Page 17 of Devoured

Unfortunately, the victory is short-lived. Because I am not alone, and I have not survived anything yet.

There is a large black desk pressed against the back of the room, cluttered with parchments and files and quills, and there is a boy in the chair behind it. A boy with golden hair and golden skin. A boy who is intended to become my mate.

My heart stops. My knees threaten to buckle. When he glances up, those burgundy eyes flaring hot at the sight of me, my whole world tilts on its axis again. It feels as if I’m two months younger, weaker, trapped in a closet as he touches me and I ache for him. I can’t stand it. The sight of him. The memory of his hands on my skin.

And just like that, the walls I’ve built—the hard edge of my voice, the sharp glint in my gaze, that cool facade of strength—all crumble into dust.

“Wh-what are you doing in my room, Sin?”

He arches a brow, leaning back in his chair and gazing at the stains of blood on my dress. “The better question is, what are you doing in my room, Vanessa?”

7

VANESSA

YOUR ROOM?” MY GAZE DARTS AROUND THE MASSIVE chamber as I step over an ebony rug and past a large four-post bed with thick black curtains draped around it. Nothing about this room seems specifically Sin—save for the mess.

Maps and parchments litter nearly every surface, with harsh ink-blue lines scribbled atop them. Even his armoire hangs open, overflowing not with clothes but with rolled-up papers tied hastily with black ribbons and sealed with dark red wax. Interesting. I move forward, skirting around a haphazardly discarded shoe, and try to examine the splotches of bled-through ink. Not letters, I think, shapes. More maps.

What the hell does Sin need maps for?

“Yes, my room.” Sin rises, striding away from the desk until he’s directly in front of me. Invading my personal space without a second thought. “Is that so hard to believe?”

For a second, it’s just us. Just the way it used to be. Easy banter and stolen glances. I tuck a curl behind my ear and shrug. “I expected more portraits of you on the walls. Maybe a framed collage of Calix with lots of little red hearts drawn around him.”

Sin scoffs as he runs a hand through his blond hair. The muscles cording through his arm tense. Flex. I hate how handsome he is. I hate even more that I can’t stop my heart from racing around him. My body reacts to him as it always has—our pulses synchronize, my stomach swoops low, and heat licks sinful flames up my neck.

But it’s a lie.

We are a lie.

“That’s ridiculous,” he says smoothly. “Calix would never allow me to decoupage him. Believe me, I’ve tried.”

I manage a breathy laugh, but he must realize it isn’t real because his gaze drops to the floor between us, the inches separating us, and he retreats to the bed. Whatever was left of our normalcy, our ease, withers into ash.

Crossing his arms, tensing, he leans against one of the bedposts. His gaze finally meets mine as his voice darkens. “Why are you covered in blood, Vanessa?”

I assumed this question would be coming, and at least it’s one with a simple answer. “Evie attacked me.”

“So it’s your blood?”

“Mostly. Some of it is hers.”

A chill sweeps through the room. Around us. He hesitates before speaking, but even the hardness of his gaze can’t hide the emotion behind it. I wish I knew what he was thinking.

I wish I could trust him.

“You can talk to me, you know,” he murmurs. “If you’re not well… if you’re having a hard time coping… we should talk.”

I ache to pick up the letter opener from his desk and fling it straight at his skull. The time for talking was months ago. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not.”

I glare at him, and he glares right back at me. Our hearts skip a beat. Today has been too much. Every day in this godforsaken castle is too much. And I don’t have a tether on myself yet. My hands shake. The faintest burn of my claws pierces the undermost layer of my flesh, begging to be freed again. To draw more blood.

I don’t recognize this horrible creature inside me. I know if I looked into a mirror right now, I would flinch from the sight. Bloodshot purple eyes. Wayward curls. Pale, almost translucent skin. And rage, so much rage in my gaze, in the firm line of my mouth, in the creases of my eyelids.

Sin and his mother didn’t just kill the others. They killed me too. The soft, human parts. The bits of myself that Celeste and my father loved so much. The parts that Sin claimed to love too.