“First you try to take her for a blood tithe,” he snarled, pinning Kilroy to the pavement with his knee. “Then you try to buy her off me.” Wrapping his fingers around the man’s throat, he squeezed until he felt something beneath his skin give way—a tendon, perhaps. Maybe his windpipe. Swinging his other fist, he pummeled Kilroy’s temple. “I should kill you just for speaking to her,” Silas spat. “For breathing air that could have graced her lungs. I could skin you and turn your hide into a pair of shoes for her to dance on your bones with.” Blood poured from Kilroy’s face—his nose, his mouth,
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