“Liar,” he seethed, his teeth baring. “You would never have put that tattoo on your flesh had you felt nothing.”
He was stalking around the opposite side of the counter, but Ana continued to sidestep. She saw the knife block from the corner of her eye where she’d hidden the cursed one, recognizing the unrelenting anger in his eyes. The rage and seething pouring from his every movement—from the twitch of his lashes to the soft clap of his boots on the floor.
“Did you think I loved it because you drew it?” A hollow laugh left her. “Look at the rest of my body. The flowers and crowns. It was just another piece of art.“
“You know it wasn’t,” he said in a definitive voice. “I know you, Ana. I know the rest of your tattoos are there to hide a piece of your past. I know—“
“You have no idea about my past,” she snapped. “This,” she held up her arm “was nothing more than my loving an art piece.”
“You’re lying!” Sam nearly shouted. “Tell me the truth.”
“Why can you not accept this?” she asked. “Deal with it Sam. We’re done. I never want to see you again.”
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “No, this isn’t… You can’t—“ He struggled for words, his chest now rising and falling erratically, that brief moment where he looked like he might lose control. His fists clenched and unclenched, lightning ricocheting against the window like his anger had some power over it. Talons threatened at his fingertips.
He ran those pointed claws through his hair, lashes lifting, and the devastating rage in his eyes tore through her.
“Why?” he growled.
Ana gathered herself, a wave of real anger rising in her now as frustration yanked at her core. “Because you were right,” she spat. “You’re not enough for me. You never were. You never have been—“
“Then why stay with me?” Sam glowered. “Why say all these things? Why continue to see me?”
A brief quip of silence pressed between them, pausing even the rain tapping on the windows, and she crossed her arms over her chest as she let her last lie fill the space.
“What can I say?” she said, her voice a threat within itself. “You’re just another good fuck.”
Lightning shuddered the glass, and Sam lunged around the counter.
Ana bolted toward the door. He was on her in a blink—grasping her wrists and yanking her backward. His hand wrapped around her neck before she could pull free. She was off the floor. Struggling. Windpipe crushing. One of her hands shot to his arm, the other grabbing for anything,anything—
Her back crashed into the wall cabinets. Her thighs jolted into the counter edge, spine hitting the handles on the doors and paralyzing her a moment. His hand was a wrench on her, tightening and tightening—squeezing to the point she began to panic. She wrestled against his grasp, feet kicking, hand slapping, lungs gasping.
He was rigid with rage. Eyes so black that she swore a scarlet seeped into them.
“You fuckingwhore—“
Ana kicked, cutting off his words, and she reached behind her with the bit of strength she could grasp. Lightheadedness began to take over, her vision hazing.
But even through the fog, she watched a silver lining glisten the bottom of his eyes, and a single tear dropped down his cheek.
“Pray, Ana,” he seethed in a throaty rasp that chilled the room. “Pray, to whomever it is you pray, that your ending pleas will one day fall upon the ears of a demon other than Death himself… Because he will be deaf to you.”
Ana managed to shift her neck, managed to find the handle of the cursed knife behind her in the block—
And she felt her chest rumble as laughter left her lips.
“Be sure to tell him I said ‘hello.’”
Part Three
And to His Own Grave, She'll Lead Him
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
THE KNIFE PUSHED so easily into his skin that she wasn’t sure she’d stabbed him until she saw his eyes widening.
Ana staggered forward as his grip on her neck faltered. He choked, stumbling back, the blade pulling from within him.
