My ribs burn.
His fingers just brushed the mark. It's not pain. It's worse. It knows him.
"You weren't supposed to survive that," he says.
I step back. "And you weren't supposed to touch me."
He looks at my ribs. At the black thing crawling under my skin. "Touch didn't bind you to me."
"Then what did?"
"Death."
The room shrinks.
No windows. One door. A circle carved into the floor. I'm standing in it.
Last chapter he dragged me out of that alley. Now we're here. His safehouse.
He's bleeding.
"You're bleeding," I tell him. His sleeve is soaked. Dark. Wet.
He ignores me. "Show me the mark."
"No."
"It's killing you. Slow."
"Did you put it there?"
He doesn't answer. That's an answer.
I lift my shirt. Just an inch.
The mark spread. It looks like roots now. Black veins. Ink. It pulses when he's close. Like a heartbeat. Not mine.
He sucks in a breath. Sharp. "It activated early."
"Why?"
"That's why they came tonight."
"They." The word tastes like blood. "The shadows from the alley?"
"Not shadows. Hunters." He finally looks at me. "They work for him."
Him.
My stomach drops. "I don't have a contract."
"You do now." He taps his chest. Right over his heart. "With me."
"What?"
"The second I pulled you out of that alley, the mark chose." His voice goes flat. "Me or death."
"I didn't agree to that."
"I chose you."
The knife is still in my boot. From Ch3. My fingers find it.
"You keep deciding things for me."
"I keep you alive."
The lights die.
Not flicker. Die.
The circle on the floor lights up blue. Traps us both.
"What did you do?" Knife's out now. Pointed at him.
"Nothing. It's a ward." He's too calm. "Means we're found."
He steps closer. Tip of my knife touches his stomach. He doesn't stop.
"Press harder," he says. "You'll never get answers."
"Try me."
"I triggered the attack." Flat. Like he's reading a list. "Three nights ago."
My hands shake. "You—"
"Your power was dormant. Would've stayed that way." He breathes. "Until you died human. Six months."
"The mark needed trauma."
"To wake up."
"You almost got me killed."
"I did get you killed." No emotion. "Then I brought you back."
"What?"
"That's what the sigil does. It trades."
"For what?"
"Life. For a leash."
A leash.
The word sits there. Ugly.
"Whose?" I ask.
He doesn't answer. He looks at the door.
Three knocks. Slow.
"Them," he says.
The blue circle flares. Higher. Bars of light between us and the door.
"Hunters can't cross it," he says. "He can."
He. Again.
"Who is he?"
"My brother."
The air leaves my lungs. "You have a brother?"
"Had." His jaw ticks. "Now he's a god. Small one. Hungry."
Another knock. This one rattles the floor.
"He wants you," he says. "Because I brought you back wrong."
"Wrong how?"
"I gave you my blood. Not his." He touches his ribs. Same spot as my mark. "Now we match."
"That's why it pulses."
"That's why it's killing you. Two souls. One body. It's tearing."
I press the knife in. Just a little. He bleeds.
"Fix it."
"I can't. He can."
"Then why are we locked in here?"
"Because if I give you to him, he eats you. If I don't, you die anyway." He meets my eyes. "Third option."
"What?"
"We kill him first."
A crack splits the door. Black smoke leaks through.
"He found us."
The smoke has fingers.
It reaches for the blue light. Tests it. The circle screams. Like metal bending.
"Time's up," he says.
He grabs my wrist. The one holding the knife.
"Do it," he says.
"What?"
"Stab me. Here." He taps his chest. Same spot he tapped before. "Right through. Hit the mark."
"You'll die."
"We both will if you don't." His eyes don't leave mine. "Trust me."
"I don't."
"I know." He smiles. Just a little. "That's why it'll work."
The door explodes.
Wood. Smoke. Something tall in the doorway. Too many eyes.
He's not human. Not anymore.
The thing smiles. My mark burns white-hot.
"Brother," it says. Voice like gravel in my head. "You stole from me."
Hound shoves me behind him. Blood on his shirt now. Mine or his. Doesn't matter.
"Run," he says.
"Where?" The circle's the whole room.
"Anywhere but here."
The thing steps over the threshold. Blue light hisses against its skin. Doesn't stop it.
It looks at me.
"Hello, little thief," it says. "Did you like your borrowed life?"
My knees want to give out. They don't.
Knife's still in my hand.
Hound's blood is on the blade now.
He turns his head. Just enough.
"Now," he whispers.
The thing reaches for me.
I don't run.
I move.
The knife goes up.
Toward his heart.
The circle goes black.
And the last thing I hear is him saying my name.
Not the one my parents gave me.
The new one.
The one he gave me when he pulled me out of death.