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At least Fallon found her happily-ever-after. She deserves it.
I’m the one who failed her. Before all this, she agreed to mate a monster in order to protect me.
It resulted in her being buried alive for sport, all while under an obedience spell.
For three years.
I’m glad you have them,I say, my words turning somber.Now quit worrying about me and go back to your mates, okay? I can handle a pissed-off bookkeeper.
She sighs in my head, and I can definitely envision her wistful smile.Fine, but if you need something,pleasetell me, okay? And not because I’m Queen of Gold and Garnet. Because I’m yoursister, Issy. And I love you.
Heat pricks at my eyes, and feels an awful lot like tears.I love you, too, Fallon.
I shut my mind off from her before she can feel the wave of pain that follows that statement. Because it’s my love for her that demands my isolation.
The screams rush into my head the moment Fallon’s presence is gone. No matter how much I brace myself, it still startles me.
The haunting sounds are more like nails against metal than anything else. It grates on my nerves and makes me tighten my grip on the bottle causing it.
The purple liquid comes from a living creature—likely some sort of shifter that Ayla killed.
Fallon could help me silence this torment, but I refuse to indulge the need to engage her mind again.
She needs to live her happily-ever-after.
Not be constantly worrying about me and leaving her mates behind just because I’m in trouble. Even she has to realize the time has finally come for us to build our own lives.
And I will build my own. With my own blood.
And my own screams.
Quite literally.
My gaze lingers on the bottled screams on the weapons shelf, a shelf indented into the wall for protection. The potion is a deadly magical grenade I had experimented on for Ayla.
My own power terrifies me.
Swirls of gold and satin red wisps flutter inside the fragile glass container. It’s lethal if opened or broken, which is why it’s on the top shelf inside the wall itself.
Walking past it, I decide my memory-altering potion will do the trick. Dominique isn’t anything like the evil souls I have faced in my twenty-three years.
Plus, I don’t need a bottle with deadly screams. My whispers are just as fatal.
All it would take is a few gentle words and he’d be dead.
This is for Fallon.
A memory flashes through my mind. The only time I ever intentionally used my voice to kill is seared into my brain and likes to revisit my waking moments every chance possible.
Shoving it away, I return to the living room and wait patiently at the front door. I uncork the bottle and am careful not to sniff the contents as I hold it away from my face.
I place my hand on the handle and wait for Dominique to return.
It takes longer than I like and I frown, hoping he didn’t mess up my garden, or else I’m going to do worse than a memory-altering potion.
When a knock sounds, I swing the door open and shove the potion’s contents in the intruder’s face.
Only it’s not Dominique Andrias.
