Page 29 of Death Comes for Her
“And your cunt tastes divine when you come like a pretty little whore for me.” With a final victorious sneer, he tore his hand free, turned on his heel, and stalked back into the darkness of the manor.
Chapter 10
‘Vulgar’ Simon had called me in the library. That word barely encapsulated the weight of everything he’d uttered against my skin on the roof. Despite my rage at him getting the upper hand during that encounter, I’d returned to the roof every morning in the days following. He didn’t accost me again, giving me time to revel in the height and feeling of cold air flowing over my skin to start my day.
I ended my days in the library, careful to avoid the hall housing Dante’s office. The potential to see Mother’s wings again both filled me with longing and dread. I desired to sneak into the undead bastard’s office and steal back my father’s dagger, but I lacked the constitution to see them again quite yet. Her wings were a reminder of everyone and everything I’d ever lost.
Plus, running into Dante in that imagined scenario never worked out in my favor. My previous encounters with the Ambrose lords left me unsettled and wholly adrift in the sea of my reality. The two vampires weren’t anything like what I’d feared. There were startlingly human aspects to them that struck me cold.
But they were monsters, not men. The Ambrose clan had wiped out my family, my kingdom, my entire people. Gods, they’d stolen the very sun from the sky.
That didn’t stop the unwanted swooping behind my navel when I thought of them, and thoughts of them frequently plagued me—like an illness of the mind.
With deceptive hands, I longed to reach for them, because there was something haunting yet enticing about touching something monstrous and doing so gently. It defied my instinctive fear and revulsion for their kind, knowing that some part of me clawed against my ribs to escape with the intent to risk sharp teeth in the hopes of something brutal and delicate.
I was the gods’ favorite cosmic joke. Their suffering lost lamb to be devoured by their cruelest creations. Surely, they lavished and laughed at my suffering and the battle of my revolting wants.
Fuck—what did I want?
My mind raced.
I wanted Simon to split me open, to dig his fingers into my hips and lave his tongue through me—through the gaping chasm of my empty chest cavity. I wanted him to crack my ribs apart and lick my fucking heart.
I wanted Dante to tear out my throat, to break my bones and suck out their golden marrow. I needed to be devoured by him as badly as I needed those burly arms to hold the broken pieces of me together, even as he shattered my soul.
And I was beginning to think they wanted the same of me. It was there, haunting every shared glance, every chance look where our eyes locked. An unspoken dance the three of us had toed around for several weeks. Those desires existed, singing softly in every bite, every touch, every movement—and every vicious smile.
Gods-dammit.
Crim stayed hidden under my bed well past the lunch hour. Excited chatter of the vampire staff all through the first floor of the manor kept me contained to my floor for the remainderof the day. The gleam in Imani’s eyes showed her interest in speaking of what had the manor in a frenzy.
I stubbornly did not ask, and my niggling curiosity hated me for it.
Strategically avoiding the vampires, I’d removed myself to one of the lounges down the hall from my room. It had large windows facing the swollen, red moon and an array of velvet tufted couches facing an intricately carved marble fireplace. Under the fading crimson light streaking through the windows, I curled up with a book intent on getting lost in the thrill of seeking knowledge.
Unfortunately for me, my thoughts had a mighty urge to drift. Flickers of conversations drifted through my head, musing if the excitement downstairs stemmed from an impending visit. Imani had stated occasionally that Dante and Simon were expecting their Grandmaker sooner than later.
Dread curdled my stomach and chilled my blood.
Admittedly, however begrudging, my time in Ambrose Manor was grossly acceptable. Borderline… delightful compared to living in a barn. The best few months of my life in the past decade. A visit from Sanctus Ambrose and other vampires had the potential to change everything for the worse.
I’d long dropped the book into my lap, staring blankly into the dark recesses of the empty fireplace. Streaks of ash and soot from fires of ages past stained the inner corners of stone, and I traced the pattern of dead fires with my blank gaze.
Fire was everything.
The sun that Sanctus had consumed. The essence of my blood. The source of power.
Ashes to ashes and dust to dust. From the flames, we are born and to them we return.
Mother’s wings should have been burned when she died. She deserved the last rites all Monarch’s received if their immortallives ended. Her and Father should have been burned together on a pyre looking over the gilded city of the fair folk. And I should have been there to spread their ashes. To watch as their gold dust mingled in the wind, drifting away over the cliffs that mounted the sea.
Dangerous thoughts drew wicked claws down the back of my skull.
The Lords of Ambrose Manor wanted me alive insofar. How much could I get away with before my actions tipped them over the edge?
Fate expected my blood, and perhaps I’d extract a toll in return. I could make something burn…
Voices on the other side of the door startled me upright. My head whipped toward the door as it creaked open. Two figures talking animatedly emerged from the shadowed hallway and stepped under the red light leaking into the room.
