Page 134 of Fallacies

“We won’t get caught,” he tells me.

My brows pull together. “How can you be so sure?”

I squirm to see what he’s looking at and, to my surprise, he gives me the room to crane my neck around his arm. I get a full view of—oh.

My cheeks warm instantly.

The two lovebirds are much closer to the entrance of the forest now, and Greer’s got her tongue down the man’s throat. Fantastic. Ripping my gaze away, I press my shoulders back against the tree.

The Hound has backed off a step, putting some much-needed space between us, and I fill my lungs with the cool night air. We certainly aren’t in the clear, but Greer and whoever she’s with are much too focused on each other. It’s disturbing and relieving.

“Why can’t you just do that…” I look up, instantly noting the mock in his tone. He’s bordering on a smile, waving his hand around in some ambiguous gesture. “...illusion thing?” the Hound settles on. “Get them to leave?”

I stare blankly back at him.

My silence only fuels him. “Or we could let it play out?” He shoves both hands into his pockets, craning his neck to get another look at the two of them. “Take bets on how long he’ll last?”

With a groan, I push off the tree. “Fine.”

“To the betting?”

“No.”

I ignore his slow-spreading smile, turning towards the couple instead. Closing my eyes, I picture what the Umbra looked like the last time I saw her. I don’t need to perfectly replicate her appearance—her voice will do just fine.

Sol magic bleeds into the air around us, warm against my skin, and through the trees, near the Estate, a silhouette of a woman appears. She’s tall and slender, a dark robe billowing out around her.

Greer is in the middle of slipping off her dress when the Umbra’s voice cuts through the chilled night, “Who’s there?”

Honestly, I’m impressed with how perfectly shrill it sounds.

The male jolts, quickly helping Greer back into her clothes, and the two of them scatter like beetles, racing off back to the Estate. I’d be prouder of myself if it had been my idea.

I turn back to the Hound.

“Not bad.” His accent is more prominent now that we aren’t having to whisper. “Much better than murdering them, don’t you think, Killer?”

“I’m not a killer.”

He moves towards the Baron’s body, kicking some leaves out of the way. Pale, black-veined skin reflects white amongst the foliage. The Hound looks back at me with a frown.

“Self-defense doesn’t count.”

“I see.” He nods absent-mindedly, pushing away the rest of the twigs and leaves, then he moves back to my side. I flinch when he leans down to whisper, “For the record, he deserved death. It was ready for him.”

I look up at him, noting the certainty in his gaze.

If I were standing next to anyone else, I might have taken that statement as a metaphor. I’m not sure how much he controls when it comes to death, but something is hair-raising about the surety in his declaration. His closeness with death. His ability to personify it. To know what it wants and what it is ready for.

The Hound inhales, and my gaze drops to the flare of his nostrils. Straightening, his dark countenance shifts into something more casual. “Burn it,” he says simply.

“The Baron?” I clarify, eyes wide on his. “Won’t that draw attention? A fire in the woods?”

“Not if you keep it contained,” comes his reply. “We’re far enough out, and no one is coming.”

“How do you know that?”

The Hound doesn’t answer with words. He simply taps his nose with his forefinger.