Page 21

I lean forward, elbows on knees, watching Ares stretch and resettle with a huff. His ears flick at every sound–he’s always listening. Always bracing.

I wonder if she’s bracing too.

Her room is down the hall. The door was shut when we walked by. Is she alone now? Asleep? Still awake with adrenaline coiled tight in her gut? Is she thinking about how we chased her down? What DK did to her? How I watched…

My spine tingles, a warning about getting too close. I’d taken the risk tonight when I painted the blood over her smooth skin. When I held the knife. But there were people around: the Shadows and King.

It was safe.

The door creaks open, and DK steps out, steam trailing behind him. Damp hair, clean shirt clinging to his chest. Hesmells like soap and something herbal. He catches me looking and shrugs. “You’re up.”

I nod, using all of my strength to get up. I feel like I haven’t stopped moving since last night. As I pass him, he doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t ask. But I know he’s thinking it too.

What comes next?

We’ve only just stepped into our roles. Just caught our first real whiff of rot and truth. And Arianette–she's in the thick of it. Closer to it than either of us, and more dangerous than we realized.

The shower is hot, I step in, water beating down on my neck and shoulders like it can burn off everything that’s happened.

The knife. The blood. Her breath hitching under me. The way Armand’s body felt in my hands.

Dead weight.

We may have left Armand in the crypt, but that weight: heavy, wet–inescapable–has already settled into my bones.

And no amount of scrubbing will ever get it out.

8

Arianette

Pain.

That’s all I feel as the weight of a cloak is thrown over my shoulders and I’m led back through the cold underground tunnel. The damp scent is overpowered by the coppery blood that has seeped into every one of my pores.

It aches in my chest, like that knife had carved all the way into the bone. It throbs in my pussy, a pulsing reminder of the invasion–thedenial–I’d survived, of the overwhelming current brought on by fingertips. And then my skin. It’s cold and raw, the bloody marks tightening as they dry. Their hands had been all over me.In me.

I didn’t understand what the King meant when he said I would be claimed. I didn’t know that it meant more than being caught and carried back before being anointed Baroness. I didn’t know that it meant my soul would be taken too.

Or maybe I didn’t know I had that much left to be stolen.

The night is a blur. This always happens. My memory is short. Flawed.Periwinkle. When I look down at my hands Ican’t remember everything that they’ve done. If they’ve hurt or helped. Or if those things are the same.

I’m led through the maze of passageways, twisting and turning under the earth. I try to count turns, gain my bearings, thinking we’ve walked far enough to get back to my room. It’s not until we reach a stone staircase that I pause, sure that this isn’t the route we came before.

“Where are we going?” I ask, unsure if I can go any farther. The adrenaline of the night has slipped away and exhaustion is creeping in.

To my shock, the Shadow speaks. “You’re moving to the House of Night, Baroness.”

“Oh.” I frown. “Where was I before?”

“The catacombs, beneath the cemetery.”

He starts up the stairs and I follow until we reach a thick wooden door at the top. Another Shadow waits there and we exit into a hallway. The temperature rises immediately and a shiver creeps across my skin from the difference. The floors are hardwood, and lights made of iron hang from the vaulted ceilings. I’m taken to another wooden door and let inside.

Regina waits for me.

She must be able to tell that I’m on the verge of collapse, because she doesn’t speak, just takes my hand and leads me across the room. I barely process the soft carpet or the large, iron bed tucked against the wall. My body and mind are both numb as she gently pries the button from my palm.