Page 139 of The Donor’s Dilemma

He took a breath, and for a second, he looked a fraction paler than usual, the black ink at his throat, the small rose on his cheek, stark against his white skin.

“Right,” he said, eyes on the ground. Then he looked up, winked, and said, “See you on the other side,” before weaving through the crowd toward the ancient creature.

If Verity didn’t know better, she’d have thought he was nervous.

She turned back to Cora and Adam, who were discussing heading to the Golden Fleece for a drink, Cora letting her eyes wander over him with no subtlety whatsoever. Verity had meant the introduction as a distraction from Jesse, but watching them now, she thought they might actually suit each other. Both loud, both warm, both with big hearts and easy hugs.

“Coming?” Cora asked her, and Verity prayed the offer meant she was forgiven, or at least on her way there.

She was about to agree when a young woman stepped into their path.

“Verity?”

She froze. Chloe. She hadn’t seen her since that day at SubRosa.

“I’ll be there in a minute,” Verity told the pair, nodding toward the pub.

Cora glanced at Chloe before nodding and the two of them headed off toward the clinking glasses and music that drifted through the pub’s open door.

“Hey,” Verity said. “Are you okay? Where’s Mabel?” At the club, the two of them had never left each other’s side; whatever else was true of Chloe, she carried a fierce, protective energy that made Verity doubt she’d leave the other girl alone for long.

“Can we talk?” Chloe’s cheeks were flushed, breath short, as though she’d run the length of the square to find her.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

“I need your help.” Chloe grabbed her hand and pulled.

“What’s happened?”

“It’s my sister. It’s that guy. The Blessed.”

“Abe?” Verity’s stomach dropped. What had Abe done? She’d let herself believe she could trust him, but the raw panic on Chloe’s face told her something was very wrong. So, she let herself be pulled, the noise of the crowd thinning as they moved toward the edge of the square and into a side street.

“What’s happened?” Verity asked again.

Chloe didn’t answer as they rounded a corner and the lights of the festival faded behind them. All Verity could hear now was the click of their footsteps and the rush of her pulse in her ears.

She pulled her hand free. Chloe froze, staring at the ground, unable to meet her eye.

“Chloe?” Verity’s voice came out harder this time. “What is going on?”

“I’ll tell you what’s going on,” a voice said behind her. “Somebody’s a thief.”

She turned. A man stood a few feet away, freckles scattered across a handsome face, a knot of hair high on his head. “And if there’s one thing I can’t abide,” he said, “it’s thieves.”

Clutching her bag, Verity stepped back, drawing breath to scream.

He lunged. Not for the bag.

A fist drove into her ribs, and the scream came out as a gasp of pain. He grabbed her arm, twisted it up behind her back, clamped a hand over her mouth, forcing her down, his knee pinning her between the shoulder blades hard enough to steal the air from her lungs. He tore the bag from her shoulder and tipped it out onto the ground. Papers scattered across the cobblestones, caught by the breeze, and Chloe scrambled after them, snatching each one up, scanning it. Discarding it. Snatching the next.

“Well?” the man demanded.

Verity couldn’t see Chloe from the angle she was held, couldn’t read her face, but whatever the answer was, it wasn’t the one he wanted. He hauled Verity back up by the arm.

“Where the fuck is it?”

She drew a breath, white-hot pain blooming across her ribs. “Don’t know what you mean.”