//CLARA//
The morning was a hungover grey, thick with the scent of spent adrenaline and the heavy tallic tang of the storm.
I surfaced from sleep in pieces. First, the raw, throbbing ache between my thighs, still tender and slick, still impossibly full. Then the slow drag of cock inside , buried deep, pulling a moan from my throat before I was even awake.
Warmth pressed against my back. An arm locked around my waist. A hand splayed flat against my lower belly, holding open. Thrusting with the kind of lazy certainty that said this had been going on for hours.
Every stroke pushed a soft, broken sound from my throat. Every withdrawal left empty and clenching until the cock pushed back in.
"Casimir," I gasped.
Lips brushed the curve of my shoulder. "Go back to sleep, little bird. I’ve got you."
I let my eyes fall shut. Let myself be taken while I floated in that hazy, liminal space between dream and surrender. Fingers found my clit, circling in ti with the thrusts, pulling orgasm after orgasm from my exhausted body.
I ca twice before I opened my eyes. Maybe three tis or four. I lost count.
He didn’t stop. He just kept going, kept filling , kept murmuring against my skin until I couldn’t distinguish the dream from the reality.
When I finally woke, he was gone. The sheets beside were cold. But I could still feel him. Still sll him on my skin.
I sat on the edge of the bed, sore, his seed leaking down my thighs.
My gaze was fixed on the jade ring. It was a heavy, beautiful thing, a piece of history that felt like a lead weight on my finger. The weak sunlight caught the stone, mocking with a na that wasn’t mine.
Eleanor Thorne.
It belonged to the ghost of a woman I was currently replacing. It was a gift for Eleanor. But Casimir had put it on my finger. He’d given it to Clara, the woman he’d just proposed and ruined in the rain.
I was still trying to breathe through the guilt when Hattie knocked.
The door swung open, and she stepped inside with a pitcher of water and a fresh towel.
She stopped mid-step.
Her eyes traveled from my face down to my bare shoulders, to the bruises blooming on my collarbone, to the bite marks trailing down my chest. I didn’t bother covering myself. What was the point? She’d seen worse. She’d helped bathe after the harbor, after every ti Casimir had left his marks on my skin.
Her gaze lingered on the dark crescent above my breast. The one he’d sucked and bitten while the rain hamred down around us. She swallowed and blinked. Then looked away.
I didn’t apologize. She didn’t ask questions. She never did.
"Miss? A letter. It just arrived."
She set the silver tray on the vanity, her hands steady despite the flush creeping up her neck. No seal. No fancy stationery. Just a scrap of paper with my na scrawled in a frantic, shaky hand I recognized instantly.
Gary’s handwriting.
I tore it open, my heart already climbing into my throat.
Eleanor—
Two n ca last night. They pounded on the door until I thought the wood would split. They were looking for Elias. And they sounded... God, they sounded like they wanted blood. I’ve been in the wardrobe for six hours. I can’t breathe. Please. 47 Grove Street, third door on the left.
— G
My blood stopped flowing entirely. Soone was hunting Elias Russell.
"Hattie, help get dressed and get my boots. I’m going out."
"Miss, your aunt said—"
"Tell her I’m dead. Tell her I’ve vanished into the floorboards. I don’t care." I was already pulling whatever dress I could get, my fingers trembling. "Just tell her I’m resting."
The streets were a muddy, slick ss. I didn’t take the Guggenheim carriage, I wasn’t a complete idiot. I hailed a hack two blocks away, giving a fake destination before walking the rest of the way to Grove Street.
The building was a tired, sagging brownstone that slled of boiled cabbage. I climbed the stairs, the wood groaning under my feet.
I knocked three tis.
The door cracked open. One bloodshot eye peered out before Gary hauled inside.
The room was a tomb. Curtains drawn, a single candle flickering, casting long, skeletal shadows against the peeling wallpaper. Gary looked like hell, pale, shaking, his eyes darting to the door every ti a floorboard creaked in the hallway.
"You ca," he whispered, sounding like he was on the verge of a total collapse.
"Of course I ca." I grabbed his shoulders, steadying him. "Are you hurt? Did they get in?"
"No. I hid. I heard them at the door, and I—" He swallowed. "I hid like a coward."
"You did the right thing." I pulled him toward the rickety chair. "Sit. Tell everything. From the beginning."
"They ca after midnight."
"Did you managed to see what they look like?"
"No. I didn’t dare look through the keyhole, Clara... I just sat in the back of the wardrobe with my hands over my ears." He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. "But I heard them. Heavy boots. Deep, rough voices that sounded like they’d spent a lifeti shouting over the wind. They kept pounding until the hinges rattled. They were yelling for Elias to turn over the ledger."
"Ledger?"
"I don’t know. I don’t know what a ledger is." His voice cracked. He rubbed his face. "Clara, I don’t know anything. I’m just so guy who touched a cursed ring. I’m not—I can’t—"
"Hey." I crouched in front of him, gripping his knees. "Look at ."
His frantic gaze locked on .
"You’re not alone. We’re going to figure this out. But I need you to stay calm. Can you do that?"
He nodded. Took a breath and let it out.
"Okay," I said. "Okay."
I paced the room, my mind racing. I couldn’t ask Casimir for help. He was already suspicious of Elias. If he found out about the ledger, about the n at the door, he’d want answers I couldn’t give.
But I couldn’t protect Gary alone.
I needed information. I needed soone discreet. Soone who owed a favor.
"Gary, I’m going to make so inquiries." I turned to face him. "There’s a man I trust. A lawyer. He helped before. He’ll know soone who can dig into Elias’s past without asking too many questions."
"You an a private investigator?"
"Sothing like that."
Gary nodded slowly. "Be careful."
"Always."
I was at the door when he spoke again.
"Clara?"
I turned.
"The n who ca last night. They said sothing else." His voice was barely a whisper. "They said if they didn’t get what they wanted, they’d co back with more n or they’d burn the building down with in it."
My stomach dropped.
"I won’t let that happen," I said. "I promise."
I left the building and stepped into the grey morning light.
The street was empty. The saloon across the way was shuttered. A stray cat darted between two buildings. I pulled my shawl tighter against a chill that had nothing to do with the weather.
I was halfway down the block when the hair on the back of my neck stood up.
I didn’t turn. I kept my pace steady, my boots splashing through the puddles with my pulse racing and my ears straining for footsteps behind .
A carriage rolled past. A woman called out to a child. Normal street sounds. Nothing threatening.
But the feeling didn’t go away.
I reached the corner and risked a glance over my shoulder.
A man stood across the street in a dark coat. Watching .
I couldn’t see his face. Just the brim of his hat and the set of his shoulders.
I turned the corner and walked faster.
I didn’t look back again.
But I felt him watching the whole way.
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