My hand drifted to the weighted pouch at my belt. Inside was a sling stone, smooth and heavy—my only guarantee of a head start.
“Remove your hand,” I demanded, my voice a low snarl.
He chuckled, a disgusting, wet sound. His grip tightened, pulling me closer until my whole front was plastered against his pudgy belly.
“What’s a pretty little thing like you doing out here all alone? No binding yet, eh? The Veythar love the stubborn ones,” he breathed, his foul breath hot on my ear. “Perhaps you are waiting for someone to claim you.”
My chin snapped up, my eyes blazing. “I await no one. And I belong to no one.”
Just as I prepared to launch my elbow toward his throat, the thug’s grip suddenly loosened, his fingers peeled from my arm not by his will, but by an unseen force.
He stumbled back, a bewildered grunt escaping his lips, his eyes wide and unfocused.
Talon stood beside me, a faint trail of shadow-smoke curling beneath his sleeves, the only evidence of the magic that had just crushed the brute’s wrist.
I had not even seen him move.
He simply occupied the space now, close enough that I could feel the warmth radiating from his body beneath the dark fabric. Close enough that the scent of earth and smoke reached me through the marketplace stench.
I was a head shorter than him, so I needed to crane my neck to see his face. All my eyes could reach was a sharp jawline, a straight but slightly pointed nose and a thick set of lashes.
He was devastatingly handsome. Devastating because no reaper should have such angelic features.
“Is there a problem, Huiter?”
Talon spoke to the brute, yet his gaze had moved down to meet mine. Up close, the blue of his eyes was even more arresting—and even more infuriating.
I braced my heels against the cobblestones and turned to face the man—theHuiter. It was an ancient slur for the mundane.
The man stammered. “No, no problem, Master Veyr. Just… admiring the merchandise.”
Talon’s lips thinned. “This merchandise is not for purchase.”
I frowned, my eyes narrowing at Talon who was now looking over my head.
I was not a piece of fruit on Borin’s stall, and I certainly was not a prize for a Veythar to claim.
“Go,” Talon commanded.
The thug scrambled away, disappearing into the crowd without a backward glance.
My shoulders sagged before I tensed at the heat at my back.
“You interfered,” I said, spinning on him. “I had a sling stone and a clear line to his temple. I did not ask for a savior, especially not one in a black cloak.”
His gaze flicked to my clenched hand, where the wicker of the basket was groaning. He did not look angry at my words. He looked… amused.
“Did you?” he asked, stepping a fraction closer. I should have backed up, but I stood my ground. He needed to see not every mortal would bow to his feet.
“I am perfectly capable of defending myself,” I snapped.
“I have no doubt of your spirit, little flame.” He reached out, his gloved hand hovering just inches from my jaw. I moved back, his hand freezing mid-air for a moment before dropping. “But fire, however fierce, can be extinguished by a brute’s wet hand.”
“Well,” I said sarcastically. “I appreciate your input. But I have lived years without a man’s protection. And I will continue to do so.”
Talon’s lips tipped up. “Okay.”
I took a step away from him, my chest feeling too warm at our proximity.