Free Wicked After Midnight (Blud) by Delilah S. Dawson

responsible brother is still tracking the bloody bastards. They’re faster than ever. Didn’t see a single one. Found this, though.”
    I peeked around Vale and almost oozed into the water when I saw Cherie’s hairbob.
    “That’s hers. My friend Cherie’s.”
    The old man squinted at me with his one good eye. “Who the hell is that?”
    Vale winked at me over his shoulder. “The girl I found behind the bush.”
    “I thought you were lying as usual.”
    “Then you owe me an apology, old man.”
    The head brigand turned red, which was quite an accomplishment in the green light. “I don’t owe you a goddamn thing, son. You want something, you take it. If you can.”
    Vale stilled in front of me, going stiff all over like a stalking cat. He snatched the hairbob and handed it to me. As I fingered the ribbons that I had helped tie under Cherie’s hair just that morning, Vale hopped across the water to the ledge on the other side of the tunnel.
    “Care to join me, bébé ?” He held out his hand.
    His father glared at me, his single eye going narrow. “ Mademoiselle , we’d be glad to escort you to safety. Despite Vale’s bad manners, the Hildebrand tribe is known for stout hearts and valor.” His eye roved over me, as if calculating the worth of my figure and costume. When he smiled, it was cold, like a shark.
    I smiled sweetly, showing fangs. “Stout hearts? But I thought you were thieves.”
    Vale swallowed a laugh, and I took his hand and leaped lightly to the other side, where he caught me with a palm splayed across my back.
    “Vale, it’s your duty—”
    “To escort this mademoiselle to her destination in the city. Don’t worry, Father. I’ll be home eventually.”
    “Already told you, don’t come home unless you plan on living up to your birthright.”
    Someone snickered behind the old man, and Vale released me and walked stiffly along the ledge, away from his father and deeper down the tunnel toward Paris.
    “Thanks, but no thanks,” I said with a wave as I followed him.
    The ledge wasn’t as well kept on this side. It crumbled in places and felt almost spongy in others. Whenever there was a rough spot, Vale slowed and held out a hand to help me across. I could feel conflict and unease roiling in him, and I wasn’t exactly calm myself. I wanted to break free, to run, to howl, to show my fangs to whatever creature had dared to take my friend Cherie. The ghostly plague doctors in the smoke now seemed like nothing more than nightmare visions I’d conjured myself. All we had was the hairbob clutched in my gloves. The anger and helplessness were maddening, but we had no choice butto creep along carefully, feeling our way down the narrow ledge, half-blind in eye and heart.
    Which was probably why I decided to badger my savior.
    “So . . . your dad.”
    “He is a terror, no?”
    “Is he trying to start a fight or something?”
    Vale chuckled. “Something like that.”
    “You want to talk about it?”
    “You want to be tossed into the sewage?”
    “Shutting up now.”
    The next few moments were tense and silent, and when we came to a jumble of femurs, I hopped back over to the other side of the water.
    “What are you doing?” he asked.
    “The silence is so thick over there I couldn’t breathe. Figured the air might be a little more clear on this side of the crap river.”
    He failed to hold in a chuckle and leaped to my side. “ Touché, bébé . Here’s the thing. The Brigands of Ruin are patriarchal, which means leadership is expected to pass from father to son. Follow?”
    “Got it.”
    “My Abyssinian mother was part of the camp only long enough to bewitch my father and leave me behind, which means I have less status and don’t fit the pattern. I have always been rather a disappointment, while my brother, Lorn, is a boot-licking bludweasel with champion bloodlines.” I cleared my throat, and he smirked. “Pardon the comparison. In any case, my father is past his prime, and I