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Story: Blood Rains Down
Chapter twenty-eight
ATALIIA
Ifthisdoorcouldtalk, it would’ve called me a coward. A coward for how long I sat in front of it, counting each of the grains in the wood. I should be running to Hyacinth. Begging,pleadingthat somehow she could forgive me for the things I said—the things I had done.
But I couldn’t force myself to move.
So I sat there—in the middle of the foyer—staring at the door with my legs crossed, my elbows propped up on my knees and my chin resting on my fist as the minutes ticked by. Cyloe padded down the steps from the library, and I listened to each one as she approached me in cat form and slid her onyx body against my arm. I buried my fingers into her fur before pulling her into my lap and refocusing on the door.
Cin had come home earlier than expected which meant it either went terribly wrong, or exactly the way they’d hoped.
I was choosing to believe the latter.
And, like always, I’d done nothing remotely helpful while she was away.But, I hadn’t caused any additional issues and I liked to think that was a win.
Though, it was probably due to the fact Andrues had followed me around like a second familiar the last day and a half, scaring away any fun to be had.
But now that he was gone. . .
I slapped my hands against my thighs, the sound echoing off the vaulted ceiling and making Cyloe jolt from my lap as I pushed myself from the floor.
Tonight, I was going to get a drink.
I would wear my own skin and stay as far away from even the slightest hint of trouble.
Tomorrow, I would talk to Hyacinth.
Thesoundofmetalclanking against wood rang out, mixing with the lively energy filling Blackthorn Inn as I slapped two coins down on the bar and lowered my hood. It wasn’t until the barkeep lifted an annoyed brow toward me as she scooped the coins into her hand that I realized—I had never been here in my own skin.
She didn’t recognize me.
“A pint of cider and a dram of brandy,” I requested, turning to face the activity bustling around the room as I leaned back onto my elbows, resting them on the bar’s surface.
The Blackthorn Inn was tucked into a corner of Drathbain Street and had quickly become my favorite tavern in Nethkar for many reasons, but mostly because of how it seemed to attract the most vile men of this realm. It was my hunting ground. The barstools and tables were the trees in my forest that I prowled through, stalking my prey.
But not tonight.
Tonight, I would behave.
Tonight, I wouldnotstart a fight.
Andrues had asked only one thing of me when he left—not to go looking for trouble—and I was determined to prove to myself that I could do it. Though, as I watched these grotesque men paw at the women serving them, their sweaty hands groping as the women tried to pull away, it became increasingly difficult not to sever those hands from their bodies and let them bleed out at my feet.
The women who worked for the Blackthorn were not employees, they were slaves to the men that owned the establishment—servants. Most were forced into working off the debts their husbands had wracked up from bets they could not pay. If a man couldn’t pay the coin owed to a bet lost at the Blackthorn, their wives paid the price.
Of course, this did not stop the men. No, they kept betting—kept adding more time onto their wives’ life sentence of servitude, while they continued to live free and untouched.
And that made me fucking livid.
My hand twitched, a manifestation of the rage that was beginning to flood my veins as I watched them and I clenched my fist in an effort to contain it.
I should have worn a different skin, so I could wrap my fingers around their necks and watch as my nails dug into their throats, puncturing their airways and letting them drown in their own blood before my eyes.
The scowl on my face deepened as I sucked in a sharp breath and turned toward the drink that had been set beside me.
Choosing to come to the Blackthorn when I was trying so hard to behave, was a stupid fucking idea.
I knew that when I made the decision.
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