There’s a half-eaten plate of pastries before her, and she tucks a piece of hair behind her ear before turning the page of the book in her hand.
Her black eyes flicker toward me. “Can I help you?”
I blink. “Amelia’s hungry.” Placing the blame on Amelia has historically been successful. “She said the shadows begin serving breakfast around this time. I didn’t think the room would be occupied this early in the morning. My apologies.”
Mammon frowns, the corners of her lips tugging downward as she openly looks at me from head to toe. I remain in the doorway, waiting for an invitation to enter fully. She doesn’t immediately grant it.
“I presume your wedding night was successful?” she asks instead.
She wants to know if I fucked her daughter.
“Yes,” I say through clenched teeth. “It was successful, and I’m eternally grateful to call myself Amealia’s husband.”
Mammon finally smiles. Her visible approval makes me nauseous, and I resist the urge to shake my tingling arms. Power is swirling through my veins, pushing against the thinning containment wall that the tonic creates. The tingling is spreading up my arms, almost reaching my shoulders.
“Come in, then,” Mammon finally says. She flicks her wrist toward the buffet table sitting against the far wall. It’s behind her, out of her immediate view. “Take your fill and return to my daughter before the household wakes up.”
She returns to her book as I stroll toward the buffet. She’s not paying me any mind, which is precisely what I hoped would happen. I hope to fade into the background. It’s the only way I’m going to catch her by surprise.
I fill up a plate, mindlessly picking from the spread. I’m nervous, which isn’t how I imagined I’d feel at this moment. I envisioned excitement, maybe even a hint of anger. There’s so much potential for things to go wrong, though, and it’s all I can think about.
These could very well be my last moments. I’m not particularly excited to die.
The tingling spreads up my shoulders and down my back. I’m running out of time. Now is the moment.
I scan the room, ensuring nobody has entered. The room remains empty, and I swallow past the lump in my throat as I eye the back of Mammon’s head. She’s flicking through her book, her attention on the pages.
She’s vulnerable.
I close the distance between us, my every sense honing in. I listen to her calm intake of breath. I smell the remnants of the perfume she wore last night. I feel the softness of her silky, blackhair as my hands lock around her head, and then I feel the sharp crack as I force her neck to the side.
I wish I could tell her why I’m doing this, but every second I waste is an opportunity for her to fight back. Mammon’s too strong to risk even the briefest hesitation.
Everything is silent.
A broken neck will immobilize Mammon, but it’s not enough to kill a demon with so much power. Tingles spread down the back of my thighs as I release her limp form, letting her upper body rest on the table. There’s a knife beside her plate. It’s not particularly sharp, but it’ll do.
I lift Mammon’s head, exposing her neck, and slice straight across. Then I do so again, ensuring there’s no chance of survival. Demons can survive a lot, but decapitation is one thing we don’t heal from.
Blood soaks into my shirt sleeves, the scent pungent, and I spare a glance toward the doorway as loud, angry footsteps echo down the corridor I entered through just a minute ago. I promised myself I’d cut out Mammon’s heart, but as I take in the speed of the approaching footsteps, I decide to leave it. There’s no time.
The tingling reaches my feet as I move toward the discreet shadow’s entrance in the corner of the room. My body is quickly burning through the remainder of the tonic, and my heightened emotions aren’t helping.
Mammon’s blood has thoroughly soaked into my shirt, saturating the fabric and undoubtedly turning me into a beacon. I should have planned for this, and not doing so was a significant oversight.
The shadow’s entrance is dark and narrow. It’s also thankfully empty. The estate has yet to awaken, but I know better than to rely on that. The shadows wake early, and it’s only a matter of time before I encounter one. I was a shadow the firsttime I infiltrated Mammon’s kingdom, and it made blending in easy. I don’t have the same luxury now, and I keep my head low as I duck through the first exit I find.
It pops me out just beyond the private royal wing, only a few corridors from the guest rooms. I cross my arms over my chest in a sad attempt to hide the stench of Mammon’s blood as I head toward the guest rooms. I didn’t calculate this stop into my original plans, but there’s no way to leave here while covered in Mammon’s blood.
I force my way into the first room I encounter. It’s empty and smells of male, and I let out a sigh of relief as I spot the bags lying on the ground. Whoever is staying in this room didn’t return after last night’s festivities, and I rifle through the bags before finding a clean shirt to change into.
I abandon my bloodied fabric on the floor before returning to the corridor. It remains empty. There’s no conceivable way I’ll make it out of here through the standard exits, but I’ve scouted out a balcony on the third floor that overlooks the steep bluffs behind the castle. It’s my best bet.
Chapter Seventeen
CASSIA
WHAT THE FUCK is going on?
