Page 124 of Break Her Heart
Lavina sat at her dressing table, brushing her hair. The moment the door opened, her gaze caught Bronwen’s in the mirror.
“Does Carrow know his pet is out?” she mocked.
Bronwen didn’t answer.
Lavina turned, the brush slipping from her fingers and clattering to the floor as her eyes dropped lower.
“What did you do?” Her voice was tight with disbelief.
Bronwen followed her gaze.
Carrow’s heart pulsed in her palm—slow, sluggish beats that hadn’t quite stopped. She didn’t even remember bringing it with her. She didn’t remembernotbringing it either.
Lavina stood abruptly, panic flickering in her eyes, but she was too slow.
Bronwen was already there, closing the distance with predatory speed. Her hand drove into Lavina’s chest with a wet crack, twisting deep until her breath rattled and her skin turned a sickly shade of gray. Lavina’s mouth opened in a soundless cry,eyes wide with horror as her knees buckled. Bronwen shoved her back, letting her crumple lifelessly to the floor.
A rustle broke the silence from the bed. Simon stirred beneath the tangled sheets, unaware. Disgust burned through Bronwen as she took in the sight—of course he was here, with her. It made too much sense. The bile rose in her throat at the thought of their intimacy, but she refused to let it slow her. She crossed the room in a heartbeat, looming over the bed. He blinked awake just in time to see her shadow fall across him, confusion etched across his face. It was the last thing he saw before she drove her hand down, ending him before he could even scream.
Bronwen looked down at the torn slip she still wore, crusted with dried blood and things she didn’t want to name. A ripple of distaste passed through her—not shame, not now, but something close to awareness. The thin fabric clung uncomfortably to her skin, stiff with what it carried, and she felt the weight of it as though it were chains.
She raised her gaze, teeth pressing into her lip. The heart in her fist pulsed sluggishly, and she could feel its rhythm against her palm, as if it mocked her.
She turned from the bed and walked toward Lavina’s armoire, pulling it open with one hand while the other still clutched the heart. The heavy doors groaned, revealing rows of indulgences.
Silks, velvets, lace. She’d always had expensive taste. Bronwen thumbed through the garments until she found something beautiful—dramatic and dark, something fit for a queen. She pulled it free and held it up against herself, the fabric rich and heavy compared to the ruined slip. She slipped it on, the fabric whispering against her skin, smoothing over her shoulders as if claiming her. For a moment, she simply stoodthere, breathing, feeling the change in herself as much as in the gown.
Then she turned to the mirror.
Red eyes stared back at her. She let out a laugh—something that sounded strangely familiar.
She didn’t flinch.
Her hand lifted almost lazily, smoothing her hair as if nothing about this moment were extraordinary, tucking a stray strand behind her ear with deliberate calm. The gesture felt mocking, defiant.
She stepped back out into the corridor, shoulders squared, breath steady, vision sharp as glass. Carrow’s—no,August’s—heart was still beating softly in her grasp, its sluggish rhythm a quiet reminder of what she had done, and what she would never return from.
A gasp broke the silence.
A servant stood at the end of the hall, a tray trembling in her hands, her eyes wide with horror. She turned to run.
But instinct surged faster than thought.
Bronwen was on her in a blink, knocking the tray to the ground as she pinned her to the wall. Her scent wrapped around Bronwen—sweet, ripe, alive. The pulse in her throat beat like a drum, calling to the monster that had rooted itself deep inside Bronwen.
Her teeth sank into her neck, and everything else disappeared.
The first taste was fire and silk—warmth that spread like sunlight through frozen veins. It filled her, lit her from the inside, chased away the lingering cold of death. The shock of it nearly made her knees buckle, a desperate sound rumbling from her throat as if she couldn’t get enough fast enough.
The servant writhed for only a second before falling still.
Bronwen drank deeply, each swallow flooding her with power, every drop stitching together the pieces of herself she thought she had lost.
When she finally tore her mouth away, the servant’s body slumped heavily in her arms. She lowered her to the floor almost tenderly, though her hands still trembled. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, smearing blood across her lips. The copper tang lingered on her tongue, rich and sweet, making her shiver.
It was intoxicating. It waseverything.
She was no longer a witch forced to borrow scraps of power. Now, she was something far greater.
