Page 26 of Antiletum

This does not have to be another Tabitha situation.I repeat the statement in my mind over and over like a mantra.I am not going to needlessly rage.

Deos. Control has been simply nonexistent lately. Tabitha should have been a wonderful outlet for letting loose all my frustrations. Aclean slate for my patience so to speak. Where I thought that would be the end of my months-long slow spiral, it only tamed its downward descent for a short amount of time.

Maybe Tabitha wasn’treallya problem.

Though I am (mostly) adept at keeping it in check, my temper has always been a beast all its own when let loose. But being pulled away from the festivities—particularly, from dancing with my wife who is finally beginning to offer genuine smiles and share that sparkling personality with me—is eating at my restraint.

Especially when I promised her I wouldn’t leave her side.

Delaney’s indignation from me selecting her gown for tonight and making it the only option available has withered away between the time we began our breakfast and when I collected her from her rooms wearing that gown.

So beautiful I thought I might simply choke on the image of her.

Unreal.

On Mallin’s urging, instead of demanding we share a room in The Citadel—like I had absolutely planned—I have offered an olive branch to my wife. The study in our apartments has been converted to a bedroom just for her. To have her space and whatnot. Complete with an ensuite.

Looks like we aren’t the first Lord and Lady to not be sharing a room.

I was filled with utter glee when she stomped across the hall to throw her panties in my face. I could have stopped them. Snatched them right out of the air with my quick reflexes. But marriage is all about compromises, or so I’ve heard, and I knew it would be far more satisfying for my wife to watch them hit me in the face.

She very much enjoyed what was happening between us. Me ordering her around. Voicing my desire while she fought me on all of it.

Such a little menace.

Unfortunately, I fear that until Delaney fully accepts me, this unhinged rampage devouring my fucking soul will continue, and the resulting body count could potentially be high.

Perhaps I should be more insistent in my efforts, Mallin’s advice aside.

I havegotto pull it together. Current times are far too crucial for me to fall apart now.

Death saturating the walls down here calls to me. It sings a ghostly wail, wraps icy claws around my skin, begging me to breathe life and ease its emptiness.

“Val,” Alaric whispers, hurrying his stride to match my own. “Wait!”

Senses heightened in my agitation, the ripple of air from his raising arm has me turning on the spot, pinning him with a death glare and pointing a dagger at his throat. Smart of me, holding the insight to not indulge in alcohol tonight. Apparently my instincts need to be peak and spirits dampen them far too greatly.

“Touch me, gloved hand or not, and I will scoop your fucking eyeballs from their sockets and shove them down your throat on a skewer.”

Alaric’s gift is a particularlynastyone. A dangerous man: a silent, subtle knife.

One single touch from Alaric’s skin congeals blood cells into an incurable, malignant tumor. Unless there’s a filter near at the time of inception to counteract his gift. Hard to come by.

Poor thing, only able to fuck a person if they’re a filter and can nullify his magic. Or if he’s comfortable with knowing that they will die, prolonged and painful.

Lucky for Alaric (among others), I was able to convince Parliament to not bond him to a wife. Now he may continue to wreak havoc on unsuspecting bodies at will. No, Parliament wants their little deadly lapdog on a nice, long leash.

A leash that’s firmly in my own grasp.

Alaric raises his hands in surrender, glowering at me. “Need I remind you, Val, I am not the reason for your bad mood.”

“All the same.”

Stalking resumes, headed towards the long forgotten cellars hidden behind walls of debris from a collapse many, many Lords ago. TheNoctuasector of Suredeishas been using them to smuggle, store, interrogate, torture, and imprison for as long as the resistance has existed.

“Did he say anything before he slit his throat?” I demand, words clipped, dropping my top hat to shed my long, sweeping tailcoat, folding it neatly. Pure idiocy, thinking killing himself will make any difference. Like I won’t just bring him right back.

Alaric swipes a hand back across his white blonde hair, the long scar across his cheek appearing deeper in the haunting shadows. “No. As soon as he was found, he offed himself. Best guess is that he slipped in with all the performers for tonight’s celebration. Didn’t make it far though. Blair’s little creatures read him in the grand hall and she found me.”