.
If he told her the truth, she'd never be able to lie well enough to fool James. Chances
After a moment, Drake approached her slowly. With her head down, she saw his black boots halt in front of her.
"Look at me," he murmured.
She was not sure she could bear to.
He did not wait for her to lift her head, but grasped her chin none too gently and lifted her face to make her meet his gaze.
"Who else knows you're here?" he demanded in a low tone, staring shrewdly into her eyes.
Emily floundered. She suddenly did not dare confess that she had sent the letter to his former colleagues.
There was no telling how he might react.
"Does Rotherstone know where you are?" he prompted, as if he could read her mind. "Answer me."
"No," she whispered hoarsely. It might have been the first lie she had ever told him.
Meanwhile, she was acutely aware of his fingertips beneath her jaw, pressing into his skin.
"Does anyone else in the Order know where you are?" he demanded in a soft but steely voice.
She shook her head slowly.
His dark eyes probed her, but after a heartbeat, he seemed to take her at her word. He nodded, lowering his hand to his side.
Then he bent down slowly, still studying her face. "Back in London, you followed me to the Pulteney Hotel. I assume you saw my fight with Niall Banks. That red-haired man."
She nodded, her heart in her throat.
"Did the Order find Niall where I left him? What happened after my carriage pulled away?"
Emily swallowed hard. "I saw Lord Rotherstone and Virgil and the others take that red-haired man into custody. He came out screaming when they emerged from the hotel. I think you dislocated his shoulder."
The trace of a cruel half smile curved his lips. "Pity. What else?"
She shook her head, lifting her shoulders. "They drove away. Then I followed you."
His gaze softened slightly as he stared at her. "Stop looking at me like you're terrified of me. I'm not going to hurt you."
"You've taken their mark," she forced out in a strangled voice, nodding at his chest though it was covered now by his jersey. "The Initiate's Brand. I saw it."
He nodded once, holding her stare defiantly.
She couldn't believe it. "Did they do that to you against your will?"
"I cannot say that they did."
"Oh, Drake." She covered her mouth with her hand to stifle a sob, tears rushing into her eyes.
Some of the fire retreated from his eyes, but he shook his head ever so slightly. "It's not worth crying over."
No, Drake, it's a tragedy. She turned away, unable to look at him, in her sheer confusion and disappointment. It was true. The Drake she knew and loved was gone.
The Prometheans had won. He bore the proof on his body that he was now a traitor to everything he had once held dear. And when his friends arrived, they would have to kill him.
She would not stand in their way.
She brushed off his hand when he tried to cup her cheek.
Studying her, he offered no tender word of solace, no reassurance. "Good night." He straightened up to his full height and prowled off toward the balcony. "Leave these doors unlocked. I'll have to leave early. I'm back on duty at dawn." He took one of his pistols with him and went out to sleep on the balcony.
N o word in any of the languages Drake spoke could have expressed his disgusted, miserable fury at the success of his deception as he dragged himself outside and dropped heavily into the chair he had brought out.
Through the balcony doors, he could still hear Emily crying softly as he set the gun down nearby within easy reach. He pulled the blanket over himself, propped his feet up on the balcony railing, and stared across the forest treetops at the white half-moon.
Half in darkness, half in light.
Rather like himself.
Bloody hell. Drake rubbed his eye sockets with one hand, trying to drown out the sound of Emily's little sobs.
But he had to hold the line. Though her tears wrenched him, he could not risk letting her see behind his mask as a Promethean convert.
If he told her the truth, she'd never be able to lie well enough to fool James. Chances
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