Page 91 of A Sin So Pure

“There are some things out of your control,” I say. “You and Nora are doing the best you can, given the circumstances.”

“Nora’s on her own warpath,” Josie sighs. Her lashes flutter, slow and heavy. “And this Virtue knocking at our door? He’s not a good man, Imogen.”

“Is any man good?” I joke, but she doesn’t laugh.

“You know they’re planning to kill him, right?” Josie asks, yawning.

My body goes still.

“What?”

“That’s why she and Silas are off training together,” she mumbles. “Two orphans set on hunting their fucked-up uncle.”

Josie rolls over, head tilted up on the pillow, her eyes closed.

“Wait,” I say, my mind still catching up to her words. “They want to kill a Virtue?”

Silas cut off contact with the Seelie years ago. How the hell are they going to kill a Virtue who lives in Avalon?

“Revenge is a sin so sweet they can’t help but want a taste,” Josie says, yawning for a third time. “And I don’t know. I imagine they’re figuring out how to do it as we speak.”

Shit.

I didn’t realize I was projecting my thoughts out to her. There’s just something about having Josie in my space that has my guard dropping.

Her eyes open, and those deep brown irises, as wise as the earth, stare right through me.

“So, what’s the deal with you and Leo?”

I shake my head, jerking away from Josie’s gaze at the change in subject. I pull my legs to my chest, resting my chin on my knees, the thick fabric of my work trousers scraping against my skin.

“The past couple of weeks kind of put things in perspective,” I say. My right hand fiddles with the tasseled hem of the blanket. “What Silas had me do, what everyone expects of me as Lust? It’s different from what I thought it’d be.”

It’s a much crueler reality than I expected.

Josie hums. I spare a quick glance and note she’s closed her eyes again.

“Are you thinking about passing on the title?” she asks.

“It feels like the right decision. But I’m worried about what everyone will think.” I purse my lips. “Do you think we learn to live our lives for those we love and, on the way, forget to live them for ourselves?”

“I don’t know if I understand…”

“It might be easier to show you,” I say, holding out my hand.

Her eyes open, the deep brown swirling with shock.

She might have poked through my memories when I needed to explain the shit with Silas, but it’s not something you make a habit of—offering your mind to someone.

“Okay,” she says.

Her nimble fingers thread between mine; her warm palm heats my cold one as they press together.

I show her every doubt I’ve had. I show her the hundred times Conor reminded me that I was next in line after him. I show her how hesitant my mother was when I brought up the idea of the Den and how proud she was after Conor explained what the bar could do for our House. I show her how little I cried for my mother when she died. And how I could bottle all the tears I shed for my brother.

Her passing didn’t hurt nearly as much as his. I’d been brought up to equate my mother’s death with Conor’s ascension. Her death always meant his dream would be realized.

But they both died in that crash, and I alone remained to pick up the pieces they left behind. I was twenty-five and forced to make an impossible decision while I grieved: take up my family’s legacy, mybrother’sdream, or leave it for the vultures to devour.

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