If they did, the retreat would be the last thing on their minds. They’d be demanding answers, and this conversation would be heading in a drastically different direction.
“There’s no shame in wanting to—” Silas starts.
I rise, unable to keep sitting when they’re acting this fucking stupid. I wouldneverwant to attend a ridiculous retreat, and they should know that. I agreed to therapy to get them off my back, and I do the absurd grounding exercises. That’s more than enough.
I’m tired of being treated like some out-of-control liability.
“Cassie…” Aziel starts. “We’re here to support you in whatever way you need, but you have to communicate with us. Nobody will think any less of you for wanting help.”
Silas cuts in. “If you’re worried about people knowing, we can find an excuse for your absence. Chev has agreed to say you’re helping him with a project in the shifter lands.”
I tap my foot against the floor. How do I want to handle this situation? I have to agree to this retreat eventually, but I can’t stomach my parents thinking it’smyidea. I don’t want them thinking I was so desperate and nervous that I asked Valeria to break the idea to them.
It goes against everything I believe, but I fear I don’t have any other options. It’s not as if I’m actually planning on going. This is just an excuse to get a ten-day head start into Mammon’s kingdom.
Aziel and Silas are watching me, still waiting for my response. Silas remains calm, but Aziel is having difficulty hiding his excitement. He wants me to attend this retreat, which I find offensive. I don’t need emotional regulation. I’m incredibly stable.
“I would like to go,” I spit out.
The words burn my throat, but I’m willing to lose the battle if it means winning the war. I’ll have Mammon’s head if it’s thelast thing I do. I’ve been researching the preservation of demon flesh, and I’ve found several Wraths who claim they can preserve decapitated heads.
I’m going to display Mammon in my future home. Or maybe I’ll give her to Aziel and Mom as a present. I’m undecided.
Aziel vanishes, and the next thing I know, he’s pulling me into a bone-crushing hug. I don’t return it, but I don’t fight it. He’s wearing the cologne Mom loves, the one that makes me think of childhood. It takes everything in me not to soften as he passes my stiff form to Silas.
I’m losing the battle to win the war. I’ll repeat this to myself a thousand times if I need to.
“Stay out of my cabin,” I mumble into Silas’s chest.
I’m sure he’s the one who discovered it. Aziel’s too busy to pry into my personal life, and Gray doesn’t have the dedication. Mom respects privacy.
“Of course,” Silas says. “I respect your privacy, and I’ll make sure to keep Gray away.”
I don’t believe Gray will stay away, but I’ll make sure to be more discreet with my research. Gray’s not perceptive, and as long as I don’t make it obvious I’m researching Mammon, he won’t think too deeply about what he sees. He’ll just assume I’m collecting books.
Silas has been hoarding them for centuries, so it’s not anything Gray’s unfamiliar with.
“We love you, Cassia,” Silas continues. He pulls back to look at me, and I cringe as he brushes my hair behind my ears and smiles. “This is going to be good for you.”
I grunt, not-so-subtly pushing him away. “Yeah. Okay.”
I’m tired of the hugs and pats and loving touches. It’s too much. I want my space.
Chapter Six
CASSIA
MOM LOUNGES ON my bed as I pack my suitcase, her brown hair pulled into a messy ponytail and Gray’s shirt hanging off her shoulders. I’m leaving for Greed tonight, and it’s hard to mentally accept that this very well could be the last time I ever see her.
I’m grateful we have this time together, and I can’t help but smile as she grabs and inspects one of my throw pillows. I have quite a collection, much to her enjoyment. The ones in our family home frequently go missing—Silas often gets angry and throws them away—but we pretend not to know it’s his doing. Silas’s hatred of throw pillows is our family’s worst-kept secret.
My half-packed suitcase sits on the foot of my bed, and I set a few pairs of shorts inside before meandering toward my closet.
Mom shoves my pillow under her head and lies back, her hands resting over her stomach. After seeing Aunt Vanessa at family dinner, I can’t help but wonder if Mom intends to have more children. Her bonds with my fathers grant her a longer lifespan and an extended fertility period. She has hundreds of years to bear children, but she stopped with Luca.
I clear my throat, drawing her attention. “Do you want more children?”
I don’t know why I’ve never asked. My siblings and I are adults, and I wouldn’t blame my parents for wanting to fill their home with childhood laughter again. I might even offer to babysit. Maybe.
