Page 33 of Devour the Dark

Once the dinnerplates are cleared, and the others indulge in the dessert course, I saunter away from the room feeling disgruntled and still hungry despite the mountain of food I took down.

I open the door to the portside deck and the sea breeze wends in, tossing my hair in my face.

I rake it back as I head into the wind and find a folding deck chair open at the railing.

I sit and watch the stars move past.

This ship is faster than the Captain’s. We’ll be to Darkland in no time at all.

The thought makes my head pound.

Leaning back, boot propped on the deck railing, I close my eyes and revel in the cool saltiness of the ocean air.

“Here.”

I open my eyes. I didn’t even hear Vane approach.

There’s a wine glass in his hand, a swallow of blood pooling in the bottom.

“Dear brother, you shouldn’t have.”

“Take the fucking blood, Roc.”

I lose control of my monster and suddenly everyone is bossing me around.

The blood sloshes when I snatch the glass from Vane, then drink it down in one gulp. His blood has the bitterness of shadow but the sweet warmth of our monster. I never stopped to question whether or not more power—power from the Neverland Dark Shadow—would be another mistake made. I don’t have any room for hesitancy. Not now.

Vane drops into the chair beside me and folds his hands over his middle. “They’re going to find out eventually.”

“I know that.”

“Asha is…”

“Something else.”

Vane laughs. “She might be the most intuitive, intelligent person I’ve ever met.”

“She’s trouble.”

He laughs again and looks over at me. “Are you scared of her?”

“Slightly.” I smile. “Don’t tell.”

The silence stretches another moment.

“Did you scrub your existence from the archives?”

It’s dark out here on the deck. We’re sailing into midnight and only a glass lantern glows further down the deck. But even in the darkness, I can make out my brother’s face. We have the same Maddred jawline, sharp and arrogant, the same noble nose that we inherited from our mother, the same dark brow. But his face is marred by scars. Mine is as handsome as ever.

When I don’t answer him directly, he finds the answer himself. “Why?” he asks.

“I didn’t want to be defined by what we are. I wanted to be defined by who I actually am.”

“We are the monster and the monster is us. There is no separation between the two.”

“Isn’t there? You haven’t shifted in years. You’re less and less monster every day.”

He snorts. “I still feel it sometimes slinking beneath the surface. Some days, I wake up dreaming of blood.”

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