Devour the Dark (Devourer #2)

Epilogue

EPILOGUE

ROC

The warehouse is as we left it, with a faint tracking of our footprints in the accumulated dust.

There’s so much history here, some of it I’d rather stay buried.

Vane and I make our way through the aisles of stacked crates and shelves to the back of the warehouse, where half the Variant Collection is stored in an oak cabinet.

The front is unadorned save for a thick iron lock.

I have to admit, I’m impressed Malachi managed not only to locate our warehouse, break inside, but also pick the cabinet lock. Impressed, yes, but also annoyed. How did he manage it? I have half a mind to recruit him. Maybe I will, if I can talk him out of returning to Lostland to the infighting of the Myths.

Using our skeleton key, I unlock the bolt and pull the doors open.

The others are gathered behind us, peering over our shoulders.

“It really is just a hat collection?” Wendy says, the disappointment clear in her voice.

I glance back at her. “Did you expect something else when I said ‘hat collection’?”

She shrugs. “In the Seven Isles, anything can be anything.”

I suppose she isn’t wrong.

There’s an empty spot on the middle shelf for the oldest hat, the first hat , the one used to remove that which is devoured.

It was crafted by our uncle, as was the rest of them.

Some of the hats give the wearer power. Some affect the wearer in different ways, like the devourer hat. Some take, some give, some transform.

There are more top hats, a few fedoras, an eight-piece tweed cap, and two flat caps. All of them were stretched, shaped, and stitched by hand.

I set the devourer hat on its iron stand.

“Have you ever worn the others?” Wendy asks.

“Of course.” I shut the cabinet and reinstall the lock. “But not for a very long time now. Haven’t really had a need.”

Winnie sidles up next to Vane, her hand curled around his bicep. “What other treasures do you have in this warehouse? What other secrets of the Maddred Brothers can we uncover here?”

“No,” my baby brother says, an all-encompassing answer.

We have a great many secrets. Too many. Too many that should remain secrets.

Winnie and Wendy lock arms, giggle to one another, and disappear between two stacks of crates.

“Win,” Vane says with a grumble.

“Oh don’t mind me.” Her voice filters up, swirling around the high warehouse ceiling. “Just having a look.”

“Do not, under any circumstances, touch a hat,” Vane says, chasing after her.

The Captain comes to my side. “Do you just leave magical hats lying around for any unsuspecting person to stumble on?”

“No,” I tell him, but my smile contradicts me.

“You are merciless.”

“And soon I will be insufferable.” I swat his ass. He huffs out with indignation. “As soon as the paperwork is filed and my title reclaimed, the throne mine, I will be your king. Imagine all of the vile things I will demand of you.”

He licks his lips, heat rising up his throat. “Demand what you want. I bow to no man.”

“I am no man, Captain.”

“Nor monsters.”

I laugh. “We’ll see about that.”

“Christ,” I hear Vane say from deep within the stacks.

“Who was she?” I hear Winnie ask.

I know immediately who she’s referring to and what artifact from our past she has uncovered.

Christ is an understatement.

The Captain gives me a suspicious look. His curiosity gets the better of him and he’s soon trailing after the conversation.

“She was no one,” I hear my brother say, which yes, huge understatement number two.

I follow in the Captain’s footsteps.

Wendy, Winnie, Vane, and Asha are gathered around a seven-foot oil painting.

It was commissioned so long ago that the varnish has cracked and turned yellow.

I’m on the left, Vane on the right. And in between us is a girl, half our size. Somehow, she takes up more space on the canvas. Her back is to Vane, but his hand is on her hip. Her body is turned toward me, but her attention is on the viewer. Those dark brown eyes. So dark, they’re almost black.

She’s wearing the eight-piece cap and a matching tweed vest. The hat was specially made for her.

The sheet that had been draped over the painting lies on the floor, pooled around the gilded frame.

I hate this painting, and yet I’ve never been able to part with it. It’s a reminder of how everything can be ripped away, how trust and loyalty are always thin, and obsession can make you mad.

“Who was she?” Wendy asks me, echoing Winnie.

Darling women never relent.

“A ghost from our past,” Vane says.

“Who?” Wendy persists.

“Al,” I say because that’s what we called her.

“Alice,” Vane corrects. “Her name was Alice.”

Seeing her face again puts flame to the rage. I buried thoughts of her a long time ago, along with all of the artifacts in this warehouse.

“Come on.” I toss the sheet back over the painting. “She’s long gone. Vane is right, she’s no one to worry about now.”

Either they have decided to show us mercy, or their curiosity has already burned out. They take the answer and file out toward the door.

I meet Vane’s gaze.

No one to worry about? Maybe. Probably. Alice slipped through the glass a long time ago. And hopefully she stays there, with our mad uncle.

Because if she ever shows her face here again, I’ll kill her myself.

Vane and I head toward the door and flick off the lights.

Outside the warehouse, we click the lock into place.

As far as I’m concerned, this part of our past should stay buried for good.

Vane and the Crocodile once ruled the Darkland Underworld…

After their father’s failed coup, Vane and Roc were stripped of their titles and their assets. Immortal, powerful and monstrous, it didn’t take them long to make their way back up the ladder, but it wasn’t in the manors and mansions of the Darkland elite, it was in the dark underbelly known as the Umbrage.

Years later, they now rule the Umbrage and they are ruthless, destroying anyone who gets in their way. But even monsters have hearts, and when Roc and Vane find theirs broken, there’s only one choice: get revenge.

Go back to where it all began in…

Dark & Darker Still: A Vane and Roc Origin Story