Page 77 of Fallacies

I tug with all my might, teeth gritted so hard that my jaw pops, and by some miracle I manage to wrangle it back inside me. I waste no time locking it away, slamming closed the heavy door I keep it behind.

Exhaling, I release the tension gathered in my spine, and that’s when I notice how quiet it is around me. The silence in the room is tangible. Breathing feels like screaming.

I crack open my eyes.

Pax is as white as a ghost. Hunter is pressed against the counter behind him, white-knuckling the edge. Easton’s hand is covering his mouth, the look on his face a mix of astonishment and grave concern. Phoenix appears to be fighting a smile. Though I’m sure what he finds amusing is imagining how it might end for me. Tortured, exiled, killed…

Then I look to my left.

Devon has thrown himself in front of Callan. It’s exactly where the third in command is supposed to be–between the Captain and a threat.

There’s hardly any feeling in the tears that slip down my cheeks.

After a few agonizing seconds of Devon towering over me, Callan pushes him aside, and for a long moment, he just stares back at me. His chest rises and falls with breaths that seem difficult to pull in. He doesn’t reach for my hand.

“Lucina.” Callan swallows, taking a hesitant step towards me. “Who is your father?”

My feet sink into the ground. It’s as if someone’s just poured concrete over them.

It doesn’t take long for my hesitation to become obvious, and when it does, Pax pushes off the counter as if he’s frustrated by my reaction. “Cin, we took on every skeleton in your closet when you got initiated into this coven. You are one of us now, and we protect each other. Always.” He glances around the room. “We’re all trying to process this, and that’s going to take some time, but nothing you say will change the fact that we’re bound to you forever.”

There is love on his face, in his eyes, and it’s a relief I didn’t know I needed. At least Pax can still look at me the same way.

“You swear it?” I ask him, and Pax nods. I glance at Callan, and he nods too. Everyone does.

Fisting my hands at my sides, I lift my chin and pray to every damn god that they actually mean it.

“Kage Tenebrus,” I force out. “My father took Streatham.”

18

The Hound

My shackles drag across the pristine marble floor as the King’s men escort me to the throne room. I have four Rogues behind me, one on either side, and four up ahead. If I could slip even a pinky out of these chains, they’d all be lying dead on the floor. And if I had Sena, they’d be puffs of red mist.

Or black.

I’m not quite sure what color they’d bleed. Nor do I really care.

Alaric has sent for me. Just as I’d hoped for. And that’s all I care about.

Two Rogues pull open towering onyx doors, revealing the devil himself. Alaric Tenebrus perched high on a golden throne—the same color as his eyes. He watches me much like a snake, calculating and twitchy, tracking my every step as I’m led to the center of the room.

I’m forced to kneel, my knees slamming into the cold marble floor, but it hurts my pride more than it hurts my bones. My bones have endured years of torture. Centuries.

There’s a shuffle of boots, and then the room falls silent, the shift of my shackles the only sound.

“Hound,” Alaric addresses me with a sneer, lifting his chin in an attempt to appear almighty in his seat.

If he were as strong as he claims to be, he wouldn’t bother with my chains. Wouldn’t have bothered slapping them on fifty years ago. No, he’s scared of me. All of them are. I might be covered in chains, but all I’d need is a pinky.

Alaric knows this. He might be wicked and vile, but he’s smart, too.

There’s disgust stamped on his shadowed face, colorless lips pulling back to reveal perfectly straight teeth with canines sharp enough to draw blood. His long fingers wrap the golden arm of his throne, shadows and inky darkness dancing between them.

It’s a party trick meant to intimidate, but it won’t work on me. I smell panic mixed with his usual nauseating arrogance and narcissism. He wants something—needs something—and he’s desperate to get it. I feel it in the marrow of my bones.

“It seems I require your…expertise,” Alaric drawls, straightening on his throne. “I’ve lost something that belongs to me, and I need you to find her.”