“They’re coming!” I yelled as I reached him, not breaking stride.

“I know, they’re following you on the rooftops, three or four of them,” Dane said. Pushing me in front of him, protecting me with his body, he threw open the door and shoved me inside. “Give me your daggers,” he said, holding out his hand, and I passed them to him before collapsing against the counter, winded. He stood out in the middle of the street for a minute, scanning upward in all directions, both knives ready to throw, before coming back inside, and I realized he was soaked, his white dress shirt nearly transparent from the rain, every muscle of his chest and stomach clearly visible. To my surprise, he grabbed me and held me tightly against him for a moment, his hand gripping the back of my hair.


From Chapter 6 of The Unseeing, first draft.