“Santo Caldrone.” Phoebus rocks back onto his heels, flinging one arm up to his nose.
Lewd drawings of a girl fucking a crow—and not a man-shaped one—darken my walls.
They’re vile.
Gruesome.
Appalling.
They destroy my faith in humanity and fill me with a vengeful thirst to punish all those who dared defile my reputation and home.
“Is Dante aware of this?” I speak through clenched teeth, desperately trying not to breathe in the sickly sweet scent of decay.
“He has much on his plate,” Tavo says. “And in his bed.”
His ignorance of what was done to me doesn’t quell my wrath’s vigor, but it does temper it, for if Dante knew . . .
If he allowed this to happen and voluntarily left my house in this putrid state . . .
Gods, I don’t think I could forgive him.
“Clothes.” Phoebus wheezes, his arm still smooshed against both his mouth and nose.
I walk to my closet and hook the door with a single fingertip to tug it open, then stare and stare. I blink back tears of rage before backtracking toward the door.
“What?” Phoebus asks as I sidestep him.
“Let’s go.”
“What about your—”
“They’re gone.” I don’t add that in their place someone left me a handful of serpent tusks—one still attached to turquoise scales, another as slender as my pinkie.
Tears filming my lashes, I glance back into Mamma’s room, at the shelf upon which she kept her favorite books, love stories I would read out to her. All the books are gone but something remains on her shelf—the smooth rock with the engraved V I unearthed from one of the dresses I inherited from Mamma when I turned fifteen and outgrew the frocks Nonna would mend and let out so I could wear them another year.
I traipse over and snatch the stone, then give her room a once-over. Like mine, it’s been ransacked and soiled. Running my thumb along the grooves, I fly down the stairs and out the door.
Once I’ve burst out, I hinge at the waist and breathe. Just breathe.
And then . . .
And then I finally scream.
My neighbors poke their heads out of their houses, but no one asks me why I’m undergoing a meltdown because theyknow, theysaw, and theysaton their fucking asses and let it happen.
“Feel better?” Phoebus asks.
Huffing, I straighten. “No. Not even a little.”
I hesitated to burn down your house so you wouldn’t see what became of it.Lorcan’s voice feels like a warm balm, and yet it does nothing to soothe my iced blood.
I close my lids and focus on the breaths sliding in and out of my aching lungs.And yet you didn’t because youwantedme to see, didn’t you?
Oblivion makes one weak.
I trace the V almost manically, thinking of ways to retaliate without stooping to their level.
If you’ll allow me, Behach Éan, it’d be my pleasure to restore your honor.
