“The Daemon Olethros.” Torin whispered the realization like a prayer.
“Devour him,” Acacius murmured, lacking his usual fervor when commanding the beasts of his realm. His limbs hung heavy at his sides.
“W-w-wait!” Torin fumbled to sit up, his divine power gathering like static in the air.
The Daemon disappeared into Acacius’s periphery.
It sped forward in the span of a blink, catching Torin in the grasp of one of its four clawed hands.
Torin screamed, raking at the sand to pull away, but his cries quickly sputtered out as the Daemon snapped his neck. The malevolent sound was followed by theslurpandcrunchof the beast feasting on him. It echoed across the nothingness.
The throb of her betrayal drilled through Acacius’s chest. It was unlike the first time she’d deceived him, where all he’d felt was uncontrollable fury and a desperation for vengeance.
Now, though, the pain webbed deeper, constricting around his heart like a laced corset. It was proof of the affection that he had for her—holding her close in the hot spring, admiring her on the altar, secretly wishing for her victory against Torin.
He might have fueled the war between them, but she’d only participated to trick him, keep him occupied and pull his attention away from the Himura demigod, from Hollow City.
Why? He couldn’t possibly understand her actions. Not after spending a lifetime despising Naia.
Acacius hunched over, catching himself on his knees.
He didn’t want to give up their game of back and forth, the intimate moments they shared. Without his revenge against her, he had nothing else.
You always chase distractions.
His stomach hardened, recalling her words before she impaled him after their dance.
Was that all she was? A distraction from his grief for Ruelle?
In between the fighting and sex, there had been moments, soft and tender, that he had refused to entertain. And now, the finality of his time with Marina felt like it was swiftly approaching.
Acacius’s breath went light.
You have always had a tendency to fall quickly and walk blindly until you spiral off a cliff.
Cassius’s words came back to him—words spoken centuries ago during a fight involving Finnian and Ruelle. Acacius could still recall his brother’s curled lip and disdain as he spewed out the acrid truth.
Though, now he couldn’t deny his habit to chase love, always at the expense of himself. He’d fallen for Marina’s tricks again, and this time, he was the only one to blame.
He stood at the cliff’s edge, and for the first time, his next step would be of his own will.
Her home smelledof warm vanilla and amber, a rich fragrance he savored.
The kitchen was divided from the living room by a countertop, the surface clean and neat, various wines and liquors tucked in its corner.
A vase of magnolias caught his eye on the glass coffee table beside him. He leaned down to catch a whiff of their sweet, citrusy scent. He was tempted to crush the delicate petals in his grasp but refrained, obeying the gut feeling that told him they had something to do with her father.
Instead, he straightened and did a sweep around her living room, eyeing the velour furniture and Renaissance portraits on the walls; the television on the wooden stand and the dozens of movie cases stacked on its shelves. Never in his mind would he have assumed she enjoyed such a mortal hobby.
Unable to flatline his curiosity, he walked the path of her home, surprised to find that it consisted of only one bedroom. He ran his fingers over the black silk cloth tucked into her canopy bed, flicked the sheer draperies hanging from each corner, and traced the floral engravings of her wood dresser.
Her bathroom was elegant, an upscale room with a full vanity. Its countertop was organized with hanging jewelry and drawers of makeup. Until now he’d been convinced she only used glamor for her appearance. It was a surprise to realize she enjoyed the art of that as well as fashion.
He stared at the clawfoot tub, his brain conjuring her naked, relaxing in its clear waters. Back at the hot spring, she’d mentioned she enjoyed baths. At leastthatwasn’t a lie.
Acacius stalked back into the living room and peered out the sliding glass door to her terrace, filled with cast-iron furniture that was woven with intricate designs of vines and florals.
Beyond the terrace was a wide view of Tenebris. Its white-dipped peaks kissed the thick, indigo clouds—the midnight sky, a backdrop lit in a celestial lavender hue from the stars.
