What if he really would?
“Did you know he fucked your precious Amara too?” Severen’s voice oozed through the dark, slower now, savoring every word. “While you slept. While you dreamed of marrying her.”
“No—”
“She moaned for him,” Severen purred. “Begged for him. Loved every breath, every touch.”
“SHUT UP!” I screamed, my throat shredding raw. “Shut your fucking mouth!”
The air shifted—thick, humid, alive. Shadows rippled against the stone, writhing like smoke from a torch.
And then she was there.
Amara.
She stepped out of the dark, her face soft and pale beneath the light of a single torch wedged into the wall. Long brown hair clung to her bare shoulders, damp with sweat. Her eyes—deep-brown and unblinking—found mine, empty, glistening, unreal.
She came closer. Her feet made no sound against the grit.
“He made me feel things you never could, Lazarus,” she whispered. Her voice barely carried, yet it filled the pit, echoing inside my skull.
Another shadow rose behind her.
Salvatore.
He emerged from the darkness like he’d been born from it—bare-chested, skin sheened with sweat and grime. His eyes caught the torchlight—blue, cold, and as still as winter. Short stubble shadowed his jaw, giving his face the edge of something half-wild. His hands slid around her waist, possessive and sure. His fingers traced her ribs, her throat, her jaw.
He bent to her. Their lips met—slow, lingering. The torch sputtered, light flaring over their faces.
When she gasped, he smiled against her mouth.
Then he looked at me.
His eyes glimmered in the half-light, as cold and jagged as obsidian.
“I had her,” he said. “And you never knew.”
Something inside me snapped.
The pit blurred red. I slammed my fists against the wall—again, and again—until my knuckles split and blood spattered the stone. The sound was sickening and wet. My scream filled the cavern, scraping the air raw.
Then the vision shattered, and the pit was stone again.
Salvatore turned toward me, confusion furrowing his brow. “You all right, Lazarus?”
The sound of his voice broke me open.
I lunged, roaring, slamming into him. We hit the ground hard, the impact cracking through my spine.
“You fucking animal!” I howled, driving my fist into his chest. “You fucked Amara—and my mother!”
His eyes went wide, a flash of disbelief before anger took hold. “What in the fucking hell are you talking about?”
He rolled us, pinning me, his knee pressing into my ribs. My fists flailed, wild, useless.
“You always take!” I spat. “Everything that isn’t yours. You took Amara! You took my mother from me! You fucked them both!”
I bared my teeth and sank them into his arm. Flesh tore; hot blood filled my mouth—iron, salt, and fury.
