She explodes.

With a snarl, she slams her palms into my chest with enough force to knock the breath from my lungs. I rock back on my heels, a savage pride unfurling in me.

Finally.

“Oh, come on. I know you can do better than that,” I hiss. “Tear into me.”

She shoves me harder. “Stop it!”

“Why? This is the most honest you’ve been in weeks.” I grab the dagger from my hip and force it into her hand. “Here. You want to hurt me? Do it properly. Make it count. Carve into me so deep I feel it for days.”

Like that night in your rooms when you cut into me so deeply, I can still remember the ache.

Her anger feeds a darkness in me that’s been starving for weeks. For years. It keeps building—this storm inside my skull, fire crackling under my skin and through my veins.

I want her teeth.

She hurls the knife away, and it skitters into the shadows. “Stop it,” she says again, and there’s something ragged in her voice, too close to concern for my liking. “Just. Stop.”

“Why should I?” I grip her thighs and hoist her up, slamming her back into the door. She twists to break free, but I press my hips forward, pinning her in place. “Aren’t I giving you what you expect? The monster? The villain? Well, here I am, Devaliant. The same bastard you met in Hellevig.” I trail my lips along her jaw, not quite touching. “You loved it that night in your room, didn’t you, vicious girl? Cutting into me. Making me bleed. I bet it’s the only time in your pathetic life you’ve ever felt powerful. Because Alexios bled you dry, and used you up again and again and again—”

She thrashes against me like an animal caught in a snare, feral and snarling and incandescent in her fury. And she’s so stunning, so beautiful, I can hardly breathe through it.

“There was this woman tonight,” I lie, the words spilling out before I can stop them. Anything to keep this fire burning. Anything to make her hurt me. “Reminded me of you, actually. Similar face, same entitled way of breathing.” I lean forward and brush my lips against her ear. “When I was killing her, I thought about you. I imagined it was your throat under my hands. Your voice begging me to end you. Will you beg me, Devaliant? Will you plead?”

Look at me, I demand silently. Don’t you dare flinch. Not now. Hurt me. Please, please, please fucking hurt me.

And she does. Her nails score the flesh of my shoulder, leaving marks as she struggles against my hold. “Fuck you,” she growls. “You disgust me. I hate you.”

A snarl shudders out of me. “Good. Hate me more. Hate me while you’re hurting me. Hate me every moment. Make it the only thing I feel.”

Images strobe through my mind in flashes—wings and sightless eyes, gore and death. All those lives lost. The stench of pyres and the rubble and the grief so crushing that there’s nowhere to send it but out.

I can’t breathe. She’s what’s keeping me together. The only person in two realms who can destroy me the way I want. She’s jagged glass ready to cut me open until I spill out all this rot.

Her eyes snap to mine, and realization skitters across her features. There’s a gradual softening in her face—a terrible, dawning understanding.

And I’m pinned. Caught. Unable to move.

Don’t say it. Don’t you fucking say it.

Her hand curves around my nape, the touch tender. “Something went wrong tonight. You’re in pain. I can see it.” When I do nothing but stare down at her, panting hard, she whispers, “What happened, Evander? Why are you trying so hard to make me hurt you?”

The sound of my real name on her tongue is like a blade to the chest.

Oh, fuck you. Fuck you for the way you’re looking at me. Fuck you so much.

I slam my palm against the door beside her head just to watch her flinch. To get that horrible gentleness off her face.

“You want to know what gets me off more than the killing?” I say, voice ragged. “Playing with you. Fucking with your head. Because strip away all that practiced sweetness, and you’re just as twisted as I am. Just as hungry. Just as vicious. That’s why cutting me made you come alive. Because for once in your miserable life, you got to be the one holding the knife.” I meet her stare, letting her see every ugly, squirming thing inside me. Daring her to look away. “We’re the same, Devaliant. Both of us rotting from the inside out. The only difference is that at least I’m honest about it.”

I drop her to the floor and wrench myself away from her, stalking down the corridor without a backward glance. I don’t stop until I’m barricaded in my room with the door slammed shut behind me. Only then do I let my shoulders sag.

Viscera clotting stone. Piles of blood-matted plumes. BC. The Bloody Court.

Something rears up in my throat. I stagger into the washroom and collapse to my knees in front of the toilet. Then I’m retching, throwing up everything in my stomach until there’s nothing left but blood and bile.

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22

BRYONY

THERE’S AN OLD Vartenan tale that says everyone is born with two snakes coiled around their heart.

Both begin life with equal potential, nourished by human emotion. The dark snake feeds on fury and pain and the things we bury deep. The bright snake eats love and happiness—all the sweet things that feel good.

One snake is destined to twist more snugly around your ribs, to become part of you. Over time, it nourishes you with the emotions it fed on and gives back everything it took. The other snake is destined to starve and die.

The one that lives is the one you feed.

Every time I entered the Void, the shadow snake just kept getting fatter. When my uncle left me on the Duehavn, and I woke up with all that rage inside me, it gorged itself on the feast.

And now I don’t know how to stop feeding it.

We’re the same, Devaliant. Both of us rotting from the inside out. The only difference is that at least I’m honest about it.

Thorns tear at my skin as I pull weeds, but I welcome the sting. Ten little cuts, ten moments of distraction from his voice twisting my thoughts. Rip. Sting. Bleed. Bright, hot points of realness in the numb fog of everything else. If I hold tight to this pain, maybe I can block out all the rest for a little while. This is hurt I choose. This hurt obeys me.

Strip away all that practiced sweetness, and you’re just as twisted as I am. Just as hungry. Just as vicious, the Wolf’s words echo in my head.

“You’re upsetting them again.”

My heart slams against my ribs at his voice. I keep my stare focused on the ground, refusing to acknowledge him. Refusing to give him the satisfaction.

“The roses don’t like it when you bleed on them in anger.”

“They’re strangled from neglect,” I say through my teeth. “I’m amazed they feel anything at all.”

“Devaliant. Look at me.”

I’m tempted to tell him to leave me alone, but I doubt he’d listen. He wants to pry me open.

My chin tips up. The Wolf is backlit by the dying sun, feathers gilded in amber. He’s shirtless, muscles and gleaming skin on display. So lovely it aches.

He closes the distance in a few measured strides. “Let me see.”

His fingers close around my wrist, turning my palm to examine the damage. An electric current flows through my nerves at the point of contact.

“These are deep,” he says, running his thumb over the worst cut. I barely stifle a pained hiss. “The roses are punishing you. It’s how they talk. How they let you know when it’s time to stop pushing.”