Ash traced the pattern the dappled sunlight made on Kara’s skin. Making love to her last night had been sublime…and it had kept him from thinking too much about the way he’d deceived her.

Not deceived. Withheld. The scroll he’d taken had been written by the demon king himself. Ash had pored over it for hours after Kara had fallen asleep. But the closely spaced words had been close to gibberish. They would require more study before he could determine whether it had anything to do with the Firehorse curse.

As for the blood Kara had given him, there were things he needed to do, tests he needed to conduct. But those could wait. This morning, he was going to pretend he and Kara were the only two people on earth.

An eternity with her wouldn’t be long enough. And without her, it would be Hell.

Don’t think about it. Live in the now. It had been his strategy for a millennium, a coping mechanism that enabled to get him through the endless series of days.

Taking his own advice, he looked down at Kara. He memorized the lines of her face first with his eyes and then with his fingers. He traced her chin and fragile collarbone, torn between letting her sleep and willing her to wake.

She stirred in his embrace, but didn’t open her eyes. Ash pressed a kiss to the soft spot on her cheek next to her ear. He was about to start working his way down her body when a masculine throat clearing stopped him dead in his tracks.

Ash raised his head, sucking in his breath through his teeth. “Do I have to start hanging a tie on the doorknob?”

Except he hadn’t actually seen a tie in years. If he wanted one, he’d have to sew it himself.

Marcus’ blank expression told him he was unfamiliar with that particular sartorial accessory. He looked from Ash to Kara, a flicker of distaste crossing his features.

Annoyed, Ash rose from the bed. “What is it, Marcus?”

His aide held a piece of paper in his hand. “I…uh.” He looked past Ash to Kara. She was blinking at them both from the bed with a sheet wrapped around her.

“Whatever you need to say, you can say in front of Kara,” he told Marcus “You can trust her.”

I’m the one who can’t be trusted, he thought, thinking of the scroll hidden in his armor.

Marcus continued to hesitate, looking down at his report to avoid their eyes. Ash glowered at him.

“It’s okay,” Kara interrupted before he could reprimand his aide. “I need to get back to check on my people anyway.” She glanced at the spot on her arm where he’d drawn her blood. “It may be time to replenish certain supplies,” she added.

“All right,” he said, wishing she would stay.

Stop being selfish. Making certain the surviving Firehorses had blood to stave of the curse was a hell of a reason for her to go.

“Let me at least get you something to eat or some coffee,” Marcus said in a strangled voice. He resembled a turtle trying to crawl back into its shell.

“No, thanks. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll just get dressed now.”

Ash gestured for Marcus to precede him out of the room. He closed the door behind them.

He crossed his arms, staring down at the smaller man.

“I’m sorry, my lord, but this information is very sensitive and your…friend…is still a stranger.” He shifted his weight back and forth. “I’m not certain if this information is sound or not. The source was not exactly reliable—”

He held up a hand. “Slow down. Just tell me what it is.”

Marcus stepped farther away from his bedroom door to the other side of the room to ensure Kara couldn’t overhear them. “I was sent a report late last night from a man in the eighth arrondissement.”

He broke off and held up a hand. “Serge is a bit of a drunk, and he can’t hold down a job. He can usually be found sucking down rotgut out in one of the empty lots down by the ruins of the Arc de Triomphe. He claims two men passed by late in the evening. They were herding a group of people. He thought the men were bound, that they were holding their hands out in front of them like…”

“Like they were prisoners,” Ash finished, a rolling disquiet spreading through him. Could it be? Had someone set up another prison in town despite his warning?

The bedroom door opened. Kara was dressed and ready to leave with her bag in hand.

“Get me an address. I’ll take care of it,” he said in a low-pitched murmur. Kara didn’t need to hear this.

“Right away,” Marcus said before excusing himself.

Kara watched him leave out of the corner of her eye. “He does not like me.”

“Marcus is simply surprised,” he said absently. “I don’t think he ever expected me to, you know, be with someone.”

It was such a weak description for what was between them, but his mind was racing, trying to figure out who would dare cross him again.

If there was another prison, he’d have no choice but to make examples of the people responsible…

“Are you all right?” she asked. “Can I help with whatever’s gone wrong?”

“How do you know anything is wrong?”

Kara scowled, making a move to snatch the report. He held it above his head, conceding defeat to her powers of perception. “It’s nothing I can’t take care of on my own. If your people need you to refresh their good-luck charms, then that should be your priority.”

Kara frowned. “If you’re sure.”

“I am.”

She pointed to the chest he’d used to store the books and scrolls they found in the demon tower. “What about those? Are they going to explode or cause a tsunami to sweep away the city?”

“No. They’re not a danger themselves. Objects aren’t subject to the Firehorse curse.”

“I know that,” she scoffed. “But didn’t you say last night that these things poison the air around them?”

“Don’t worry. The wards I’ve placed on these walls should be enough to hold the corruption these cause at bay—long enough for us to go through them anyway.”

She headed for the door, pausing at the threshold. “So I guess I meet you back here tonight?”

He nodded. “Come whenever you are free. I’ll inform Marcus you’re to be granted access at any time.”

“Bet he’ll love that.”

“He’ll deal with it,” Ash replied, walking her out. They parted ways downstairs, where Marcus was waiting with the location of their information.

Ash flew out to meet the drunk, who at eight in the morning was still inebriated—at least when he first arrived. Serge sobered rapidly when he realized who had come calling.

