The chill slugging through my veins is no longer jarring me. Butonewith me.
“Yes,” I admit, tears slipping down my cheeks as I study the weapon …
I’m sorry.
I’m sorry.
I’m sorry.
“I did.”
There’s a beat of pause while a teeth-gnashing scream threatens to spear up my throat. While I try to remember what it is I have to do …
Tell Cainon I was wrong, silly, and naïve. Play the little broken girl he crossed paths with in that hallway at Castle Noir.
Get down on my knees and beg him to take me back.
My thorny rage coils around those safe, submissive thoughts, constricts the life out of them, then feasts on their remains while Zali’s stronger,fiercerwords slither down and watch the carnage unfold—ready to strike.
Anything is better than going back to that man and offering yourself on a golden platter. Pretending to be his when we both know you’re not.
“How,Orlaith?”
Fuck this.
I hook Cainon’s darkening gaze as my upper lip peels back to expose the venomous rage within, more tears puddling my lower lids. “You told meexactlyhow.”
A brief pause, his staredigging.
“And you’recertainyou hit his heart?”
Toocertain. Cainon wielded the perfect weapon.
Me.
Shoving to a stand, I stalk past several empty seats before I pause beside the hog, picturing Cainon laid out on this table with that pear between his teeth. I whip my dagger from its sheath and slam it down, unable to suppress a flinch as it cleaves through flesh and bone, plunging into the hollow that used to house its beating heart.
Cainon’s throat works, and I hold his harrowed stare, wondering if he’s regretting his decision to couple with me.
“Silly question, it seems.”
I don’t answer.
Landing a kill strike to the heart was one of the first lessons Baze taught me. But when he scooped me up and told me that small seeds grow into big, strong things, I doubt he knew I’d grow into a caustic weed that would use that heart-impaling strike on someone who meant so much to him.
To me.
Cainon’s gaze flicks to my dagger still hilt-deep in the hog, behind me to Rhordyn’s sword, back to my eyes. He cants his head. “You think I’m going to hurt you?”
“I think you know Ocruth is mine.”
Silence as both his brows lift—all the confirmation I need.
I lurch the blade free and stalk back to my seat, slouching down, legs wide as I flip the dagger—the metal hot and slick with the rich, fragrant juice of the cooked beast. My hollow belly churns at the smell, and I wonder if food will ever appeal to me again.
“You took down a monster, Orlaith.”
Mymonster.
