Two girls. Two secrets.
Only one can survive.
Years before Nelle Wychthorn plans her escape, Tabitha Catt may unearth something in a Horned God's lair that is the key to freedom.
Desperate to save her beloved aunt from a dark curse, Tabitha is out t...
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I spun around to face Irma, pebbles flying beneath my soles from the abrupt motion. My nostrils flared as I crossed my arms over my chest and glared at her. The words came out as a low rumbling growl. "What happened?"
"Oh, Valarie?" Irma swayed as she came to a surprised stumbling halt. She reached out to grab my arm to steady herself, and I quickly side-stepped her. She had the gall to toss me an appalled look as if I should have been chivalrous enough to assist her. As far as I was concerned, when it came to Irma, chivalry could kiss its sweet ass and then detonate into a thousand useless gestures which I would then use to wipe my ass.
"Irma." I reminded her, gritting my teeth. "My sister?"
"Oh, it was just something Laurena said that upset her," she said waving a hand. Without missing a beat, she continued. "We need to talk, Varen."
And that right there was Irma all over. If it wasn't about her, she barely took notice.
I squinted at her, not recognizing this woman at all. She was a complete stranger to me. Or maybe it wasn't so much her, she hadn't changed—I had.
Irma obviously realized her mistake and quickly added with a syrupy smile. "Laurena was teasing her, you know how she gets."—like a petty little bitch—"You just have to ignore someone like Laurena. I'm sure she wasn't aware that she'd upset Valarie, and your sister's fine now. I cheered her up," she said, popping a shoulder up. Her eyes brightened and she smiled a megawatt smile at me that might have sucked me in at one time, but now I wore Irma-blinders that shielded me from her fake bullshit. She canted forward. "I had no idea Byron was interested in her."
"Me either," I said, leaning in and using the exact same tone as her as if we were both sharing a delicious bit of gossip.
She slowly blinked. When she finally realized I was mocking her, the smile slowly slipped from her lips that she'd glamoured to be fuller and fatter, which in truth looked like she'd stuck her mouth in a hornet's nest and been repeatedly stung by furiously jacked-up wasps.
I hissed out a sigh, raking my eyes up and down that curvy figure encased in bright pink silk. Irma's heart was as empty as a vagabond's pocket. She was vapid and self-absorbed. I couldn't believe I hadn't recognized it in her earlier, but I'd been young and foolish and taken in by how easy-going she was. Quite frankly, I'd been thinking with my dick most of the time. As much as it stung to realize it had been me who was the godsdamned fool, that she'd played me like an idiot, it was the truth. Sure she'd loved me in a way only Irma knew how to love, shallow and insipid, and like a possession that looked good on her arm. She desired what she thought I could give her—the role of Matriarch of a Lower House when I'd become the heir and we'd married. Until six months ago she hadn't realized it wasn't me, but my brother.
And then Irma really showed me exactly what she was. Cold and calculating—hidden under a thin veneer of an amiable personality and striking features.
What I wanted, and what she wanted, were two different things.
