Page 78 of Cruel Devotion

I put my focus on my sister. “A Mountain Master does not spend his time ordering soup ingredients for a feast, Yan. You would know that if you could ever sit on the throne.”

Hu paused from eating as if unsure if he may have to battle.

Duck snickered.

Chen's face went red.

Silent, Monique glanced from her to me.

Meanwhile, Yan appeared ready to explode into bloody violence.

I leaned back in my throne and raised an eyebrow at Yan. “Why are you here?”

“Did you not miss me, dear brother?”

“I did not.”

“Chanel is dead.” The words slithered from Yan's lips like poison and a grotesque smile contorted her face. “I heard she didn't have it easy.”

Every word was like a knife, each syllable crafted to twist deeper into me.

“From the whispers I caught, Father was particularly. . . inventive.” Yan sneered. “So much blood.”

One of her men whistled.

“So much so that she could write her name with it. So much.” She shook her head. “Profuse amounts and streaming, like a gutted animal in a slaughterhouse.”

I swallowed down pain.

With an air of perverse celebration, Yan raised her champagne glass high. “Here's to Chanel, and all other evil creatures led to the slaughter.”

Off in the dark sky, a crow cawed.

Yan's men, always eager to curry her favor, quickly joined her grotesque toast.

Around the table an icy silence spread that contrasted sharply with the hum of conversations of the other guests clinking of glasses and their joyous laughter.

Inside me, a demonic blizzard raged, threatening to erupt. It wasn't a poetic or noble anger. It was raw, visceral. A primordial urge to protect, to avenge.

My fingers twitched, itching for the cold grip of my blade.

I lowered my hand under the table.

Yan caught the movement and set her glass down on the table.

I unsnapped the leather binding, keeping my sword in place.

Yan lifted the side of her lip as if begging me to start the violence.

In my head, the image of striking her, drawing just a trickle of her blood in retribution, became an overpowering thought.

The noise around us dimmed.

Only the crow's cawing could be heard as I began to grip the sword's handle.

I might as well. What's one more family member's death for this week?

But then, something soft, warm, intruded upon my dark intentions.

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