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Her words prickle, and I don’t want to turn around, but I can’t help myself. When I meet her gaze, she knows she has me.
“Do you want to know the truth, Willow?” She glances at the tome in her hands before extending it in offer. “Do you want to know how Azrael feels about you? There was only ever one way this could end. It’s written in these pages.”
“And what will it cost me?” I narrow my eyes at her. “Clearly, you want something. So just spit it out.”
She smiles, and I don’t know how she manages it, but the woman looks downright sinister every time she does that.
“A lock of your hair will suffice.”
“For your God?” I snort.
Her eyes flash. “For Shemhazai. The Sacrifice must be offered.”
There are no two ways about it. She’s delusional. Insane, probably. But even so, I’m not above temptation. I don’t know what’s in that tome, but I do know that Azrael is a liar. He’s proven I can’t trust his assurances. If I am to go to my death, I don’t want to go naively. I want to know exactly how the man I married has betrayed me.
Salomé waits for my decision, already knowing I will make a deal with the devil. She sees that weakness in me, and I hate her for it. But it doesn’t stop me from walking into the bathroom and retrieving a pair of scissors.
I can barely meet my gaze in the mirror’s reflection as I degrade myself by snipping off a lock of what feels like part of my soul. When I deliver it back to her, I wonder if I’m making a terrible mistake by negotiating with an emotional terrorist. But the truth is, she’s right. I opened myself up to Azrael. I have feelings for him I never wanted or expected. I have to know if he’s been manipulating me this entire time. I have to know what he’s been hiding from me.
“Happy?” I hold the hair out for Salomé, and a wicked gleam reflects in her eyes.
“Very.” She snatches the lock from my fingers and hands me the tome. “You aren’t half as stupid as I thought you might be.”
I won’t dignify her with a response, and I’m glad when she returns to the door without waiting for one.
“Enjoy your reading. There’s quite a lot there.”
She takes her leave, and it doesn’t register in my mind until a moment later, as her shoes echo down the hall, that she didn’t lock the door.
I glance down at the tome in my hands, torn between two options. I don’t know how much time I’ll have before Azrael returns. If I’m going to read it, it has to be now. But I also know Bec is just down the hall, and I want to check on her while I have the opportunity.
I crack open the tome, deciding I’ll just have to be quick. But as I begin flipping through the pages, reading through the documented history of the first Delacroix and Wildblood marriage, my stomach revolts.
There are pages upon pages documenting their time together.
There is no other way to describe what’s written in these passages: Ophelia Wildblood was tortured until the very day she was executed by her husband. The graphic descriptions of her punishments include whippings, beatings, and humiliation in the form of shaving her head and parading her around naked before leading her to the very spot where she was stoned to death.
A tear splashes onto the page before me, and my eyes blur as I flip through more pages until I reach the next couple. And the next. And slowly, an undeniable pattern emerges.
While every Wildblood woman who had the ill fate of marrying a Delacroix dies, it was not fate who delivered the blow. It was their husbands who took their lives.
They were all murdered.
A silent sob wrenches from my throat as I try to keep myself in check, forcing my attention back to the last remaining pages, to the sections that detail the curse. The Delacroixes believe that sacrificing a Wildblood with each new generation will curb the tragedies that have plagued their lineage for so long.
To solidify their argument, there are well-documented examples of how the tides turned with every Sacrifice. And at the end are the contracts signed by each of the Delacroix men vowing to carry the torch to protect their bloodline.
When I see Azrael’s signature on the last contract, my blood runs cold.
He never intended to protect me.
You have my word, Willow. As long as I live and breathe, I will protect you. I will keep you safe.
Betrayal like I’ve never known pierces my heart as I recall those words, those lies from his lips. He never meant any of it.
And now, there’s only one thing I can do.
