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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Was I really going to do this? I sure as fuck wasn't pussy-whipped but I sure was kiss-whipped. I figured—more like, tried to convince myself—I could always grow my beard back after I'd taken my fill with tabby cat.
In utter contradiction to the awfulness of Chateaux Crappo's bedroom, its bathroom, with its graceful lines and curves, was beautifully appointed and had an old-world opulent feel, complete with a clawfoot bath and glassy shower, marbled tiles, and gold finishings. And it came equipped with every luxury or necessity we needed. I stood in front of the bathroom mirror, leaning a broad hand upon the smooth white surface of the vanity while the other gripped an electric clipper. I tapped the clipper on the edge of the sink and the sound of metal clunking on softly-veined marble chinked through the room in a steady beat.
Fuck.
Just do it.
Do it!
I lifted my gaze and forced myself to stare at my reflection in the mirror. The lights, flooding the space from overhead, made everything raw and sharp-edged. Too real. Too naked. Dark violet eyes reflected back a turmoil of remorse. The unkempt hair and bristly beard hid my face, but I could never hide my eyes—the color and shape were so similar to Gratian's.
The surprising lightheartedness it seemed Tabitha cast, both enthralling and diverting,had pushed the darkness momentarily away. Now, with every passing second, that dull, oppressive-limned gray pushed back. The familiar weary feeling that had been with me since my brother's death sucked at my limbs like mire, making them leaden and drawing breath as painful as chewing on shattered glass. My fingers tightened around the plastic handle of the clippers, my gaze dipping to the coarse black beard in the mirror.
I couldn't. Just couldn't.
Tabitha was simply a distraction.
A distraction I didn't deserve.
Here I was, alive, and my brother wasn't.
The bunched muscles in my shoulders released and, with a heavy sigh, I pulled open a drawer and tossed the clippers inside, along with the shaving gel and razor I would have used to properly shave after trimming the scruffy beard to a more manageable length.
There was one thing I could do, and that was steal the ring Laurena was wearing for Gratian. It would never make amends, not even a small one, for my part in Gratian's death. I just wanted to do something he would have done as soon as he'd spied the gem adorning Laurena's finger—to continue his legacy of thieving, and bring something home to the Crowther treasury where it belonged. And sometime after that...sometime soon, I was going to hunt down that thing in the Hemmlok Forest, and only one of us would survive.
It didn't shock me to realize that if it wasn't me who survived, I really didn't give a fuck.
Five minutes after leaving my abode, the charming Chateaux Crappo, I'd double-checked to see that the lights in Laurena's bedroom were out, and then determined the exact whereabouts of Byron. I'd spotted him speaking to the creepy Aldert Pelan beside a burning brazier outside the room the Denaiuds had set aside for all the entitled upper ranks to gather within and watch the Servants' Dance. I'd always intended to pull the heist while the fireworks drew everyone outside, but when Laurena left the gathering early, clearly looking unwell, it put another bump in my plan. I was hoping that she'd be given something to ease her illness that had a drowsy side effect.
