Eyes Like The Ocean | A Culled Crown Novella

Chapter 4

The Kevlar House.

Erydia.

In the months since her sisters had left, Viera had not stopped locking her bedroom door. It was habit now, a regular part of her nighttime routine. But for the first time since her mother had given the order, Viera did not lock the door. Her father knew the click of the lock and he was a light sleeper. She would not—could not—risk him waking.

So, she lay awake in bed and waited.

After dinner, she had excused herself. She'd left complaining of a headache. She'd told her father that she needed to bathe and decide what to wear for the trip to the temple the next morning. He had been pleased, if not a bit wary of her complacency.

Jude Kevlar had expected a fight—he'd wanted one. But Viera was too clever to argue with him, not when compliance would earn her more freedom, would garner his trust and his ignorance. So, she'd bathed, kissed her mother on the cheek, and excused herself for the evening.

That was her goodbye.

It was still early—not yet midnight. The bedroom adjacent to her's had been silent for some time now. She waited within that silence, curled up, her knees pulled to her chest, her eyes closed tight against the growing heat within her veins.

It knew.

The thing within her, whatever drop of darkness the goddess had melded within Viera's very bones, knew of her coming deceit and it fought against it. Her mouth was sawdust, her tongue like lead against her teeth.

Sometimes, if she sat very still and let herself reach within, to that dark pit in her gut, she could feel the poison coiled there. Waiting for her to give in. To forget about it long enough that it might break free.

It was a living, breathing thing—and it strained and lashed out, like a snake, fangs bared and eyes blazing. Viera could touch it, stroke a mental finger across it, and often she wanted to, but to do so would be to befriend the entity, to allow it space. And something in her balked at the sight of it, at the dark essence that swirled and stretched towards her inner walls. The barricade she held between herself and that thing was too thin.

It would be easy, a voice inside her whispered, to stop fighting it. To let it have its way, to give it an inch—just enough to—

No.

She opened her eyes and gazed out into her moonlit bedroom. Sheer curtains were drawn over her window, and through the fabric she could just make out the glowing city beyond. Leighton was out there waiting for her.

They would make it—they had to. Their future together depended on it. And she wanted that future, she wanted to always be the on the receiving end of his smiles. It had been her dream for so long, she didn't know who she was without it—without him.

Once, when her father was out of town on business, Viera had stayed the night with Leighton in the compact housing. It had been strange, to be surrounded by so many people and yet feel entirely alone with him—more alone with Leighton than she'd ever been before.

She could not remember whose idea it had been for her to stay the night. It had just happened, the way that things often did with him. One minute, he was twirling her through the twinkling lights of a west side music hall, and the next she was tucked under his arm, his jacket slung around her shoulders and her fingers threaded through his.

Then they were rushing up the stairs, stopping on landings to kiss, to touch, to smile, to breathe each other in. After that, it was all shy smiles and forgotten clothes. Goddess, she had been so nervous, so afraid to be with him like that—to let him look and feel and taste. But he had been so sweet.