Page 142 of A Liar's Twisted Tongue

Again.

I keep reading, page after page of torturous dreams. Starting fires, killing people, burning them from the inside out. Like she did to me.

Then I read about what I saw in her subconscious. The little girl and her mom. Desdemona and Isa, talking about eyes and necklaces and Willow.

“What are you doing?”

I stop, put the notebook down, and when I turn to face Desdemona, there’s a knife in her hand. She steps forward, raising it to no doubt hold to my throat and make empty promises of death.

But she’s a killer. Those empty promises could soon be fulfilled.

She’s my sister’s assailant.

Shadows wrap around her hands, pulling them behind her back and forcing the knife to the floor. Then they crawl up her neck, tightening.

Answers and revenge, getting to the void, the weapon, whatever it is that initially started this rendezvous isn’t nearly as important as taking her out.

She’s dangerous.

“Aibek.” Her head tilts back with the force of my power. “Aibek, stop,” she croaks.

How I’d love to kill her for what she did to Lilac. To Breck and Jermoine. For the havoc she’s wreaked on my life.

For what she did to me.

“I’ll give you one last chance to answer,” I say slowly. Desdemona’s face flushes more by the second. “What were you doing with the moonaro?”

Her jaw clenches. The only part of her body that she can move. I release my shadows, only slightly. “You’re gonna have to kill me,” she breathes. “Because I didn’t do shit, so I don’t have an answer.”

Her mouth opens again, only for a squeak to come out. I step closer, pick up her knife, and hold it to her neck this time.

Her knee connects with my groin. I lose hold on my shadows, only for a second, yet it’s enough for her to grab my shoulders and knee me again, harder this time.

I fall to the ground, and she claws at her neck, her hands unable to grasp the shadows. “I’ll-burn-you-alive,” she chokes and gets on top of me, punching me in the face. Her hits are weak, and she eventually falls, choking.

“Lucian,” she writhes next to me. “Please.”

We both lay on our backs. Her legs kick the floor, the only color in her face is red. I don’t look at her, because I know I’m killing her. But at the last second, I begin to release my shadows, until there is orange. Her glowing eyes lock on mine.

For a split second, I forget where I am, the fight I’m in, and all I can see is her.

Sweat moistens my forehead, and I become keenly aware of the heat pooling in my palms, up my arms, and into my chest. Down my body, into every organ, squeezing them, shriveling them.

Her head tips back, pushing into the floor while my shadows constrict her further, because now the game is this: I have to kill her first.

Desdemona chokes but cannot say anything, and I can’t deny that my blood is moments away from boiling.

We’re going to kill one another.

“Truce,” I choke. I can say nothing more.

Now it is I looking at the ceiling and kicking the floor with a red face.

The burning stops, and my shadows cease. The only noise for a long moment is our ragged breathing. Until, still out of breath, Desdemona says, “I didn’t do shit to your sister.” A breath. “Yeah, the moonaro looked at me. But this is why I lied.” Her head turns to me, sweat beading on her forehead, hair sticking to her face, wisping in her mouth. I almost reach to pull them back. “Because you’re the prince, and I’m from where I’m from.”

Desdemona sits up, leaning over on her knees and breathing. When I sit up, she flinches away. When I do nothing, her head twists to mine, her nostrils flaring.

“Try something,” her voice shakes and her eyes begin to illuminate orange. “I dare you.”

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