“T-t-they went that way,” the drunk told him, pointing to the left where the block ended abruptly in a pile of rubble.

Ash squinted at the derelict buildings in the distance. “What’s over there? Anything still standing?”

“Just the old apartment building. Not sturdy to live in so people don’t,” he said, clutching a half-empty bottle to his chest.

Annoyed his people weren’t more productive, Ash dismissed him, heading out in the direction of the building on his own.

Despite the relative prosperity of this district, this particular corner was an island of neglect and ruin. Ash climbed up the first-floor stairs of the derelict building, wondering how many pockets of devastation were left in the city.

Too many. That was damn certain.

The upper levels were empty save for the occasional rat. He was about to give up the report of prisoners as a drunkard’s fantasy when he went down to the basement.

Adrenaline pumped through his veins as he saw signs of recent movement. The dust in the room had tracks running throughout with footprints in multiple sizes. And there were voices. They were distant, coming from somewhere below his feet.

Don’t kill anyone. Not right away. If the jailers were down there, he’d capture and interrogate them. And whoever was calling the shots would pay.

Ash had left his sword behind in his Belleville room, but he had his dagger. Not that he needed it. For this, his fists would do. He was looking forward to it.

The volume of voices rose as he opened the door to the sub-basement. He couldn’t see anything past the threshold. There was a massive curtain blocking the way.

Furious, Ash rushed forward, tossing the fabric aside with one hand, holding his knife ready with the other. But there was no one there.

The sound of steel clanging boomed in his ears, covering the voices momentarily.

What the hell? He was inside a pentagram, demonic runes written at every point. There was a little box in the center. The voices were coming from it.

“I’m sure you’ll be pleased to learn the engineers have finally succeeded in their efforts to repair the radio tower,” a voice said.

Titouan appeared from behind a pillar with Kline at his side.

Ash lunged, his wings spreading to close the distance between them in a jump. He was caught short, hitting an unseen barrier with a crash that made his skin pop and sizzle.

Bordelle. He was trapped.

“What is the meaning of this?” he stormed. “Release me!”

Klein and Titouan clapped their hands over their ears. But whatever they had drawn on the floor muted his true voice. To his ears, it had full angelic resonance, but the two men weren’t falling to the floor, bleeding from their eyes.

When he closed his mouth, they tentatively took their hands off their ears, skirting the edge of the pentagram to get as far from him as possible. This was demon craft—an angel trap.

He’d seen one before. They were unbreakable from the inside.

“How are you doing this?” His eyes narrowed on their sallow faces.

Klein beamed. “We’ve been watching you for a long time. We knew all those demon volumes you stashed all over the city would come in handy someday.”

His mouth dropped open. The little thieves. “How dare you spy on me.” Ash spat on the ground. It hit the barrier with a shower of sparks. “And how dare you use this filth to trap me. What the hell are you trying to accomplish?”

Titouan gave him a short bow. “In a word, freedom.”

Ash laughed outright. “I think not. You don’t know the meaning of the word. What you want is to rule this city in my stead… How the hell do you think to accomplish that with the Firehorse curse unbroken?”

“Well—” Titouan began.

“Oh, shut up,” Ash said, cutting him off. “You didn’t think of this on your own,” he sneered, looking past them. “I know you’re here, Mazarin. Show yourself!”

The last councilman slipped from behind the cover of the pillar.

Ash shook his head. “Of course this irresponsible and idiotic scheme could only come from your own twisted head.”

Mazarin folded his plump hands primly in front of him. “For what it’s worth, I am truly sorry it has come to this. But it’s my genuine belief you no longer have Bastille’s best interests at heart.”

Unbelievable. “I have given everything for this city.”

Mazarin feigned surprise. “So the new lover you’ve taken hasn’t distracted you at all? Good to know… Nevertheless, we’ve decided you must go.”

He paused, wiping a sweaty hand on his shirtfront. “It really would have been better if you just let things go on as they had. We were really the best leaders this town could have had. Nobody knows it better than we do.” He picked imaginary lift off his sleeve. “But our removal is moot now. Once the people know you’re dead, they’ll welcome us back. We’re familiar. They know us. Even those who don’t like us will take comfort in our words.”

Ash lowered his chin, glaring at them. “This trap can’t kill me.”

Titouan grinned. “That’s the beauty of it. It doesn’t have it. If it works as described—and apparently it does—then you’ll be bound here for all eternity.”

Incredulous, Ash couldn’t help asking. “And just how do you think to disappear me—the warden of Bastille? Do you really think no one will come looking for me?”

“Oh, we know they will,” Mazarin replied. “But they’ll never find you. Once we leave this room, the explosions we set will level the upper stories, burying you down here forever.”

The man shrugged rounded shoulders. “You’re going to be an unfortunate victim of the curse. You’ve said it yourself in public often enough. Even you aren’t immune.”

Mazarin looked at the other two, gesturing them to follow him. They stepped over the curtain and were at the door before he turned to look back.

“It’s really too bad you can’t starve,” he said with a tsk. “I don’t imagine this will be a pleasant place to spend eternity.”

The door shut behind them.

Unbelievable. Ash banged his fists against his forehead, berating himself for his stupidity. I need to get out of here.

Still furious, he began to test the trap. He moved with lightning speed, testing the perimeter of the trap with his hands and blade.

The seconds slipped by, rushing away like water, but there was no opening, no weakness for him to exploit. Ash began to count, estimating how much longer it would take for the out-of-shape politicians to safely exit the building.

The explosions went off between ten and eleven.