Page 76 of Mistress of Lies

He heard Isaac call after him, but that didn’t stop him. He could feel his power stirring in his chest, ready to be used, but he just clenched his jaw and pushed through the crowd, back past the way they had come and out the door into the cool night air.

It hit his skin like balm—soothing the darkness within—and he turned and stalked away into the shadows. He turned the first corner he found, desperate to get away from everyone.

He didn’t want to be seen like this, a hair’s breadth from falling apart.

“Samuel, wait.” A strong hand grabbed him around the arm, jerking him to a rough stop, and Samuel spun with a sudden desperation, grabbing Isaac by his shirt and shoving him back against the wall.

“Please” was all he could get out, was all he could trust himself to get out, lest the power swirling within him twisted his words into some horrible mockery of everything he intended.

“It’s all right,” Isaac said, raising both his hands in surrender. When Samuel made no move to fight him, he laid them on his shoulders, squeezing tightly. “I wouldn’t have asked you to.”

He buried his face in Isaac’s shoulder, a choking sob bursting past his lips as Isaac wrapped his arms around him. “I thought—I thought that—”

“Well,” Isaac said, one hand slipping down to rub soothing circles on his back while the other tangled in his hair, “given my… position, I wouldn’t have turned it away if you had. But I know how difficult it must be for you.”

It wasn’t quite what Samuel had wanted to hear, but it was enough and he relaxed into Isaac’s embrace, drawing what solace he could from it. Isaac held him like he was afraid that Samuel would break apart if he let go, and, in all honesty, Samuel didn’t know if he would.

But he couldn’t deny the effect of Isaac’s hands on him, of the press of his body—hard and warm—against his. The brush of Isaac’s mouth so close to his—almost a kiss, almost something more—and the way he slotted one leg between his, brushing against him in an indecent manner.

They hung together on a precipice, Isaac hardly even breathing, as he gave Samuel the chance to choose.

Samuel caught Isaac’s shirt between his teeth, gagging himself on the cloth as he gathered his wits. Then, gently, he detangled himself and pushed away. “We can’t.”

Isaac huffed out a groan, leaning his head back against the wall with a thunk. “If you insist.”

“I want to,” Samuel said, though guilt tore at him. He wanted to so much that it nearly tore him apart. Isaac. Shan. Both of them. It made him feel greedy and selfish, because he knew he couldn’t have either of them. And yet, he kept reaching, playing them both like some sort of terrible rake.

Isaac, though, was looking at him with such kindness that he nearly turned away. He wasn’t worthy of such a look. He ran his hand down Samuel’s cheek, drawing his thumb down the line of his throat until he rested his hand across his heart. “I’ve changed my mind.”

“What?”

“I said I’d make you no promises,” Isaac whispered. “But I will figure out how to take this gift from you even if it’s the last thing I do.” He wrapped his hand around the back of Samuel’s neck and pulled him in for a quick, rough kiss.

Samuel didn’t fight it, he just leaned into it, the hard press of Isaac’s mouth against him, the dig of his nails into his skin, and then they broke apart. Isaac didn’t push him for more, and as much as Samuel wanted to press against him, to learn all the ways that he wanted to be touched, he knew that he couldn’t ask for more.

Didn’t dare risk more.

He closed his eyes, pressed his face against Isaac’s chest, seeking the safety and comfort of his embrace. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” Isaac said, before stepping to the side, gently disentangling himself. “Come, then. I have work to do.”

Samuel blinked at him for a moment, then—“But what about the training?”

He shrugged, so carelessly handsome that it made Samuel’s heart hurt. “We’ll figure something else out. Clearly this wasn’t the right, ah, venue.” Taking Samuel by the hand, he led him out of the alley. “Let’s get out of here.”

Heart lighter than it had been in a long while, and his lips still tingling from the kiss, Samuel let himself be led through the slums, his eyes only on Isaac.

Until there was something blocking them—a crowd gathered along one of the major intersections, and the whispers carried back through to reach their ears. For a second they just stood there, letting the information process, and Samuel prayed that he was just mishearing it. But no.

“Find a Guard,” a women cried, as her companion let out a hysterical sob, burying her face in her friend’s shoulder.

“Don’t look,” a man snapped, grabbing a young child and turning him away from the scene.

Isaac dropped his hand, shoving his way past, Samuel following in his wake to the front of the crowd. There, in the middle of the street, was a body. No, not a body, a mutilation. A corpse torn and ruined, blood spilling from the wounds and seeping into the cobblestones.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Shan