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I look down at the ring, wondering how something so insignificant can feel so evil.
“It’s a fucking ring, Gran,” Emmanuel says to her utter annoyance. She has forbidden the use of foul language in the house, and I’m sure my brother takes pleasure in using it so openly.
But mostly, she hates being called anything but Grandmother.
Slowly, she turns a calculated gaze to Emmanuel and the instinct to protect my younger brother kicks in as she sets him in her sights. He can handle her, mostly. He likes messing with her, but it’s dangerous.
“You, Emmanuel,” she starts, stepping toward him to brush imaginary dust from his shoulders, should be prepared. Should anything befall your brother, you will be our last hope.”
“Well, let’s make sure nothing befalls my brother then,” Emmanuel says with a snort.
“Disrespectful—”
“Enough. I’ll wear the goddamned ring.” I put it on without allowing myself to think about it and check my watch. “We need to go,” I tell Emmanuel and step past my grandmother.
“Cloaks and masks. It is tradition,” she says, closing her hand over my arm to stop me.
I turn to find her holding up one of the masks. These are not specific to our family. They’re masks of The Society, the secret organization our family has been a part of since the very beginning. A founding family of IVI, the Delacroixes are powerful both here in New Orleans and in France, where our family originates.
Emmanuel and I have minimal interaction with The Society. My father had been shunned because he married outside of IVI. It’s at least one of the reasons Grandmother hated our mother.
For my part, as head of this household, I will do what I need to do to maintain our standing within The Society. They are, after all, a necessary part of our lives, although by taking the Wildblood sacrifice as my bride, I’ll be following in my father’s footsteps and marrying outside of The Society. That is as it needs to be. When it comes time for Emmanuel or Rébecca to marry, expectations will be very different.
But I can’t think about that right now.
I take the mask and look at it, my gaze catching on that ring on my finger.
My grandmother gives me a victorious grin. “The girl, I’ve prepared a room for her,” she says.
“Have you?” I ask, meeting her gaze. It irks her to have to look up at me even though she is almost six feet tall herself, but I have six inches on her. “Where exactly did you prepare a room?”
“In the servants’ quarters, of course. You won’t want that witch in your bed any longer than necessary.”
“They are staff, not servants.”
She chuckles.
“And besides, what if I like her in my bed?” I ask, cocking my head.
She stiffens, narrowing her eyes but clearly uncomfortable. “You’ll claim her once. Consummate. It’s the rule. After that, there is no need. You can have any woman from the Cat House or anywhere else. God knows the city is full of whores.”
“But she’ll be my wife, Grandmother. It would go against the God you claim to love to find pleasure elsewhere. Thou shalt not commit adultery. Which commandment is it?”
Emmanuel snorts.
Grandmother sends an evil glare his way but focuses her attention on me. “You’ve forgotten your lessons, have you?”
“I haven’t forgotten the beatings.”
“Speaking of lessons, I have one with Rébecca tomorrow,” she says as if I didn’t say what I’d just said, eyes narrowing because she knows my sister is one way to control me. “She hardly pays attention anymore. Always distracted, that one. A replica of your mother. I may have to reintroduce incentive learning.”
Incentive learning. The incentive being not to take a beating. I will never forget the bite of her favorite cane or strap. I still remember the day I saw my father’s back, the years-old scars that criss-crossed the expanse of it. He was as gentle as my grandmother is not.
I grit my jaw and close the space between us, hands fisting, crushing the mask. “If you ever lay a finger on Rébecca again, you will deal with me. Am I perfectly clear?”
She stares up at me, a sheen to her dark eyes I hadn’t noticed before. “I understand consequences, Azrael. Do you?”
“Am I fucking clear?”
A heavy moment hangs between us, and I know she wants to reprimand me for my language, but she’s cleverer than that. She takes a step backward. She is afraid of me as much as she wishes she weren’t.
“You’re right. She’s so sickly as it is. I wonder if incentive learning wouldn’t push her body further than it can handle. Abacus couldn’t handle any of it. He was weak. A coward. And she’s more like him than us, isn’t she?”
My vision blurs, blackening along the edges as red-hot rage burns from my very core through my extremities. If Emmanuel hadn’t put his hand on my shoulder in that moment, if he hadn’t stopped me, I think I would have hurt the old woman.
