Page 24 of A Sin So Pure

I hold back a bitter laugh. It’s comical, actually. I’ve been a mess all morning over Nora not giving me more of her heart, yet here I am about to report about her to Silas.

The hypocrisy is not lost on me. Guilt swells in my gut as a result.

I lick my dry lips, contemplating if I can keep what I found this morning as it is and should be: a secret.

“You’re hesitating. I thought we’ve been over this, Lust,” Silas says. His head turns to Leo’s closed office door. “You have such little family left. It’d be a shame to lose more of it because of a little guilt.”

“You’d kill him here? Right in front of me?” I seethe. It’s the first time I’ve tried to call his bluff, the roiling emotions in my belly fueling the words.

His lips twitch. He’s holding back a laugh.

“No. But accidents occur all the time. Your mother and brother, for example,” he says. “When you upset the wrong people, things happen.”

My throat tightens. I know that Silas wasn’t the one who caused the crash that killed my family and Leo’s mom, but the principle is the same.

My eyes flick to the backbar on instinct. But his eyes follow, and a smile curves his lips.

He knows he’s got me.

I curse internally, shoulders sagging as I push up from the table.

“Give me a second.”

Am I a coward to give in so easily? Maybe. But I can’t stomach the alternative.

I hate myself for it.

Silas watches me, his irises are twin black voids tracking every step as I grab the bottle from the liquor shelf.

“There’s nothing new that you don’t already know,” I say, glancing away from his intense stare as I place the bottle on the table. “Except for this.”

“What is it?”

“I don’t know.”

Silas scoffs, as if annoyed that I’m telling the truth.

“There’s a crest on the bottom,” I say begrudgingly.

He flips the bottle, tracing over the imprint of the Seelie wings, a hum sounding from his closed lips. Then, he turns the bottle upright, pops the cork, and sniffs—though he isn’t nearly as affected by the smell as I was.

“Interesting,” he murmurs.

He dips his finger in, coating the tip in the amber liquid, and lifts it to his mouth. He smacks his lips while staring narrow-eyed at the bottle. Then, he grabs my glass of wine, throwing it back.

His face sours.

“That is far too sweet for my liking,” he says, pointing to my empty wine glass. Then he points to the tonic. “And that has a terrible aftertaste.”

I have no idea how to react to that; I blink at him with a slack jaw.

He’s insane.That could’ve been poison.

“Stop looking at me like that. It’s just a healing tonic.”

I snap my jaw shut.

How does he know that?

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