I try again. “Is it a Wrath?”
More silence. Why won’t they answer me? I’m holding on to my sanity by a thin, thin thread, and it’s fraying with every passing minute. I suppose their lack of answer is confirmation enough, though.
It was a Wrath who murdered Mammon.
They’ll be welcomed here with open arms. The person who stole my kill is going to be paraded around my kingdom like a fucking hero.
I’m going to slit their throat.
Chapter Eighteen
CASSIA
I SIT BEHIND my desk, tapping my fingers rhythmically against the wooden surface. It’s been almost two full days since Mammon was killed, and we’ve learned nothing valuable about the murder. The entire kingdom of Greed has shut down, and we’ve not gotten a damned whisper of anything.
We now know it’s a man who killed Mammon, but that’s it. What the fuck am I supposed to do with that information?
My anger has yet to settle. If anything, it’s grown.
It doesn’t help that my parents are having one of their terribly hidden arguments. They believe that publicly fighting reflects poorly on their leadership, but anybody with half a brain can see the tension between them.
Aziel can barely tolerate being in the same room as Silas. Gray is avoiding physical contact. Silas is sulking around like a scolded child. Mom is refusing to leave the house. It’s a fucking mess, and it’s making it damn near impossible to secure answers. I want to know every sordid detail of Mammon’s murder, but their lips are infuriatingly sealed shut.
It’s only a matter of time before this mystery man appears.
I assume he’s on his way to Wrath, and he must be near the border by now. I’m sure he’ll teleport directly to my fathers the second he crosses onto Wrath land. Why wouldn’t he? He’s looking for glory, and I bet he’s creaming his pants over the thought of earning my parents’ favor.
That’s all anybody cares about. Wraths are obsessed with power, whether by earning it themselves or aligning themselves with somebody who already has it. I can’t think of anybody more powerful than my parents.
Actually, I can.Me. I may not yet have as much physical strength as Aziel, nor do I have insight into fate like Silas and my sister, but I’m not to be discounted. I have drive and ambition, and that counts for something.
I lean back in my chair, my ever-growing frown deepening as I eye my bracelet.My jail sentence. I used to love diamonds, but I vow never to wear the precious stone again. My parents have ruined them for me, just as they’ve ruined everything else in my life.
I absentmindedly pick at the clasp, still hopeful I’ll find a way to pop it open. I’m debating dislocating my thumb so I can slide it over my hand, but I have no guarantee that will work. I’m not going to maim myself over a hunch.
There’s a sharp knock on my door, one I’m keen to ignore. My office blinds have been drawn for days, a clear indicator not to bother me, and I don’t recognize the knock. Whoever is on the other side of that door is neither family nor Jassy, therefore not worth my time. I’m much too busy fantasizing about murder and revenge.
Another knock echoes through the room, one louder than the last.
“Cassia?”
I groan. I may not recognize the knock, but I sure recognize the voice.
“I know you’re in there!”
I fight back a snarky remark as I swivel my chair toward the door. Uncle Chev doesn’t make a habit of visiting Wrath’s government buildings, mainly because he prefers bothering my parents at home. He’s too comfortable with us. So are his children. Aunt Vanessa is the only one who understands boundaries.
“What do you want?” I ask. I keep my voice level, knowing he can hear me through the door. “I’m busy.”
The doorknob turns, my response taken as an invitation to enter. If Chev were one of my employees, he’d be fired on the spot. I like my privacy, and I don’t tolerate disrespect. It seems I have no choice but to accept it today as my office door swings open and Chev comes barreling inside. He’s wearing traditional shifter leathers, and he anxiously tugs them down his thighs as he welcomes himself into my space.
Good. Heshouldbe anxious to visit me.
“Yes?” It’s impossible to keep the bite out of my voice, but to be fair, I’m not trying very hard to. “Can I help you with something?”
Chev nods so aggressively that his brown hair swings around his head. I spot a few grays near his temple, and an immediate bolt of discomfort shoots down my spine. Chev isn’t much older than I am, maybe only thirty or so years, but shifters have significantly shorter lifespans than demons. I’m going to watch him and his entire bloodline age and die.
I don’t like to think about it, but the painful realization hits every time I’m confronted with the physical signs of his aging. I realistically only have a hundred or so years left with him.
