Page 2 of Tales of a Deadly Devotion
I nodded reluctantly, ignoring the fear that clung to the paleness of his skin as he bit his lip and avoided my gaze. It was an unease I’d seen before, one that chased away my grief and replaced it with sharp annoyance.
‘They’re fighting again, aren’t they?’ I demanded, gaining my answer from the boy’s small flinch.
Bastards.
‘Alma—’ He tried to call after me but I was already moving. Crossing the room and pulling at the cuffs of my dress in irritation. Ignoring the dark spots that danced in my vision, how my exhausted limbs protested with sharp shooting aches, like bony fingers prodding my muscles. Allowing anger to chase all other emotions away. As I’d always done.
The claws at my fingertips burnt as they lengthened, and I stepped into the darkness of the hallway, moving for the stairs. My steps only faltered as I caught sight of myself in a speckled mirror, almost hidden behind bunches of dried herbs.
A simple, tired girl with strange eyes looked back. Dull, dark curls sitting limply against wan cheeks, sharp green eyes filled with sorrow and deep bruise-like shadows beneath.
‘You always were self-destructive, Emrys, but this is taking it to another level!’
The voice echoed off the tiled floor in the hallway below, making my hand tighten on the banister before I moved down the stairs, ignoring the mocking glint in Lady Blackthorn’s eyes as I passed her portrait.
‘Of all the creatures you had to be entangled with – aKysillian? I don’t think there is a being on this earth the darkness wants to kill more viciously!’
‘That’s enough, Gideon,’ came the terse tones of Blackthorn. The depths of the anger pressed into those words made a coldness streak down my spine. The lamps in the hall dimmed as if afraid of being noticed.
Then came the sharp, unamused and clearly deranged laugh from Gideon Swift, the rumoured Blackthorn bastard. The greatest healer of our time, and a dead man, if the Council records were correct.
What surprised me most about Gideon Swift wasn’t that he was alive. It also wasn’t that he was drunk or reeking of poppy smoke when Emrys dragged him rain-soaked through the portal days ago, forcing a cleansing tonic down his throat until he choked and vomited all over the entryway, much to poor William’s horror.
No, it was just how he looked absolutely nothing like Blackthorn – golden unkempt hair that fell onto his brow. A handsome, serious face. An intimidating nature to his height but not holding any of Blackthorn’s brawn.
The opposite side of a mysterious coin to the dark imposing form of Emrys.
No, Gideon Swift was the exact image of the portrait over the stairs behind me. The look of a witch.
Be wary of the witch. The children’s rhyme came to mock me as I moved to the study doorway, curling my fingers around the weathered wood frame. The study had stayed in place right by the stairs since Emrys had brought Kat back.
It was a nightmare I couldn’t unsee. The smoky copper scent of Kat’s blood – the drip as it hit the carpet. The wrongness of Blackthorn’s own scent. Different from before.
Then I’d seen that darkness curl beneath his skin. The pitch-black of his eyes that set off every instinct in me.
Verr.
My claws throbbed sharply with the memory. How easily they’d buried into his flesh. How my fangs had pierced my tongue with my scream. The taste of my own forsaken blood filling my mouth as I’d lunged for Emrys’ throat. For what he’d done to her.
Alma, stop!
The high-pitched scream of William. The stickiness of Blackthorn’s blood between my fingers as I went for my kill. Ruthlessly.
The bastard hadn’t even tried to stop me. As if he saw it a fitting punishment.
Alma!
William’s cries haunted me most of all. The desperation as he’d pressed himself into the space between us.
Emrys had reached for him to pull him away, but William had spread his arms wide. The boy’s pale cheeks chapped with his tears, wide eyes begging.
Then in a blink I wasn’t looking at William. I was looking at the small form of Kat. How she’d stood over me once. In nothing but her thin nightgown. How she’d taken the most brutal blows for it.
I’ll keep you safe.
I shuddered at the memory. Forcing myself back to the present. To the feel of the smooth wood of the study doorway beneath my palm.
The room beyond was the same disaster it had always been. Too many books and papers. No sense of any order. The only thing that had changed were the occupants.
