Page 3 of A Sin So Pure

I wasn’t going to be that any longer.

Reaching across Pride’s chest, I grab his hand. He tries to pull away, but I hold on to it tightly. He’s not strong enough to fight.

It’s softer than I thought it would be. I took my gloves off earlier as I had pondered this moment, wondering how they’d feel under my fingertips. He’s played the role of father for two decades, but I’ve never once held Pride’s hand.

I run my thumb over his knuckles; the clammy skin is pulled taught over his bones, nearly translucent over his protruding veins, and somehow paler than my alabaster skin.

Pride’s body has gone tense. His breathing quickens with each passing second of silence.

I lean forward.

“For what it’s worth, I don’t enjoy seeing you like this,” I say.

“I doubt that,” he growls.

“No.” I hum, pursing my lips. “I wouldn’t say joy is the correct emotion to describe what I’m experiencing right now. It’s something softer than that. Is this what being content feels like?”

Pride surges forward with what little strength he has left. “One day, they will realize?—”

“No, no,” I tut, quickly clamping my free hand over his mouth. “You don’t get to talk anymore.”

I meet Pride’s furious gaze with my own determined one. Nails dig into my wrist as he tries to push me away, but it’s a fruitless effort. His muffled protests vibrate against my palm, and I wonder if he has any regret, staring into the emerald eyes of the girl he raised.

“They will realize I amexactlywhat they need.”

There’s a knowing—an inevitability to this moment. It never mattered how long it took; we would always end up here. It was simply a matter ofwhen.

“I’m going to build a better Anwynn for our House. And I will be so much better than you,” I promise, more to myself than to him.

I call upon my magic. It bubbles to the surface of my skin and eagerly flows from my fingertips into Pride. It seeps through hisskin and into his blood. An invisible serpent, it slides through his veins at my discretion, taking its time on its journey to his heart. Veins and arteries clog and collapse in on themselves in its wake. And when my magic reaches his heart, it squeezes.

The organ falters.

It’s a quick death, in the end.

His last breath catches on itself; it’s not quite a gasp, but a stutter—the grinding of rusted gears coming to a halt.

Warmth slides over me, raising gooseflesh on my arms as I bask in my magic’s satisfied hum.

I release Pride’s hand; it lands with a dull thud against his chest. My own breath catches on my inhale, but on the exhale, relief sinks my shoulders. Closing my eyes and tilting my head to the ceiling, I let the sound of the storm wash away all my thoughts except for one.

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow I’ll be Pride of the Unseelie.

2

NORA

PRESENT DAY

The Human Realm is dull compared to Faerie; the vibrant autumn leaves are leeched to a mulled brown in the moonlight.

My hair whips around my face as we drive through the empty city streets. The open window lets the wind rush around us, carrying the acrid scents of automobile exhaust and hot garbage on its back. I breathe it all in, a smile toying at my lips—though I can’t say the same for Wesley at my left.

His nose is scrunched in disgust, and his olive-toned hands are white-knuckled around the steering wheel as he navigates us to the meeting point.

It’s notallthat different from Faerie—at leastourside of it. We can never quite paint a clear picture of what the Seelie do with their carved-out portion of the land.

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