Anji woke to loud, confused rustling. At first, she mistook it for the wind playing at the cathedral walls. But the noise toward the end of the aisle, at the nave where the fire had been snuffed out, wasn’t the wind. Anji wiped at her nose with her uninjured hand, breath held and ears strained. Rasping breaths issued under the groaning of the wood and tile roof above. A rhythmic sort of chant, almost, though she couldn’t discern any words being said. She sat up straighter, nursing her wound, and leaned away from the cold brick.

In the dim starlight seeping through the cathedral’s cracked facade, she could make out two shapes. They writhed together, pale torsos moving in unison, and with every bucking, jerking motion, Anji heard another of those hushed intakes of air.

The Bear was perched on her hands and knees, her bare ass to the Goat straddled behind her, the pale stretch of his back like the belly of a lizard. The Goat slammed into the Bear, silver scars shining, the muscles under his skin contracting with every shove forward. Their grunts and gasps echoed off the metal masks still tied tight, the only bits of clothing they hadn’t shed.

Anji shifted, trying her best to keep silent, though she thought she could have made a decent amount of noise and not disturbed the two fucking at the altar. She instead watched with fascination, her jaw open, the hazy hope of escape just flickering back to life, when strong fingers grasped her shoulder.

Chapter 23

23

The Hawk crouched at Anji’s back, a finger raised to the gleaming mask where her mouth would be.

Anji’s lip trembled, her mouth working to say … something, anything. A jumbled explosion of feeling swelled in her chest at the sight of the slight woman squatting in a pillar of moonlight. Anji tried to speak, but the Hawk held up a hand. Whatever condolence or condescension she may have had for Anji would have to wait, it seemed—she spun on the spot without a word, still crouched, and waved over one shoulder for Anji to follow.

She didn’t make for the giant front doors. Instead, the Hawk led them to a shattered window in the arcade. They crept over broken boards, over the torn and musty carpet and onto the arcade’s stone floor. The Hawk sank deeper into a crouch beneath the window, her fingers woven together in a step. Anji hopped onto the Hawk’s hands and felt herself guided to the lintel. Cracked glass still marred the window’s edge, but Anji thought there was just enough space to slip through without cutting herself. She grasped at the frame with both hands, wincing at the pain flaring from the wound and the slight jingle of her manacles. With a clumsy final lurch, she hoisted herself onto the wide ledge.