Page 95 of The Devil's Canvas

“It’s fine,” she says—but it isn’t. “Most people think fire. But I remember the rope. The cold. The silence. I’d stopped screaming by then.”

“You weren’t dying,” Liora says, glass clicking against the table. “You were surrendering.”

Selene doesn’t look at her. “Same thing when no one’s coming.”

“But someone did,” I say, glancing at Theron.

“I felt it the second I entered the town,” Theron says. “The bond was already awake.”

“I didn’t even see him,” Selene says. “The Mark burned into me before the door opened. I thought I was hallucinating.”

“She clawed her chest open,” Theron adds, voice low. “Tried to rip it off her skin.”

“He tore through the courthouse,” Selene finishes, voice suddenly bright with bite. “Lit up the sky. Dragged me through the fire like a myth no one was ready for.”

“They thought the Devil had come for her,” Liora says.

“They weren’t entirely wrong,” Selene says, her smile thin. “Especially now that I’m the one who gets to hang the souls of the men who did the hanging.”

The room stills.

“How old were you?” I ask quietly.

“Twenty.”

“So you were born in...”

“Sixteen seventy-two,” she says, grinning like she’s been waiting for me to ask.

“You’re older than Liora?”

“Don’t sound so surprised,” she says, throwing a look at Liora.

“She’s older,” Liora concedes. “Just less refined.”

“I survived a Puritan noose,” Selene says. “You survived corsets and powdered wigs. We all have our struggles.”

“I wore the wigs beautifully.”

Julian leans in again. “Feeling normal yet?”

“She dodged the noose and wound up immortal,” I mutter. “I trip on a cobblestones and spiral.”

Theron chuckles. Liora sips her wine. Selene smirks.

“Welcome to the family,” Theron says.

“Now we must discuss the Infernal Union,” Selene says, as casually as if she were suggesting afternoon tea.

“The first of my boys to have one. How exciting!” Liora claps her hands, already radiating the energy of someone planning florals that breathe fire.

Julian groans and drags a hand down his face. “Gods, here we go.”

“You didn’t tell me about this,” I say, rounding on him. “You gave me the soul-claim breakdown, the burning, the cravings—but you left out the part where we have a wedding?”

“It’s not really a wedding,” he mutters.

“Oh, it’sbasicallya wedding, dear,” Liora cuts in, waving a perfectly manicured hand like the matter is settled. “Men never understand the ceremonial gravity of these things. That’s why we don’t let them plan them.”

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