Finally, she looks up at me. Her beautiful face is streaked with tears, her hair wild and half-undone, one shoulder of her dress ripped. She looks savage and so beautiful.

“You win,” she rasps. “I hate them.”

Guilt unravels in my stomach. I want to say that isn’t what I wanted—or that why I wanted it has changed. I wanted to use her anger against them, but knowing how they’ve wronged her now, I want them to suffer not just for what my family has endured, but for what Harlow has survived and lost.

Something tugs free at the center of me, like a hook behind my sternum, like a skip in the rhythm of my heart. I squeeze my eyes closed and press a hand to the strange ache. When I open my eyes again, the world is blurry, then bright.

I blink rapidly to focus, and when my vision snaps into place, it’s on Harlow’s eyes.

Harlow’s dark violet eyes.

I stumble back a step. The first color I’ve seen in ten years is the bold violet of Harlow’s eyes, and they are stunning.

In black and white, my wife is striking, but in full color, she is devastating—so angry and fiercely alive, it’s breathtaking. The flush of her cheeks, the red of her lips, the emerald of her dress. I never realized how much I missed color until I see all the colors of her.

Harlow Carrenwell is beautiful. And I’m in love with her.

No, no, no. This is not the time. When I claimed her, it was just a raw animal wanting. It was just the blessing and a need to feel like I could in some way tame her, but she was not supposed to stay mine. This is not how this plays out.

I keep blinking, trying to get the color to go away, but it just gets brighter and more vibrant.

“What?” she asks.

I’ve been staring at her for too long. The confession is on the tip of my tongue, but I have never loved someone like this. I didn’t know I had this in me—not once I came back to life the first time, and certainly not after the many subsequent times. I don’t know how to translate something so shocking into words.

“I see you.”

She frowns, and I tilt her chin up and kiss her. Finally, the tension in her body starts to melt away, and for one moment, she is mine.

The sound of voices and footsteps down the hallway startles us apart.

I glance at the destruction in the room. “We should get out.”

Harlow holds up a hand. “We can’t. Your plan was to overthrow them, right?”

It’s jarring to hear her say it so plainly. “Yes.”

“Then we can’t leave now or they’ll think there’s a break-in, and that means extra security. It will be impossible to get to them. You leave. I will play madwoman.”

“I’m not leaving you with them,” I say.

Harlow crosses her arms. “You are.”

“What if they lock you up?” I ask.

“They won’t.”

“Why?”

“Because they need me for the Dawn and they won’t risk upsetting you when you’re their witness. That said, they can’t know that you’re aware of the madness. So you really need to go.” She points to the window.

I want to argue. It goes against everything in me to leave her here after the day she’s had, but I know she’s right.

Just once, I’d like to be selfish and not think about the bigger picture. But it’s not just my people at stake. It’s hers, too.

“Do you think Kellan knew?” I ask.

“I intend to find out. Don’t count on me coming back to the boarding house until after dinner tonight.”

I take a step toward her. “I should be there.”

She shakes her head. “No. They will never be as open if you’re there. This is something I need to do on my own, but I swear you can help with Rafe. I’ll meet you back in our room for the Descent.”

The footsteps in the hall grow louder, and she darts across the study and locks the door. I climb out the window, thanking the Divine we’re on the first story.

She crosses the distance between us and leans out the window. Her face softens, and she clicks her tongue. “Don’t look at me like that, my wolf.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re forgetting to hate me?”

“I could never forget,” I say. But it’s a lie.

It has been long forgotten. That’s why I can see the pink flush of her cheeks and the violet of her eyes.

Bleeding woods, no wonder Carter wouldn’t shut up about her eyes. I can’t stop staring at them.

A fist pounds on the door, and she nods toward the path behind me.

“Now go before they send people around the outside. And don’t be seen,” she says.

I turn and force myself to walk away when what I really want is to throw her over my shoulder and bring her with me. It’s tempting, but if I rob her of this chance to find out the truth, if I risk my own shot at vengeance, I would never forgive myself.

I take one last look back at my wife. She stands in the window, watching me retreat with the fire poker braced over her shoulder and her bright red lips twisted into a smirk.

I can’t believe I’ve done the one thing I thought impossible. I fell in love with my wife.

OceanofPDF.com

59HARLOW

My parents are relaxed when they enter the dining room. My father has a whiskey in his hand and my mother sips her wine. I almost prefer this unassuming version of them. It’s good to know their guards are down.

If I had the gift of distance, I would think they make a handsome couple. My mother with her raven hair twisted away from her face and fastened into a chignon at the nape of her neck, balanced out by my father’s swiftly graying hair that’s combed into neat waves. Her pale silver dress glimmering in the candlelight, playing off the shimmering charcoal of the vest my father wears under his jacket.

Up close, I can clearly see the ugliness. The hungry look in their eyes and the cruelty in their smiles.

“Did you hear what Mary Varyss said about Rafe? That he’s a traitor to the living? And that group of unblessed protesting outside the North Hold gates—it’s already spreading like wildfire,” my mother says as she takes her seat and notices that Henry isn’t beside me. “Where is that husband of yours? I don’t know how he did it, but he must have said the perfect thing last night, and now the rumors about Rafe are everywhere.”

Just hearing his name makes my blood boil, but Rafe is a problem for tomorrow. Today I have more pressing things to deal with.

“Henry had something to attend to this evening, but I invited Kellan,” I say. “I know he’s so busy with the festival, but I’m hopeful he can make the time. Family is so important, don’t you think?”

My mother frowns, clearly noting my sarcasm, while my father rings the bell beside him to signal the servants.

A moment later, the dining room door swings open and the servants bring in the soup, placing a bowl in front of each of us and a cover over a fourth plate at the seat beside me.

I watch them hustle away, whispering excitedly to each other, but my parents don’t notice. They never pay attention to the unblessed servants because they think it’s beneath them to acknowledge the help. If they did, they might wonder why the servants were so excited. They might ask and discover that with Able out for the evening, and just the three of us here for dinner, I offered to bring out the rest of the staged dinner courses so the servants could enjoy the festival for once.

They were all too happy to have a night off.

I take a few spoonfuls of the soup and lean back in my chair to watch my parents eat. This hearty beef stew is my father’s favorite, and he shovels it into his mouth like he hasn’t eaten all day.

It’s so ordinary—the three of us here having dinner, the room lit by the fireplace and the shimmering glow of the glass chandelier overhead. I have sat at this table so many times before, but tonight it feels different.

“What do you have for us?” he asks, stirring his soup. “And where is Gaven?”