Page 29 of Devoured

Vanessa’s face—her sad violet eyes, her soft purple hair, her full lips always frowning—lashes my mind. She haunts me. Every minute, every hour, every day. Her blood—her misery—on my hands. She has become my nightmare, and I won’t do it again.

I won’t bite anyone else.

My voice hardens impossibly further. “And if I don’t?”

The Wolf Queen lifts one shoulder in a nonchalant shrug. “If you do not bite someone, then I will consider you a traitor to the crown, Calix Severi, and you will die.”

Blood roars in my ears. My vision blurs. And this scentless cathedral—it suddenly fills with the stench of death.

My life has always meant little. Meant less than everyone else’s. I’ve known that for as long as I’ve held memories. For as long as I’ve recalled those mornings when Sybil would peel me away from the crown prince so he might return to his royal duties, and I was left alone. Left in a room, in the kitchen, on the field where the rest of the courtiers would pretend I didn’t exist—those were the best days—or harass me for the stain of my lineage. They would beat me. Mock me. Ridicule me. Pin me to the ground and pummel me until my skin turned black and blue.

And when Cora’s wolves tore Sybil and her court apart, I knew it would be more of the same. Sooner or later, Cora will kill me too. And then what? I refuse to look at Sin again. If I die, what happens to his future mate? To Evie and Portia and the rest of the world?

My chest rises and falls slowly, smoothly, with that same effort to control my emotions. Right now I am the first divide between the old court and the new. Between our world and the humans. I am the last line of defense. If I die, I won’t be able to help the others. If I die, I won’t be able to protect anyone.

And that’s why I was made, wasn’t it? Protector of the crown prince.

Even if Sybil is dead, even if her bargains decayed like her corpse, that means something. If I cannot protect the right people, then what has my pitiful existence been about?

My gut churns. My muscles ripple with anger.

But I am forced to watch as Cora throws open a door behind the chancel and reveals a small closet of humans. Living, breathing mortals. Awake. Shivering. Bleeding. Cora Severi has stuffed twenty humans inside this cathedral against their wishes.

A young woman cries out for help. A younger boy claws at the walls. An old man soils himself.

They are helpless, afraid, and now the smells are too much. The implication of what Cora has done, what she can still do—infect the human population, turn every single one of them if she so chooses, enslave or kill the entire world—is too great.

I almost vomit.

“Come, come now.” Cora gestures a deft hand to her werewolves. “Everyone, line up. As my infantry leaders, you will bring these new pups into court under your command. Everyone will have a new werewolf aide. We will need them soon enough.” She turns on her heel and looks at me again. “Everyone.”

I glance back at Sin, imploring him wordlessly to stop this, but he gazes at the queue forming down the aisle of the church. He sits up, setting the Bible on the bench, and observes as Jasper transforms—and takes a bite from the bishop’s shoulder.

The bishop wakes from the pain seconds later with a wild sob, rolling over and retching on the floor. He screams loudly. Frantically. But no one silences him. Jasper simply drags him away, into an empty pew where he knocks the older man unconscious again as the bishop’s blood seeps into the maroon carpet.

My powers, my General instincts, tell me that I could disarm Jasper in seconds. Break his legs, then his neck, and leap across the pew to Cora. But I couldn’t fight the others. They would kill me in minutes, and Vanessa would undoubtedly be their next target.

I’ve seen the way they look at her, with sick envy and malicious intent. I won’t leave her to fight them alone. And I don’t even know if she would fight. My body clenches, shudders, as I resist the change. She’s not herself anymore. It’s Sin’s fault, but it’s my fault too. I can’t let her die.

It’s Amethyst’s turn to transform next. She stalks up the aisle as a gargantuan gray wolf, and my pulse ticks like a bomb in my chest. I can only stand and watch, no better than Sin, as Amethyst pulls the young boy from the closet and leaps atop his body. But she bites too deep, too fast, too hard. His neck snaps in the process, and the stench of death thickens further as she whimpers. I need to stop this. The instinct to change, to fight, beats through my bones, leaving behind only another sickening wave of revulsion. For Amethyst, for Sin. For myself.

Cora doesn’t care. She stands at the altar, the barest grin left on her lips as her black eyes gleam.

Then it is Luca’s turn, Limerick’s, Citrine’s, Malachite’s. On and on and on. Sixteen, seventeen, eighteen victims deep. Not all the humans survive. Those who die instantly are the luckiest. Mortal screams permeate the cathedral, rattling against the walls like the wails of ghosts, until it is my turn.

Until I am at the front of the line, and my victim is in front of me.

My knees lock. I swore I wouldn’t do this again. In my mind, the victim’s eyes turn violet as I stare down at them; they fill with bitter tears as she rakes her claws through my chest and snarls, “How could you? How could you?”

I deserve Vanessa’s hatred. I deserve to see it every time I close my eyes, but—

“If you do not bite someone, then I will consider you a traitor to the crown, Calix Severi, and you will die.”

No.

I can’t die today. I won’t let Cora get away with this.

Allowing the transformation to take hold, I dig deep in my chest to where that loneliness lies, where that fear lives and whispers that I’ll always be alone, and wrench out my worst emotions until I’m shuddering with them. My skin flays. My spine splits open. My bones snap and morph and melt—