Page 82 of Stealing Tink

“Now, Venus,” says the Nomad. “Be a doll and untie me too, won’t you?”

Venus crosses the room toward the Nomad, stepping over the limp body of the first guard, her feet careful, almost…

I see it before the Nomad does.

Not that it does us any good. My hand goes to point, my mouth to shout a warning, but again, I’m stopped by a crippling pain and the curse I should have killed Peter for.

Venus stomps on the hilt of the first guard’s dagger, and it soars spinning into the air. She snatches it from the air, and before the Nomad can swing the chair at her head, she darts back toward me, grabbing my wrists. Pain causes my knees to buckle, but she only pulls me closer, the sharp edge of the dagger pressed to my throat.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” seethes the Nomad.

“This is how this is going to go. You’re going to let us walk out of here,” says Venus. “Don’t think I won’t slit her throat if you make one wrong move.”

“Now, Venus,” says the Nomad, cocking his head to the side with a smile that makes my hairs stand on end. “Surely you know this won’t end well for you.”

“You won’t risk letting her die,” says Venus. “I heard you begging. I can’t begin to understand it, but you’re obsessed with her, that much is obvious.”

The Nomad’s face shutters, and though I try to meet his gaze, he refuses to meet mine.

“Move to the side,” says Venus.

The Nomad’s blue eyes turn to ice, but he moves away from the door all the same.

“To the other side of the room,” Venus says.

The Nomad looks as if he’s about to argue, but then he swallows and does as he’s told.

“Move,” whispers Venus into my ear. I walk toward the door, knees shaking beneath me as I try not to focus on the pain in my wrists as Venus clamps her fingers around them. The tears on my face have started to dry on my cheeks, but only from exhaustion.

For the first time in a long time, I am terrified.

Because she’s not taking me to Peter, to someone who will use me but regret doing so.

She’s taking me to people who enjoy inflicting pain.

I want to scream at her, to cut her, to remind her of what trash she is for selling me into a life of pain and slavery, when she knows from experience exactly what that entails.

But I have no words, no hands. My mouth is useless.

Except…

Venus lowers the blade from my throat for just a moment, just long enough to open the door. But when she brings it back, I’m ready.

I jut my neck to the side and sink my teeth into her wrist. She lets out a scream so shrill, it’s likely to carry down the hall, but I only dig my teeth in further, relishing the coppery taste of her blood.

She yanks her hand back, but I don’t let go.

Not until a chair leg breaks over her head, shattering into splinters that fly across the room. Venus releases my wrists and slumps behind me. Her body hits the floor with a thud, and I spin to find the Nomad—the chair having shattered from behind him—fighting with his restraints.

I go to help him, but he shakes his head. “Don’t you dare.”

He drops to the floor and grabs the dagger from the ground, flipping it and working at the ropes tying his hands together until they’re sawed loose.

When he stands, hands free, our eyes lock for a moment, and I’m soon overwhelmed by the urge to cling to his chest, to cry until I have no tears left.

“No time for that, Wanderer,” he says, cupping my face. Then he glances back down at Venus. My eyes follow his, and I wonder if he’ll kill her.

Until I realize there’s something off about her. A mysterious absence of the rise and fall of her chest. The way no air fogs around her mouth, despite the chill of the dungeon.