I knew the role I played in her life would be painfully absent. However, such knowledge did nothing to quell the all-encompassing torment which gnawed at my very being. It was as though I had never existed in her world—had never been graced by her willful nature and kind curiosity.
Or that I had never touched or been touched by her, even though no force on earth could wipe those memories from my mind.
Seeing Darrow instead of D’Arcy had stirred a primal possessive rage that simmered near the surface, waiting to be called upon. No matter how we ended, she had claimed my last name, per Kallistos law and her own free will.
Even if she denied our love at the end, the name was still hers. It would always belong to her.
The steering wheel groaned as my fist clenched around the leather, holding me back from opening the door and stepping out into my doom. Perhaps I might have done it if Jasper had not been beside me.
Because living in a world where Calia D’Arcy no longer breathed was a fate worse than death.
CHAPTER TWO
Istared into the fireplace, watching the flames battle for dominance as I traced the rim of a half-empty glass of whiskey. It rested atop the arm of the leather chair I had claimed, refusing to do anything but bask in my depression.
Jasper had forced me to drive away from the cemetery. The funeral seemed to have taken place an eternity ago, despite the few hours that had slipped past. I had no concept of time these days, unable to do much more than stare, and listen to the barrage of voices crowding my mind.
People often forgot about the powers my family possessed, how I could hear every sordid thought as though they had been screamed at me. While we did not have many staff, there were enough under one roof to give me a headache. Usually, I could tune the world out. While I would never experience the pleasure of true silence, the whispers were often muted.
But now they roared in my ears, forcing me to examine my atrocities. I could have tamped them down, shut everything off entirely and fallen into the void—but I was a masochist of the highest order. I refused to censor one ounce of the pain I deserved.
“Do you think he killed her?”
“I know the statement says she fell, but did she?”
“The police weren’t involved. Seems suspicious if you ask me.”
“Two deaths in one night bodes ill for us all.”
It had hardly been a day before I had them sent home, all with pay. Each passing second drew my anger as tight as a bowstring, threatening to snap and demolish anyone in my path.
My uncle’s death was of little importance—to me, anyway. He was a rotten bastard who should have died long ago, yet had somehow survived on the confidence of others. After my father died, Renwick had been too keen to accept his spot on the council. And while it was my eventual birthright, or Rowena’s, should she have shown interest, my uncle had done all he could to secure his hold on that seat.
Not that it mattered now.
In the days following Calia and Renwick’s deaths, the council issued an official statement to quell the public’s greedy quest for the truth. These strangers who knew nothing, yet salivated at each minute detail, hung on to every word that was tossed their way.
“It was a tragic accident,” they claimed. “Two lives gone from this world too soon.” Neither Darrow nor D’Arcy was present at the press conference, citing that each family was mourning their respective losses, and wishing for the public to let them grieve in peace.
But one half of that was a lie; the D’Arcy’s as a collective were not mourning.Iwas mourning.Rowenawas mourning. But my mother? She fled the scene without even a hint of where she was hiding. Jasper had men searching for her night and day, assuring me he would not stop until she was found.
I wished I had been capable of setting my grief aside, but so far, I had done nothing but wallow in it. Though, I knew if I was the one to find her, I would be unable to bridle my rage.
She would receive no forgiveness for the part she played that night. I would make sure of it.
I heard the door behind me open, followed by padded footsteps against the hardwood floor. Jasper took the seat next to me, reaching for the liquor at my feet and holding it up. “That is bottle number two for the day if you are still keeping track,” I muttered, picking up my glass and grimacing as the burning whiskey slid down my throat.
He shook his head and sat it down, turning toward me. I felt his watchful, scrutinizing stare as he scanned me from head to toe. “How long are you going to torture yourself?”
I snorted, tipping my head back against the leather. “Am I only allowed a handful of days to mourn?”
“Of course not, but you’re destroying yourself. You can’t go on like this.”
“There is no way forward without her, so if my destruction is imminent, then I wish it would hurry.”
“Don’t say that. This isn’t like you?—”
“Is it not?” I asked, staring up at the ceiling. “Mother always said I was a morose child.”
