Alive.The woman I cherish is alive.
No, not just cherish. I’m not going to lie here and cower from what I feel. From what I’ve been feeling for so long, I don’t know when the arrow struck me.
I am in love with Poppy Morgenstern.
And I will love her long after the seas have dried to deserts and this planet burns to nothing but ash and smoke.
MINE
Poppy
Blood drips in bright red strings from Scull’s split lips to the library floor.
“A little more to the left,mon ange.”
Brontë cracks his bloody knuckles, a gleeful gleam in his eyes as his arm winds back and slams the detective’s jaw with a savage right hook.
“No.” I shake my head as Scull spits a red wad onto the growing puddle beneath the chair he’s secured to with his own handcuffs. “My left, not yours.”
Brontë mercilessly hammers his rage into Scull’s face. Heat pulses between my legs, but I force myself to focus.
Myparentsare in here, for fuck’s sake.
“I like him, Poppyseed.” Papa wears a manic grin as he turns to Mama. “Koibito?”
Mama sips her wine. “Reminds me of you. Handsome, violent. What’s not to like?”
I tune them out as my gaze rakes over the man being beaten to a pulp. We found his Leviathan brand easily once he drank enough drugged wine to pass out drooling. Since waking, Scull has been dodging questions, willingly subjecting himself to Brontë’s unbridled fury like it’s his nightly routine.
“Stop,mon roi.”
Brontë backs off, wiping blood splattered on his sweaty brow and giving me a curt nod. “Ma reine.”
“Take a break and comb through his phone.” He does what I say as I return my attention to Scull. “You’re one of Leviathan’s nine Masters.”
It’s a statement, not a question. He’s not going to talk.
But that doesn’t mean he can’t give us answers.
Scull glares, bloody drool dripping down his chin as he pants against the pain. He’s a single solid blow away from a broken jaw, yet he hasn’t once screamed. He’s been trained to tolerate agony.
“Each Master leads a specific operational guild,” I drone, picking my nails. “Their names—and those of their guilds—are unknown. However, the Volkovs were once the beating heart of Leviathan’s assassin guild. You recruited them first, so I can only assume that’s your bread and butter.”
Scull spits blood at my boots. It’s the only confirmation I need.
“Leviathan was once friends with my family. Did you know that your founder, Felix Aurelius, recruited my ancestor, Octavia? That she was a member of Leviathan, too?”
He sneers, unimpressed. “Your point?”
“You were issued the kill order because I killed a Leviathan legacy. My point:Iam also a legacy. Should that not grant me a hearing with your council to plead my case?”
Scull scoffs, his façade slipping an inch. “You’re a Morgenstern. The Crown cannot also be the Church.”
“Interesting. You didn’t deny the fact that you were given orders.” I smirk at his agitated lour. “I was under the impression Leviathan’s Masters operated as a unit, though it appears you have a ringleader calling the shots. Who is it?”
Scull bares his teeth but doesn’t reply.
Brontë steps forward. I snag his arm, not letting my attention stray from Scull.
