Page 36

Wrath

Riding hard through the outskirts, heading toward Valen’s known kill spots, my phone vibrates violently in my pocket. I pull over with a sharp swerve, tires spitting gravel, my pulse already hammering as I yank the phone out.

His name flashes across the screen.

I answer without thinking, pressing it to my ear. There’s no greeting, just the distant clang of metal, faint hissing, and his heavy, measured breathing.

“I told you she wasn’t right for you, Wrath,” Valen says, his voice deep and deadly. “She was never meant to be yours. That little bitch cursed you. Turned you against your own blood.”

The gaslighting slithers through my chest like poison, but I grind my teeth and shove it down. My fingers dig into the bridge of my nose so hard it feels like I might snap the bone.

“Where is she, Valen?” I snarl, fed up with his shit.

“Where she’s supposed to be,” he replies, mockingly soft. “In burning hell.”

My head jerks up, blood draining to ice and my gut twists violently.

“I swear to fuck,” I growl, “if you touched a single fucking hair on her—”

“Oh, no,” he coos, interrupting. “I wouldn’t do that. Not to you. I just gave her to someone who deserves her... someone she belongs to.”

My whole body hums with white-hot rage, blurring my vision, tightening every muscle like a stretched wire. But I don’t let him finish. I start thinking about his slur of burning hell and catch more faint background echo’s that pulls the whole thing together.

I know where the fuck she is.

“You forgive me—” he starts again.

Click.

I hang up. No more fucking words. No more chances.

I fire up the bike, engine roaring like the fury in my chest, and tear down the road toward where she is, because if Valen put her in someone else’s hands, Zye’s hands, I’m about to cut those fucking hands off.