Page 92 of A Sin So Pure

I pull my hand from Josie’s.

“Do you understand now?”

“Better than before. But, Mo, I’ve never lived for anyone but myself.”

So she doesn’t get it, not really.

“What about Nora?” I ask, tilting my head so my cheek is resting on my knee.

Josie’s brows pinch together. “Nora’s different.”

“How so?”

“We lost our families young and only had each other. We chose to forge a path together. You had a mom and brother to follow,” Josie says plainly.

“But youbothstill followed in Pride’s footsteps.”

“This life is all we’ve ever known. To want anything outside of that…” she trails off. “I don’t think it’s ever crossed Nora’s mind to not climb the ladder of power. For me, it’s a matter of keeping the one sister I have safe. But I know, in here—” She pats over her heart. “I’ve chosen that for myself.”

I chew my lip. “I see.”

“That is all to say,” she says on a final yawn, falling into slumber. “Don’t talk yourself out of happiness, Mo.”

23

NORA

My frustrated growl rips through the air when the fae slumps over in his chair, dead. It’s been days of this bullshit, and I have the bodies to prove it. Seven, in fact, sit as sunken statues in front of me, still chained to their chairs.

Wrath’s lackeys take them away every night, replacing them with fresh faces each morning. They’ve all blurred together—the men and women, the clawlike nails and bared teeth, the curses spat onto my skin as I grip their pulses and squeeze.

My fingers press divots into my own cheeks, circling the hinge-point of my jaw. It does little to stave the ache radiating there or the one in my chest.

My magic is writhing and impatient, turned bitter by our asynchrony. It doesn’t know how to do what I ask of it, nor do I know how to guide it.

“I don’t expect you to get it on the first try.” Silas shrugs.

“It’s well past the first try,” I snap.

Five days of me trying—andfailing—and Silas has sat in the same chair the entire time, watching all my mistakes. He’s so nonchalant, straddling the backwards chair and leaning his chin on his crossed forearms.

“Try the last one, and then we’ll take a break,” he says, unfazed by my frustration.

“Fine,” I say, voice rough as gravel.

I plant my hands on my hips and close my eyes.

Taking in a deep breath, I coax my magic to the surface. It’s a snake coiled tight in my gut, refusing my summons.

Please.

It’s been a one-sided battle with myself.

I take another breath. In through the nose, hold for a count of four, then out through the mouth.

If I focus hard enough, dig out the root of the issue, then I can unearth the solution. Tackle it the same as any other problem in my life.

I can fix this.

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