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Edwin walks me home, pretending to be a gentleman. Braving the sun as it falls behind the bluff.
I stop at the end of the block when I notice Evelyn tending the garden by the front steps.
“You should go,” I tell Edwin. “She isn’t happy that we’re together.” I nod my head towards Evelyn.
He looks down the street at her. Then grabs my hand and keeps walking.
“Together, huh?” he says, amusement curling into his voice.
My pulse picks up as the distance disappears. “You know what I mean.”
Evelyn pulls her attention from the flowers and spots us approaching. I try to twist my hand from Edwin’s, but his grip is too tight.
She stands and removes her gardening gloves, then tips her sun hat up so she can see us. We stop on the sidewalk in front of the house. I’m ready to run, but Edwin leans down.
His lips press against mine, and the contact sends fire rushing under my skin.
He’s stripped away any chance of secrecy.
And when he pulls back, his wicked grin makes it worse. He nods at Evelyn before walking through the dead end into the woods.
I stand still, bracing myself to face her. With a deep breath, I turn and put on a smile.
“The flowers look beautiful,” I say, heading up the front steps.
“Yes…” She bends down with her clippers in hand. “It’s a shame how easily delicate things break.” She cuts one off its stem and holds it out to me. “We can only preserve them for so long.”
I stare at the pink bloom, imagining it’s already starting to wilt. Her eyes move over my neck before meeting my gaze with a smile. Whatever I thought I could hide, she sees straight through it.
CHAPTER 25
EDWIN
Night descends over Highstone Manor while I stand at the kitchen counter, my coffee cooling between my hands. The overhead light hums faintly, spilling a pale sheen across the stone counters and dark cabinetry that has absorbed generations of quiet suffering. This house never sleeps.
I used to avoid it because my father was dying, every room carrying the sound of his thinning breath. Now he remains here in another form. In every room’s oppressive weight. A hand laid between my shoulders the moment I cross the threshold.
Sleep would be easier. But closing my eyes feels too much like surrender, and I haven’t earned relief.
The numbness that once kept me sane has begun to peel back, exposing a restlessness beneath it, sharpened by her. Zaiya has taken residence in my mind in a way that’s becoming inconvenient. Dangerous. I can’t afford distractions. I especially can’t afford the kind that makes my hand hesitate when it should be wrapped around a throat.
I tried to hold on to my cruelty during the Trial. Concentrating on her undoing. She was supposed to learn and adapt. Then I met her eyes at the wrong moment, and now they follow me everywhere. Trust pushing through the underlying fear. The worst possible combination. All with my cock stuffed in her throat.
I drag a hand through my hair until my scalp burns and stare at my reflection in the dark window above the sink. I look older tonight. How rude of grief and stress to show their work so plainly. Hollowed out, yes, but beautifully. A skeleton with good structure.
The knife block sits within reach. I draw one free and tilt it beneath the light, admiring the clean flash along the metal. I’ve avoided this particular temptation lately.
“Shouldn’t you be at Ophidia?”
My grandfather’s voice carries from the doorway. He stands there in his nightclothes, ready for bed since early afternoon. He avoids going out now. I think he prefers the company of the dead.
I slide the knife back into its slot. “It’s a slow night.”
“It’s your job to be there every night.” He steps farther into the kitchen. “Whether it’s slow or not.”
I rinse the mug, porcelain turning in my hand to reveal the luna moth painted across it. I think of my mother seated above the crowd at Ophidia, beautiful and contained, wishing she could hide while my father showed her off.
His pride overlooked her essence. Would mine do the same to Zaiya? My little rabbit in the headlights, doing her best to dart from danger gracefully.
