No, no, no. Do not do this, Eliza. But that giddy, swelling feeling bubbled and rose to the surface. “You have two choices, sir. Let me go and live.” Her voice was not her own, now cold and oddly high. She took note of the fact with a detached air, as she glanced down at the grimy hand upon her shoulder. He was missing a nail upon his middle finger. “Or keep touching me and die.”

He laughed then, a wheezing sound, sending more of his foul breath into her lungs. “You’ve got spirit.” A rough hand grabbed hold of her skirts, yanking on them, as his eyes went duller. “I like that in me women.”

She hit the brick wall with such quick force that she saw stars. And then her mad cackle rang out, giving her attacker pause. It was the last sound he’d hear. When she spoke, it was ice, coating her tongue and lips with frigid cold. “Wrong choice.”

His form grew hazy, a grey fog settling over him, or perhaps it was her vision. She did not care. Rage punched into her, giving her strength. Her fingers wrapped around his neck.

Her laughter grew in force, until it sounded more like a screech. He gaped at her, his mouth hanging open, and that strange muddy fog surrounded him, and then coalesced, swirling even as he writhed, trying to break free of her grip. He ought to be able to, yet he struggled, the grey fog growing thicker.

A cold sweat broke out over Eliza, and again came the unnatural, twitching need to laugh or cry. Her chest shook with it, tears forming in her eyes. “No more,” she said, and the fog shot free from his body, flying up high into the sunlit sky and evaporating in the next instant. In her hand, the man sank, a suddenly unbearably heavy weight.

As if burned, she let go, and he flopped to the ground, his eyes sightless, and a dark stain of urine spreading over his undone trousers. Dead.

Eliza spun and vomited. Over and over. Until there was nothing left. Pressing the heels of her hands against her eyes, she fought back a revolting laugh. How could she laugh? She needed to be away from this place, away from the body. With wooden movements, she walked out of the alleyway. Ice filled her veins, made her steps stiff. She shivered, too cold, too sick.

He mustn’t know. Adam could not know what she’d done. Mellan had used her “talent” for his own gain, and while she did not think that Adam would do that, he might refuse to help her, repulsed by the darkness inside of her. For she also knew that, despite his flaws, Adam was not an evil man.

The Rag Fair’s main square had quieted down. People milled about, some in a daze, others talking heatedly about what had happened. Coppers were in full force, ordering those loitering to move on.

Shaking and cold, Eliza surveyed the square, searching for a sign of Adam and fearing the worst.

“Eliza!” His deep voice rang out with such power that several heads turned.

A sob tore from her as she spotted him limping forward, bearing his weight on a thin length of timber that appeared to be a table leg. She thought no more on the oddity, but found herself wrapped up in his arms, her face pressed up against the warmth of his chest. God, but she was cold. So cold. She tucked herself closer to Adam’s big body. It was the only solid, real thing around her. She could rest there forever and be happy.

“Eliza,” he breathed, hands running over her back. “Thank God.”

His heart beat rapidly within his chest, and the scent of his sweat mixed with hers. She’d run to him. The realization stole over her. She’d run across the square and thrown herself at him. And he’d caught her.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “So sorry I lost you.”

“You didn’t lose me,” he said softly. “I’m here.”

And her tension eased. He was here. Alive and whole. And suddenly she felt foolish for carrying on so.

“Were you hurt?” she asked in what she hoped was a calmer tone.

He snorted. “Crippled further, you mean?” The muscles along his chest flexed. “No. thrown about, more like. But I’ll live.”

The disgruntlement in his voice made her want to smile. He clearly berated himself for his weakened state. Foolish man. He was a warrior. Pure and simple. Eliza had underestimated Adam, smugly thinking herself safe, that she could control him because he was wounded of body and kept weak by Mab’s chains. How foolish. He’d dispatched two large and street-hardened demons without even standing. And done it in less time than it would have taken Eliza to unlace just one of her walking boots.

Eliza was able to defend herself against one man, but against a group of them? She was far too helpless, her power only working with one-on-one contact. A group of men had killed her before Adam restored her life. Strangely, she’d never had a man protect her without demanding she be of service to him.

He’d fought for her. And he would do so again. Her champion.

And she was grateful to him. But when he tried to ease back to look at her, she resisted for a moment. Adam, however, was insistent, and pried her from his chest.

“What happened?” His worried gaze darted over her face. “Why have you been crying?”

Damn her weak eyes. Damn him for noticing. “I haven’t been crying.” She wiped at the sticky wet of her grimy cheeks. “I got coal smoke in my eyes. This blasted city is as foul as the devil’s den.”

Adam did not appear appeased by her answer. And Eliza spoke before he could. “We’ve got to get those blasted chains off so you can properly heal.”

“It won’t be easy now that we’ve demons looking out for us.”