Page 5 of The Temptation of Roan Island

I glare at him before turning away and continuing on my path. My brother follows, keeping pace with my steps like a shadow I can’t shake. Jafeth has always taken delight in pushing people, like a happy little puppy who nips at your feet until kicked, then smiles at the abuse.

The wind isn’t as energetic among the trees where I’m walking, making it easier for my keen ears to pick up the beat of my brother’s hearts, the snap of sharp branches underfoot, the rustle of a creature far in the distance, the sap trickling through winter trees. Sounds more comforting and familiar than the noises that have filled the manor lately.

“Why visit the dead when you can delight in the living?” Jafeth asks, no doubt finally realizing where I’m headed. “Lunch will be served soon. And then the revelers will arrive.”

“Then you should return. You can share your winning personality at lunch and be the one to greet the guests.” I wave a hand and keep on walking. I don’t need company where I’m going.

In a burst of movement, faster than human eyes can detect, Jafeth’s in front of me, palm against my chest, his usual playful demeanor more subdued. His dark eyes—eyes just like mine—are serious for once. “You need to stop martyring yourself to her.”

My body revs up with barely contained annoyance. The nearness of the new moon and the hollowness in my belly make it hard to maintain my composure. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You do. Vivienne was a fucking bitch,” he growls. My jokester brother’s vehemence freezes me in place. “She deserved what happened to her.”

My teeth bare down, clenching like every coiled muscle in my body. But I smile just short of a snarl. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I can see Jafeth wants to hold his ground, to push until he gets a reaction out of me, but he takes a step back, shaking his head. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his dark jacket. “I know you don’t want to believe it, but…” A derisive laugh splits his mouth. “No, you know what, believe whatever the fuck you want, brother. You can wallow out in that meadow for all I care. I’d rather enjoy the delights back at the estate.”

Fists clenched in my pockets, I fight to maintain my usual indifference, but I can’t stop the image that jumps into my mind. Jafeth feeding on Pippa.

“Get out of my way, Jafeth.” The warning is low and calm, but clear.

“You’re being stubborn. Surprise. Surprise.” He steps to the side.

“A characteristic you know well, I’d say.” I start up the hill past him.

He doesn’t follow this time. “Just think about what I said. You’ve already grieved Vivienne more than she deserved.”

My feet carry me forward. Jafeth is wrong about why I go to Vivienne’s grave. It’s not grief that drives me. Not anymore. I go for the reminder. Love lies. Love hurts. Love is rarely offered to monsters. And that’s what I am.

I don’t bemoan my nature like Noah. Or celebrate it like Jafeth. It just is.

When I reach the crest of the meadow that overlooks the southern shore of the island, I stop at the grave marker. We don’t bury our dead. But Vivienne wasn’t one of us. She was human, no matter how much she wanted to be something more. So when she died, I carried her here, and laid her to rest, along with my heart.

Let others make fools of themselves in love.

I’m not a fool.

I’m a monster.

I’m Mavarri.

3

PIPPA

Ilook down at my plate of elegant sandwiches stacked with colorful vegetables, meats, and cheeses, but I can’t check the roll of my eyes at the tittering giggle of the woman to my right. Kay is too young and full of romantic notions to be sitting among monsters and the dying, but it can’t be helped.

“Mr. Roan,” Kay says, her voice pitched higher than usual. “What do you think I should wear for my first new moon party?”

My eyes catch Shemaiah’s. His dark gaze immediately slides away, hiding his own barely concealed eye roll. He came in late to lunch and hasn’t spoken much since, but that little shared reaction has me hiding a smile behind my napkin.

“And which Roan would you be addressing, Miss Hoff?” Jafeth asks. “Certainly you aren’t asking the older Mr. Roan? He has a terrible sense of style.”

“Excuse me?” Noah Roan, the oldest of the three Roan brothers, scoffs. His arms rest against the edge of the table, eating implements in hand. “I’m not that old. And I do not have a terrible sense of style.”

Which is true. He’s very handsome. All the Roan brothers and their sister are inhumanely attractive. Their faces are perfectly proportional, their dark eyes soulful and fringed with thick lashes while framed with expressive brows. All four of them have dark hair, perfectly coiffed, though the eldest, Noah, tends to run his hands through his so often, it loses its pomaded shape. His wife Ruby is always trying to put it back in order, though I think she’d take any excuse to touch him. Zarah is a feminine version of her brothers. Each of them dress impeccably, which their wealth allows. They’re made to be beautiful, to tempt. Biology designed to lure prey. Dangerous.

Sometimes I wonder if Dr. Witten knows what they are, and that’s why he tried to warn me away. He’s always treated me a bit more like a daughter than just a patient. Maybe because I was pregnant when I was first admitted to The Sanatorium. As terrifying as the Roans are, though, I’m glad I agreed to come with them. It won’t result in what I’d originally hoped, but this is a far better way to spend my remaining days than staring at a wall in a hospital gown.