Page 4 of Dirty Little Saint

I clasp my neck as my freshly carved sigil starts to burn. The stench of hemlock thickens, and I can barely breathe. “Fuck.”

“You’ll get used to it,” Valentin quips.

His body is rigid, his tone icy. If I didn’t already know him, I’d be downright terrified. “Get used to parts of my flesh randomly catching on fire? No, I don’t think so.”

Atlas kneads his fingers deeper into my muscles. “Pain reminds us we’re alive, Maur. It connects us. Here, dab this on your neck and thigh.”

I take the vial of poison from him and nearly pass out from the scent. “What the fuck is this?”

“Nightshade. It will temporarily deaden the nerves around your sigils.” Even Atlas’s tone is darker than usual. He’s usually the most cheerful of the three. I guess no one is safe from the ominous vibes of Riot’s family home. I can’t believe anyone grew up here. But it’s starting to make more sense as to why he is the way he is. I imagine hell would feel more welcoming than this place.

The ravens squawk alongside the car, bound to us by an unseen cord. Their power over us has weakened, but it still hangs by a delicate thread. Valentin says that once I get more sigils, we’ll be able to overtake them completely. But the curse my family has placed on Nocturnus still clings to our souls like a whisper.

It’s the middle of the day, but the darkness hanging over this property threatens to engulf us. Through the beam of the headlights, particles of dirt and dust swirl in the wind. Dead leaves rustle and crunch under the tires as we race toward the house. I’m on edge as we finally cross the long stretch and pull into the front drive, not knowing what we’re about to face.

Two gargoyles perch atop the large stone fountain in the center. I shiver under their glare. “Well, that’s not creepy at all,” I snicker.

Riot sighs before sliding out from the back seat. He stalks around the car to open my door for me, offering me his hand. “My father has a tendency for drama. But it’s not all smoke and mirrors. Don’t ever let your guard down here.”

I swallow hard, nodding as I slip my fingers inside his. An instant surge of heat transfers between us. Ever since they marked me, our connection has grown stronger. Every touch drives me wild with lust and ache. But it also pushes me further down into the darkness that surrounds them. It’s like having invisible hands around my neck, their grip firm, reminding me they could crush my lungs at any moment. Or send me into the most primal state of pleasure that I’ve ever felt. It’s divine torture. A constant state of pain and ecstasy.

There’s an electricity in the air as the four of us approach the monstrous house. Every inch of it is cold, made of stone and iron with barred windows, covered in emerald-green ivy—the only pop of color that I can see. It hugs the walls, plastered to it like it’s been there for a thousand years.

I don’t let go of Riot’s hand when the door swings open. A pale old man in a crisp black suit glares back at us. His eyes harden even more when they land on me.

“Romulus,” Riot greets him, his tone devoid of any emotion.

“Mr. Graves,” he replies. “You are looking well.”

“Call me Riot, old man. Mr. Graves is my father.”

The tension thickens, and I don’t even realize I’m holding my breath until I feel Atlas’s hand on my lower back. I exhale and lick my lips, willing moisture back into my mouth. I look past Romulus to see a tiny woman leaning on a cane in the foyer. Her blonde hair is cropped short and styled in finger waves like the flapper girls of the 1920s. She wears a plain black dress and black pumps, elegant but as cold as this house.

Romulus steps aside and motions for us to come in. “Mr. Graves is occupied at the moment. He’ll join all of you in the library for cocktails before dinner. Do not be late.”

Riot snorts. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” He pulls me into the foyer, coming face-to-face with the woman. “Mother.”

She’s a pretty woman with very few wrinkles on her pale face. But it’s the absence of joy in her eyes that makes her look aged and hardened. Like someone snuffed the light out of her.

“Welcome home.” Her voice matches her blank expression. She turns to the rest of us and forces a tightlipped smile. “Atlas, Valentin. How is Tenebrose treating you?”

Valentin snickers. “I’m sure you—”

“Fine,” Atlas cuts him off, giving him a warning look. “Everything is fine at Tenebrose, Mrs. Graves.”

Riot’s grip on my hand tightens when his mother’s gaze locks onto me. “This is Maureen. I expect she will be welcome here.”

She sticks her free hand toward me. “Clover Graves. Nice to meet you, Miss Blackwell.”

My stomach turns. She cannot mask the disappointment in her voice. “Thank you for having me. You have a lovely home.”

Clover Graves smirks at Riot. “Your father wants to speak with you. Alone. He’s waiting for you in his office. The rest of you know where your rooms are. Go clean up and meet us in the library in an hour.”

Riot clenches his jaw. “Whatever you say, Mother.” He lets go of my hand, and I almost snatch it back. There is nothing tethering me to this house but him.

I start to follow Atlas and Valentin up the stairs when Mrs. Graves sticks her cane out to block my path. “Not you. This is a house of decency. You will not be staying with the boys. I have prepared you your own room.”

My stomach sinks even deeper. Fuck. I understand respecting their rules, but I’m not a fucking child. Does she even know I’m with all three of them? She’s looking at me like she thinks I’m the biggest joke she’s ever laid eyes on.

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