Page 70 of Lovely Violent Things

A growl resounds from deep within the base of his chest before he flings Devyn aside. She reels unsteadily, the priestess righting herself to stagger to her feet. She doesn’t glance back as she flees the scene.

My sight fading, I track Devyn to the entrance of the cave, waiting until she crosses into the night to let my head drop to the earth.

Then I plead for unconsciousness to claim me.

The arms of death surround my body, and I fold into his solid embrace. He carries me through the dark cavity of the cave, descending deeper into the darkness. As my eyes adjust to the absence of firelight, I make out a string of white lights ahead.

A stark realization washes over me, bringing a dose of reality. We’re not inside a cave at all.

Track lighting runs along the ceiling. Guide beams line the walls, and below, rail lines run along the ground of the tunnel of a mine shaft.

A layer of lucidity breaks through, freeing my mind a measure from the hypnotic coursing my system.

I reach up and touch Kallum’s face, trace the outlined hollows of the skull. Feeling the dried blood. The monster that feeds off my pain, my personified daemon, presented as the killer I’ve obsessively hunted.

“The villain becomes a hero,” I say, my voice weak.

His arresting eyes find mine and he looks into me, his smoldering, breathtaking smile an unbearable ache clutching my heart. “Sweetness, I’m your goddamn devil.”

16

CHAOIST

KALLUM

Candlelight awakens the dark shadows of the mansion library. After I light the last pillar candle on the mantle, I drop the match to the kindling in the fireplace.

The weak flame threatens to extinguish, but just as the blue ribbon of flame snuffs out, the kindling catches fire. The cracklingpopof tinder summons an image of the blazing ritual circle to the forefront of my thoughts, and I lower my gaze to Halen.

She sits before the giant brick hearth, her knees drawn to her chest. A threadbare blanket drapes her shoulders. A glass of water is clutched in her hand. Her gaze is fixed on the wispy flames, yet her eyes are vacant, unseeing.

I’d say she’s in shock if I didn’t know that she’s endured far worse.

I stoop beside her and remove the glass from her hand. Wordlessly and without protest, she allows me to link her arm around my neck. I then lift her into my arms, and her body curls easily against my chest, unconcerned by the caked blood as I carry her into the bathroom.

“I’m loath to leave the one room that’s uncluttered,” I say, “but since forensics processed the house, I trust it’s mostly sanitary.”

“It doesn’t bother me.” Her tone is borderline apathetic.

I’m reluctant to uncurl my arms from around her blanketed body. However, she’s wounded and needs treatment. What occupies her thoughts isn’t shock or apathy, her injuries, or even the remnant of the drug in her system. It’s the woman she set free.

There was a choice to be made before I brought her here. Whether to go straight to town and announce Devyn as the perpetrator.

“There’s no urgency,” Halen had said. “I came here to solve a mystery, and that mystery is solved. Soon as I make a report, they’re going after Devyn.”

The heavy confliction I still sense inside her is a battle she needs time to wage.

How do you measure good and evil?

Devyn was her friend, someone she trusted. Alister serves justice, an authority figure to respect.

I’m the fiend who seduces and corrupts.

With less than three hours till sunrise, I brought her instead to a place where she could hear her thoughts. She needs to assess the line between good and bad, right and wrong—or draw her own.

I place her on the vanity stool in the center of the marble room, leaving her only long enough to collect the supplies. One good thing about a hoarder’s house? It has more than one needs.

As I set a candle on the vanity top, she says, “You discovered the mine shaft the first day we were here.” Not quite an accusation.

---