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He closes his eyes and drags in a labored breath that makes everyone hold still.
When he opens them again, he isn’t looking at me.
He’s looking at the ceiling with a softness I haven’t seen in him since before Mom died.
“My love.”
A cold shiver moves across the back of my neck.
Nothing waits above him. Yet, the air shifts. I hope she’s here. I hope he isn’t leaving alone.
His hand loosens in mine. Another breath. A long one. Then his chest falls, and this time it doesn’t rise again.
Silence rushes in.
Then someone starts crying. Another person leaves. Others shift on their feet, unsure whether to comfort each other or stand still and witness it properly. No one ever knows how to move after a life ends in front of them.
He’s gone.
I stand slowly, his hand slipping from mine.
He looks smaller already. Empty. A shell of the man who once filled every corner of this world for me.
My brothers don’t speak. They don’t need to. Grief settles on each of us in its own way, but it’s still the same weight. We’re fatherless now. Motherless. The last link to the people who created us has snapped.
And the burden shifts. It happens as clearly as if someone had set a crown of iron on my skull. From prince to king in the instant of an exhale. Everyone in that room is a witness to the end of an era.
The Serpentium Order devoured my mother first. Then my father. It nearly took me too.
I have spent my whole life resisting its pull, telling myself I could walk away, that I could let the diseased inheritance burn without me. But standing here beside his body, I see it clearly at last.
If I leave it unattended, men like Patrick will strip it to the bone. If I take it, I can bend it. Break what needs breaking. Make it into something that won’t keep swallowing the people I love.
Then my purpose becomes obvious. I need the power. I need the throne.
And I need the girl that fate dragged to my feet. Zaiya. My angel. My reason to keep breathing.
I will have her by my side. Even if I have to force her to stand there.
CHAPTER 12
ZAIYA
Calista’s blood slips through the clear tube and settles into the collection bag with a steady, hypnotic pull. I try not to look directly at the needle in my arm, but the sight of all that red gathered in one place is strangely beautiful, luminous under the harsh clinic lights.
The room is almost empty. A handful of chairs. A ceiling fan that clicks every second. Even small sounds stand out.
Wayne sits on Calista’s other side so she doesn’t have to talk only to me. They tease each other while she scrolls through her phone, her thumb flicking carelessly across the screen.
A nurse handed me her copy of Jane Eyre, assuming I was bored, but I’ve read it too many times to need the pages. The story lives inside me already. Besides, my thoughts are louder than any book today.
At least this feels useful.
Maybe my blood will keep someone alive a bit longer in this town. That makes the needle easier to endure.
Shadow Bluff carries the unreality of a dream. A spot people stumble into by mistake that’s too quiet and polite when it shouldn’t be. Violence is swallowed here, and somehow no one chokes on it.
Edwin has burrowed into my head, and I fear there’s no getting rid of him. I glance around the clinic again, pretending to pass the time, and feel foolish when disappointment sinks in at not finding him.
