Page 3 of Our Vicious Descent
At this, Elise blinked with surprise. “Last I’d heard, he still had a plan to use reapers as weapons. What’s happened since then?”
“He’s spreading his wealth in the South. Georgia, I think. He got to influence Mayor Arendale here; now he’s off to poison other areas.” Jamie pursed his lips. “You have not heard much at all, have you?”
“Whose fault is that? You don’t let me go anywhere. And I am almost certain your mail is being intercepted because why have I not received anything?” Elise reached for one of the chess pieces scattered across the board on the coffee table and placed it far beyond her map of Harlem. Then she marked it withallegedly, Stephen.
“My mail would not be intercepted because much of it is written in code to protect against exactly that. You should know better. Half of Harlem likely wants you dead.”
“Likely. You don’t even know for certain.” Elise swallowed hard. “She promised she would not tell them I killed Valeriya. There is a chance no one knows it was me.”
Jamie took the newspaper and folded it neatly on top of thechessboard. “No, they definitely want you dead. Many reapers are not great at keeping promises. When you kill the most famous reaper in the world, you have to take precautions. I actually find it funny. So many reapers want to kill you, you have become almostvaluable. I am quite positive reapers would pay to torment you. And you being unable to say her name only proves my theory.”
He was not wrong. The bad blood with Layla had forced Elise to flee to France for five years, and that had been just one newly turned reaper with a deadly grudge. Now, with an ancient reaper who’d had over three hundred years of history to her name dead at Elise’s hands, she might as well have granted herself a death sentence. Layla, on the other hand…she was more an enigma than a danger, but any mentions of her wounded Elise in a way she had not experienced since she had first arrived in Paris all those years ago.
Elise knew her refusal to say Layla’s name was only a matter of superstition and obsessive paranoia. As if speaking her name out loud would further solidify the distance that had grown between them. But Jamie already suspected something was terribly wrong with Elise—she refused to continue to prove him right.
“Me dying would probably be for the best,” Elise murmured. Her eyes grew damp. Three nights of no sleep for fear of giving in to the voices that plagued her nightmares and forced her to walk in the darkness, and yet all she could think about was getting to her sister. Anything to make sure Josi was safe. But she couldn’t do that while she was trapped here, spiraling deeper into her own head.
The gangster spoke with a softer voice. “You can’t help anyoneif you’re dead.”
A low sigh slipped past Elise’s lips as she faced the map again. “I am useless with no one to protect.” She’d had a legacy once, but that was now squandered in the name of believing in something that had turned out to be false. All the damage she had done to her family’s empire could not have been for some reaper who refused to acknowledge her now. It could not have been for nothing.
“Just think about it. With these new shooting skills, you can easily protect your sister,” Jamie said softly.
Elise’s heart stumbled in its rhythm at the mention of Josi. She closed her fingers around the chess piece so hard, it dug into her palm. “If I ever find her.”
3
Layla dreamed of blood again. It spilled over her like rivers, a brutal display of her own violent nature. The flesh she tore into felt real in her hands and beneath her nails. Each scream she pulled from her dying victim sent chills down her spine that only fed into the ravenous beast spurring her forward. It begged her with sharp teeth and venomous claws:More, more, more, more—
She lurched upward out of her sleep and vomited. Or tried to. Layla dry heaved over the side of her bed until her throat ached and a thin stream of blood trickled from her nose. A bitter copper taste filled her mouth, souring every breath she gulped down to settle her system. Already, a winter chill had taken hold of the air blanketing the room, but sweat beaded on her brow and her chest, where a feverish burning had sparked.
Layla pressed her hands to her face and wiped at the dampness. When she pulled them back, she found blood beneath her nails andflaking on her hands. Panic seized her, and a violent tremor passed through her body as she tried to recall the events of last night. But all she could see was the nightmare from minutes ago that still chased her thoughts.
A sharp knock on her bedroom door tore her focus to pieces. “Layla? I’m sorry to bother you, but the old blood you’ve been getting from the butcher is starting to get…old. Honestly, I don’t mind it that much, but the others are refusing to drink it.” Celie’s soft voice floated into her room. She sounded so unsure compared to the older members of the clan, despite being just a few years younger than Layla—only fourteen years old.
“It’s disgusting!” Laure chimed in. A soft struggle sounded against the door, and Layla imagined Celie trying to cover her friend’s mouth with her hand. The thought almost made her smile, as it reminded her of how she and her late friend, Mei, would act when they were younger.
“I know it’s been two months since I joined the clan, but Julius reminded me that it’s tradition to have a first hunt to become fully welcomed. We’re really, really hungry, Layla. I can hunt for us,” Celie said.
The mention of a hunt had Layla’s stomach twisting. Pain descended upon her body like a wild flame, rushing and burning her from the inside out. Her veins pulsed until her hands shook, and with the blood still coating her skin like incriminating gloves, all she could think about was the last person she had seen and threatened. Layla flew from her bed and threw the door open.
Celie and Laure looked at her with wide eyes, both girls goingashen with alarm at the sight of Layla. Ignoring their shock, she brushed past them and left the lair.
***
“I didn’t kill him,” Layla insisted. She hid a sigh of relief when she saw the body.
Jamie kneeled before her, examining the dead man beneath the dock. “At least there’s a body this time. I’ll give you that, Quinn. This is, however, the fourth time you’ve called me out for your little lapses in judgment.”
Layla hissed, “This is not a lapse in judgment.” The lie slipped away from her as swiftly as her confidence in her actions from the previous night. Starvation made her dreams mingle too vividly with her memories nowadays. Seeing the body helped solidify her reality. “Something came out of the water and attacked him.”
“You can’t distinguish between your dreams and reality. You can’t remember whether you killed someone. What else would you call that?” Jamie demanded. After shoving the dead man’s gun into his own belt, Jamie straightened, his gloved hands clenching into fists by his sides. He watched the twitch of Layla’s lips and the muscle feathering in her jaw. “Thirsting after a dead man, are you?”
Layla scowled. Wind coming in from the nearby port brought a new flurry of snow, and she lowered her head to prevent it from getting in her eyes. Sure, it might have been her fault that she was hungry, but it was not her fault that blood tempted her. No matterthe case, no matter the cause, she would always crave it. Layla hated herself enough for it already—hearing Jamie’s lackluster complaints did not solve anything.
Before Layla could open her mouth to speak, another voice cut in. “I would call itirresponsible.”
Layla turned to see one of her clan mates approaching the scene. Snow dusted the top of his cropped curls and deepened the rush of blood in his dark skin. Even through the long coat he wore, there was visible tension in his muscles, bunched and taut against the thick fabric. Her skin prickled with unease at the sight of his primed stance. “Julius—”
