“You might be surprised at their refusal to go with you—after all, you weren’t so good at convincing Kenna to leave with you before, were you? Or Aiden, or Dario. Or,” he frowned, “poor Garrett.”
“Don’t you dare say his name!” My hands clenched.
My father grinned. “You won’t leave. Because she won’t. Lyriana, you see, understands the importance of the situation. She has given me her word, not just with her voice, but with her blood, to do a great many things to make this work.”
No, no.
“She’s a smart girl,” he said. “She knows I can keep her safe. Keep her away from Ka Kormac. They’ll hurt her. You know they will. You saw them, didn’t you?” His lip curled. “You saw Brockton Kormac touch her.”
“What the fuck could you possibly know about that?”
“Everything,” he said. “I know you killed three wolves. I know you left one alive in some misguided attempt of giving her vengeance.”
My jaw tightened, my blood boiling with a rage I’d carried too long.
“You made a dire mistake that night,” he said. “You should have killed Brockton yourself. But you made your choice, and these are the consequences. The wolves know. And that knowledge means she can be compelled to return to the South. Imperator Kormac will lay claim to her. And he will make sure she is bred, mark my word.” He smirked. “It won’t be just once. She’ll be bred by all of them—again and again. And it won’t matter to them who the father is. Lord Viktor. The Bastardmaker. Imperator Kormac himself.” He shrugged. “As long as the seed in her belly is wolf. Do you want to see that happen to her? See them share her? Touch her? Hurt her?” His lip curled. “I don’t think you do.”
“As if what you’ll do to her is any better!”
“Lyriana thought so. I made my wishes and desires quite clear. She has willingly accepted my offer to keep her safe from Kormac.” He held up a piece of parchment, unraveling it to the bottom. In dark red ink was Lyriana’s signature.
No. Not ink.
Blood.
I stumbled back, my shoulder hitting the wall. She was his. He had her. And now, after all these years, without forcing me to utter a single oath of my own, he had me.
“Come now.” He clicked his tongue. “This is the best possible outcome. I, like you, have a desire to keep her safe.”
“You have a desire to keep her for yourself!” I shouted, my muscles straining. Every single thing inside my body was desperate to break free. To escape. To kill him and end any agreement Lyr had made.
“If that were true, then why would I have betrothed her to another?”
My heart sank. I already knew.
“NO! Not Kane! You know what he is!”
“I do know.” His eyes darkened. “And whatever the fuck you know, you best keep to your Godsdamned self.”
The fact that he was a reincarnated God.
My breath started to come faster. My muscles burned. Every inch of me was shaking, trembling, straining. I was almost there. In my father’s taunting, he hadn’t realized that he’d given me the rage I needed to push me over the edge. To reach beyond every physical limitation.
I tore right through his fucking ropes, feeling them fall to my feet.
I was at the bars in an instant, pushing my hand through. My fingers wrapped around his neck, squeezing as fucking hard as I could.
“Rhyan,” he warned, before he coughed, his eyes bulging. “You’re only making things worse. For yourself. For Lyriana.” His fingers clawed at my hand, but my grip was iron-clad.
I squeezed harder. I was farther than fucking Lethea. The rage inside me felt like a living breathing thing. A monster tearing through my skin and muscles, ripping me apart from inside. I was no longer myself. I could barely remember my name, only this rage, this anger, this need to hurt him. Destroy him. Destroy his body. Destroy his soul.
Consequences felt small, I could barely remember why this was wrong, or think of a single compelling reason to stop. A reason why I shouldn’t end his life right then, right there.
And then a fiery sharp pain shot through my abdomen. I hadn’t noticed when he pulled his fingers away. Hadn’t heard the sound of metal being pulled from its sheath.
I wheezed and stumbled back, falling onto the cot, my legs crashing against the metal bed frame as I stared down in horror at the dagger embedded in my stomach.
“Look at what you’ve done,” my father snarled. “You stupid, fucking idiot.”
