I stared at their prone forms, not releasing them from their positions of forced acquiescence. Wrath didn’t utter a word, sensing my emotions and giving me the time I needed to regain control. Or maybe he was simply pleased and wanted to see what I’d do next; discover how else our sins aligned in unholy matrimony. He’d said he wanted an equal. Wrath might command ice, but I was all fire. And the First Witch really shouldn’t have stoked my fury. Had it been only Blade speaking for the vampires, I doubted I’d have reacted the way I did.
It was Sursea’s presence, her foul demeanor, the implication that she had a secret my husband knew, along with her sneer at Wrath, that drove me mad with rage. For hurting him, I wanted to hurt her tenfold. It was irrational. Absolute. A consuming need for pure vengeance. I suddenly understood my sister all too well. I wanted our enemies to suffer. For every year, every month, day, hour, and second of pain they inflicted on my loved ones, I wanted to return the favor until they begged for mercy or death. And then I’d deny them that, too.
Twisted though it may be, that was the power of love. It could usher in warmth and light, and it could also turn a single ember into a raging inferno, destroying those who threatened it. Love might be the worst sin of them all, with its two sides.
Or perhaps that was simply the way of House Vengeance.
Torches around the chamber flared higher, the flames flickering wildly in a phantom breeze. I glanced around the mostly empty court, at the soldiers in their finery, Anir and Fauna among them. Respect, not fear, flared in each of their eyes. I might have scared them a little before, but they’d expect the princess of House Wrath to inspire some fear just as their prince did. That I was now using that power on our enemies… I inclined my head in their direction, acknowledging them. My attention returned to the unwanted guests still groveling at our feet.
That ancient, terrible power in my core stirred. The First Witch tensed. Her curse had locked it away, and the magic keeping it confined was deteriorating. One way or another, my spell-lock would break. And then that monster would be free. Sursea sensed that. She had to.
It was that thought, that promise to let my beast go wild one day, that soothed me. Still, it took every ounce of restraint I could muster to not unleash my magic now and watch them burn.
Tendrils of smoke curled into the air, and the acrid scent of leather burning wafted over to where we sat. The First Witch flinched but didn’t move to put out the glowing ember in her skirts. Wrath ran a finger along the top of my hand, his caress a cool balm to my fury. I exhaled slowly, quietly. And I drew my magic back to its source. I waited another beat to be certain I’d found my center. One wrong move and I’d become the monster I was feared to be.
“Rise.” My expression was now as tightly guarded as my emotions.
Wrath leaned back in his throne, a cruel tilt to his lips. Here sat an amused devil, delighting in his equally wicked queen. He regarded the vampire coolly, ignoring the witch as if she weren’t standing there at all. “Why are you here?”
“To discuss a potential alliance between us.”
“Strange timing for your prince. He hasn’t bothered with the northern regions for centuries.”
“Not quite so odd. After a recent visit from the goddess of death and her unique demon-werewolf companion, it made my prince consider the potential for having such unusual allies.” To his credit, Blade held my husband’s intense stare.
My eyes narrowed. Aside from her claim of wanting to spark unease and potentially start a war between supernaturals, Vittoria was up to something. Perhaps the companion Blade mentioned was simply Domenico somehow throwing off his scent, but another theory rose in my mind, and I chanced following it. “Was the demon-werewolf’s name Vesta?”
“No. Marcella.” Blade’s attention never left Wrath’s as he answered. “She hailed from the Shifting Isles.”
“You’re certain she wasn’t from here?” I asked.
“She didn’t say anything else. And we were mostly concerned with the goddess.”
Suspicion coiled around me, but Blade clearly had no other information on my sister’s companion. At least nothing he was willing to share if we refused an alliance.
Given the blood left at the murder scene, it made sense for Vesta to be genetically unique. Which might be why Greed coveted her. And was the first aspect I’d wondered about when both demon and werewolf blood had been found. This information made me now question if Vesta’s interest in the portal on Pride’s land had something to do with a potential inability for her to travel to the Shadow Realm. If my theory was correct and she was genetically unique, perhaps her demon side made that impossible. Much like the new wolf Antonio had mentioned.
While Blade and Wrath silently battled, I studied the vampire more closely.
Strong brows framed those piercing crimson eyes, his lashes thick enough to make anyone envious. His hair was a bit too long to be fully tamed and looked like he’d carelessly combed it before arriving here. Full lips curved in a half smirk as if he’d just recalled a particularly humorous joke he hadn’t bothered to share.
Perhaps the amusement was due to the cunning glint in his eyes—the one that hinted that plenty of victims had fallen for that roguish charm.
His black suit jacket was fitted to his well-proportioned frame, and his white linen shirt and matching cravat were a surprise. Given his appetite for blood, I would have imagined he’d choose to wear all black. Dark trousers hugged muscular legs and were tucked fashionably into freshly buffed riding boots. There was an air about him that said he could dedicate himself to being either your truest protector or your worst enemy based on a whim.
Even standing there, spine straight under the weight of Wrath’s scrutiny, he gave the impression that his jacket was seconds away from being discarded. His collar and cravat seemed to chafe, not because they were uncomfortable or lacking finery, but because the vampire did not appear to want to play pretend. He looked ready to shed all civility and embrace the cruel being he was underneath the refinement. Or perhaps he was simply thirsty and wished for a drink after his travels. If he was the emissary, I wondered what the less diplomatic vampires were like.
Wrath didn’t move, but there was no mistaking the threat he posed while he let the silence stretch uncomfortably. My husband, unlike my impression of Blade, did not act on whims. He was cold calculation and brutal efficiency. Once he decided to make a move, others could either retreat or die. If they grew angry in the process, all the better. Their emotions would feed his sin.
My prince finally allowed his focus to briefly drift over to the witch before he responded to the vampire’s earlier proclamation. “You thought bringing her was the best path to peace?”
“I—”
The demon prince raised a hand. With the way Blade cut his answer off, you’d think Wrath had held up a dagger. “Or was she merely a secondary distraction?”