Page 46 of Godless Saints

He laughed. One short sound. No humor. “You’ve got a Blood Writ on you,” he said.

My fingers went still on the strap. Only for a second. His eyes dropped. “Congratulations,” I said. “Is it yours?”

“Not yet.”

Yet.

“I’m sure that disappoints you.”

“It does.” He stepped closer. “Ashbourne’s making a romance out of it.”

My throat closed.

Wait.

Cillian held the Writ on me?

A Blood Writ wasn’t permission to kill. It was permission to ruin someone in full view of every court that mattered. Vivienne didn’t know. She would have told me. That meant no one had protected me from this. Declan saw the shift in my face. His eyes lit up, primitive and entertained.

“Flowers,” he said. “The hallway fight where Ashbourne jumped me like a rabid dog the second I got too close to you. All that petty shit he’s doing.”

He really had done that for me.

Declan tilted his head. “If the Writ lands with me, I won’t waste your time with flowers and romance. I’ll come straight at you. Sanctioned. Public. Smiling.”

I looked past his shoulder.

Cold stone pressed the chill back into the corridor. The air smelled faintly of damp mortar and old wax. Rain-dark light cut pale strips across the floor. The vaulted ceiling swallowed every sound.

No staff. No students.

Fuck.

I looked back at him. “Then stay away from me. At least Cillian knows how to make it interesting. You’re just… tedious.”

Declan’s smile froze. Then it twisted into something ugly.

He moved. Fast for his size.

One hand slammed the wall beside my head. The other caught my jaw hard, fingers digging under the bone, thumb pressing near my throat.

My bag dropped.

I snapped my hand up, caught his wrist, drove my elbow toward his ribs. He absorbed it with a grunt and shoved closer. Wall at my back. His chest too close. His hand forcing my chin up.

Humiliating.

Heat flashed hot behind my eyes.

“You’re fast,” he said, tightening his grip. “For a soft rich boy. Keep squirming like that and I’ll show you what real fighting looks like.”

I drove my knee up. He twisted and took it on his thigh. Boxer. Heavy. Stronger than me in close quarters. I wasn’t going to win this by force. I hooked fingers into the pressure point below his thumb and wrenched. His grip eased, just enough. I shoved him back with my shoulder and immediately turned to leave.

“Stay away from me, Declan,” I said over my shoulder. “Whatever game you think you’re playing, I’m not interested.”

One step.

Two.