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There’s a dull ache in my brain, not from the fight, not from the blows landed—from the unease at returning for the first time after so many days away.
When I left the compound four days ago, the others were curled up asleep in the lounge together. Thorne saw me leave, I know he did, but he was too invested in holding Fox tight in his arms.
Something shifted that night, and it has kept me on edge ever since. I can’t put my finger on it, and maybe that’s the thing that has my skin feeling like it’s crawling. Uncertainty and distrust are foes I know well.
I learned the hard way never to put faith in anyone bearing the Noire name.
My sister paid for entering their poisoned world with her life.
Initiations, such as the one I’ve just attended to oversee some of the new members who have made it into the ranks of the Anguis, are so often the same formula.
Blood. Death. Fealty.
That’s all they require in their holy trinity of fucked up allegiance.
But for the likes of me, my sister—Thorne and Ky, too—we weren’t given a choice. Children like us were a commodity bought and traded. The offspring of junkies and desperate people who found themselves in even more desperate circumstances. There’s no trying to guess what motivates someone to sell their own child.
We don’t know anything about the people who offered us up into the jaws of darkness.
All we know of life has been driven by the environment we were raised in. All we have ever known is the way a society such as the Anguis has rooted itself in our ligaments and tendons and bones, whether we choose to accept it, or not.
Sucking in a deep inhale, cool air inflates my lungs.
It’s late.
My soul is fucking worn to tatters.
The sliver of a moon hangs low in the sky above the blackened outlines of the trees coating the hills around the house. Jagged silhouettes enticing me to steal away into their peaceful embrace.
So, when I walk into the kitchen, in search of a whiskey and my sanity, I’m less than impressed to find Foxglove Noire perched on a stool scrolling her phone. She’s got something heating in the microwave and a packet of pills beside a glass of water on the counter next to her.
At the sound of my entrance, she whips around. Looking startled for a moment, then her mouth forms a small O as her eyes drop. Taking in my bloodied and bruised appearance.
I bare my teeth at her.
She wants to try and be cutesy by calling me a wolf? Well, the girl can have my fangs while I rip her throat out.
“What happened to you?” Her mouth speaks words of concern, but it’s the rotten Noire heart at her core that I can’t bring myself to look past.
“Nothing.”
“That doesn’t look like nothing.” She stands from her stool as if to cross over to me, but wisely stops herself.
“Part of the job.”
“Those cuts need cleaning.” She chews her lip then decides to take a step closer, and once again, there’s nothing but one of Ky’s oversized tees adorning her curves. I’m guessing she sleeps in them all the time now, and to be honest, if this girl is in the kitchen dressed like that, I’m more than a little surprised Ky isn’t here panting after her.
Shrugging Fox off, I cross to the cabinets on the other side of the kitchen, fishing out a bottle and a glass. My knuckles are battered, and there’s a deep bruise forming below my ribs, I can tell. No doubt that’s going to hurt like a bitch in the morning.
“Let me help.” She’s followed me around the island in the kitchen, trying some foolish attempt at bravery or some shit.
“Leave me the fuck alone.” As I pour myself a drink, amber liquid sloshes over the rim and onto the bench. She’s still there, but shrinks a little in the face of my bark. Just because I fucked her and she choked on my cock and put on a show in front of us with Thorne…none of that means shit.
If anything, it’s every reason she should be staying the hell away from me.
Whatever’s inside the microwave has long stopped turning, and it lets out a shrill series of reminder beeps. That seems to startle her out of the apparent interest in my cut-up face, and she huffs at me. Pushing past to wrench it open and take out a soft bag. With a forceful slam, she turns on her heel and moves over to scoop up the packet of pills and the water.
But the way she winces as she gathers her things is unmistakable.
