(Updates everyday)
Power demands what it's owed, and souls are its favorite currency.
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When museum curator, Lena Goodwin, receives an anonymous package containing damning evidence of a mistake she thought she buried years ago, her carefully built...
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The alley behind Raven's Perch smelled of rain water, each stone shone under the soft gleam of a solarae post at the entrance. The back door her and Hugh had come out of was ajar, the noise from inside bleeding faintly into the quiet solitude.
She told herself she could still walk away, head home, and pretend none of this was happening. The idea was tempting, but her pulse, steady and fast, kept her rooted in place. She had angered Hugh the day prior, and she didn't want to press her luck any further, so she stayed put, sticking to the shadows beside him. Not too closely.
His presence was cold and frigid, like the stone behind them. Their bodies pushed up against it. Lena's fingers found a groove between two bricks and dug into it to distract herself from the unknown of the situation.
Hugh hadn't spoken a word to her. She didn't know what was going on, aside that whatever it was would help her learn the inner workings of the black market.
She half-expected him to lead them to a plaza full of small, almost imperceptible stalls with black coverings, but she knew better. The whole concept was to be discreet. Being so out in the open would defeat the purpose. Dealings in alleyways, hidden from the public eye, was the perfect setup.
Hugh gave her a cold once-over, picking up on her nervous tick. She immediately stopped, but taking up his stance was unbefitting for her. Not in her choice of clothing. She had come straight from the museum in a form-fitting dress and heels that matched her hair in color.
While Hugh slanted against the stones with an ease that sent a shiver down her spine. His arms folded over his chest, wrinkling up the fabric of his suit, but he didn't seem to care for it in the slightest. He had one leg crossed over the other, resembling the kind of straggler she would avoid. If not for the formal wear, she might have mistook him for one.
It was scary how relaxed he appeared, a reminder that he exploited himself to these kind of things - illegal activities in dark alleys. The exact place an innocent museum curator shouldn't be.
Except, Lena was anything but innocent, and Hugh knew it. At least, that was what he had said yesterday. She didn't entirely understand why he thought so. How could she be any worse than him when he was idly waiting in the shadows for someone. That much was obvious.
Hugh didn't offer up any details, concealing the true nature of their meetup. It was troubling her. She knew she shouldn't say anything, but the tension was coiling tightly in the pit of her stomach.
"Are you going to tell me what we're doing out here?"
He responded curtly, not sparing her a glance. "You'll know when you need to."
Lena bristled at his clipped tone. He sounded detached, like she was nothing more than a pawn on a chessboard and moved only when useful. Essentially, she was. According to him, he owned her, and for the time being, she would have to heed his every command.
