Page 39 of His Eternal Claim

I look at Vane, who is smirking now, his hand finally releasing my wrist, leaving behind angry red welts. I look at the other six, their faces impassive, watching the masterpiece get knocked off its pedestal.

“I won’t,” I breathe, my eyes burning. “He shouldn’t have—”

“Selene,” my Mother repeats, her voice dropping an octave, a warning hum. “Don’t make me remind you why the medicine is necessary. Do as you are told. Now.”

Tears sting my lids, the humiliation a hot brand on my chest. I am a weapon, but I am currently unarmed.

I swallow the pride. I am a traitor to the woman who stood up to Zagreus, to the girl who felt like a queen. But to survive the angel, I have to play the doll.

I slowly sink to my knees in the middle of the broken glass and the spilled wine.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Vane,” I whisper to his boots, my voice thick.

“Louder,” Vane mocks.

I close my eyes, a single tear escaping and disappearing into the blue silk of my lap. “I’m sorry. I’ll… I’ll clean it.”

I reach for a discarded silk napkin on the table, my fingers hovering over the red mess. Behind me, I hear my Mother resume her conversation about the flight, as if her daughter wasn’t currently kneeling in the wreckage of her dignity.

And as I wipe the wine from the man’s feet, I know that when the predator finally catches the scent, I won’t just open the door for him.

I’ll hand him the matches to burn this whole house down.

Chapter 15

Eclipse

THE MAESTRO | Past

They say betrayal feels like a knife. It’s oftentimes more than that. You’d never see it coming. Like a fucking bitch.

A single thrust between the ribs.

That’s what cowards say.

That’s what people say when betrayal comes from strangers… from enemies… from spineless little bastards hiding behind smiles and handshakes. I’ve seen many in my twenty-three fucking years of life. I know how to deal with them.

My Beretta knows how to deal with them.

Enemies look you in the eye before they try to bury you. But blood?

Blood is different.

Blood doesn’t come for your throat.

Blood crawls beneath your skin.

It seeps into your veins like poison… slow… patient… careful.

It smiles at you across dinner tables. Pours your whiskey.

Straightens your tie.

Teaches you how to pull a trigger… while quietly aiming one at the back of your fucking skull.

And by the time you realize it, it’s already inside you. In your bones. In your marrow. In your name.

That’s the cruel thing about family.