Chapter 39
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
acelynn
The bonfire smoke still clung to me, woven into the fibers of my clothing and tangled through my hair like a ghost that refused to be shaken off. Even after the drive home, it lingered—dry, acidic, and tasting faintly of the accelerant that had burned the sand dunes.
It made my stomach roll. The smell of fire reminded me of my family home burning to the ground. But the night was over, and the Knights had gone into a full investigation of who could have burned the spade into the sand. I had snuck out of the bar before Kaius could stop me.
The moment I stepped into the front hall of my home, something felt off to me in my gut.
The space was too quiet, and I could see the stove light in my kitchen shining into the living room.
I had never turned that light on. The metallic tang of adrenaline coated my tongue before I even touched the doorknob.
My fingers tightened on my keys, slotting one between my knuckles like a makeshift blade. Old habit.
Stepping further into the house, I finally caught the scent of another. Cologne—deep, woodsy, and expensive—the kind you smelled on men who thought money made them invincible. It didn’t belong here in my makeshift home.
When I finally turned the corner, I came upon a man leaning against my kitchen counter like he owned the place.
My blood ran cold as I stared down the only living elder the Knights had.
Alaric Camberly, the father of the poison maker of the club.
A skill passed down from him to his son.
I remember when he would visit my family home to speak with my father.
His voice could cut through you like a knife, even when he was smiling.
And right now, he was smiling, though it was the kind that made my skin crawl.
He traced a finger over the granite countertop, slow and deliberate, like a predator deciding just how much fun it wanted to have before it made its kill. “Hello, Emersyn.”
I couldn’t breathe, the air from my lungs vanishing just by a single name. A name that didn’t belong here. Not anymore. Not ever.
“I think you have me mistaken for someone else,” I managed to say, forcing my voice into something flat and dismissive.
Alaric’s smile widened by a fraction. “No, I don’t think I do.”
The sound of my heartbeat was so loud it drowned out the hum of the fridge. My palms became damp as my nerves rose.
“You’ve gotten very good at hiding in plain sight,” he continued, his tone casual, as if he were making small talk with an old friend. “I almost believed the story myself. The Spade family wiped out. The Death Dealer’s king and his precious princess, both gone in the flame. So tragic.”
The word tragic rolled off his tongue like a joke. The walls seemed to press in around me. I wanted to step back, but doing so would mean retreating, and I had spent way too much of my life running from men like Alaric.
“I’m not sure what you think you are doing here,” I said, turning my head to the side to examine him further. “But you need to leave.”
Alaric ignored me, instead reaching into his coat pocket and pulling out a Ziplock bag. Inside were five vials of hemlock. The same bag I had buried inside the wall of the fireplace, where a loose stone could be pulled in and out. How he was able to find it so easily made my vision blur.
My chest tightened. “Where did you—”
“I got curious,” Alaric cut in smoothly, rolling one of the vials between his fingers. “Curiosity can be…dangerous. You’ve been keeping secrets, Emersyn. Risky ones. Imagine what Kaius would think if he knew you were lying to him the entire time he was between those pretty thighs.”
The way he said Kaius was like he was taunting me.
Alaric moved around the counter to come stand in front of me.
He chuckled, shaking his head as I didn’t take the bait.
“You’re going to tell me why you are here.
Why the daughter of the Death Dealer’s leader is hiding under the Knights’ protection.
And if you’re persuasive, maybe I will keep your little secret between us. ”
My fingers curled into fists. “And if I’m not?”
Alaric’s smile vanished, now replaced with a sharp and hungry look.
The shift was instant. His hand shot out, clamping down around my throat.
He slammed me back into the wall hard enough to rattle the picture frames above me.
My ears rang from the impact. I clawed at his wrist, my breath catching as his grip tightened, cutting off air.
“You should have stayed dead,” Alaric snarled, the elder’s calm demeanor cracking into rage. “Because the second your father’s enemies find out—”
I didn’t let him finish his sentence, my knee coming up hard and slamming into his ribs.
The blow stole his breath, and he loosened his grip just enough for me to wrench free.
I crawled toward the kitchen. My legs felt wobbly as I stood on them, using the counter to balance as I rounded it.
I went for the drawer by the stove without thinking.
My fingers closed around the black handle of a chef’s knife that was kept in there.
The steel gleamed under the yellow light.
Alaric lunged, catching a fistful of my hair and yanking my head back so hard white dots began to dance in my vision. Pain flared sharply across my scalp, but I spun with the pull, shoving the knife upward with both hands.
The blade landed home beneath Alaric’s ribs. A sharp intake of breath, and his eyes went wide—not with fear but with shock. It was as if he hadn’t considered I’d fight like this. His body jerked against mine. Hot blood welled around the knife, running over my fingers in a thick, sticky stream.
I yanked the blade free, and the wet sucking sound it made turned my stomach.
Alaric staggered back, one hand pressing against the wound, crimson running between his fingers and onto his white shirt in seconds.
He tried to speak, but the words were caught in his throat, breaking apart in a wet cough.
After a moment, he went down, hitting the tile floor hard, legs curling in on himself before going still. The smell of iron was sudden, overwhelming, clinging to the back of my throat until I thought I would choke on it.
I didn’t move for a long time. My breath came in short, ragged pulls as my hands trembled in front of me. The knife clattered against the tile when I finally let go. My palms were slick with Alaric’s blood.
I turned back to the motionless man in front of me. Alaric Camberly, Vince’s father, was dead on my kitchen floor.
The home was silent except for the faint hum of the refrigerator. The smoke from the bonfire was still in my hair, but now there was something else clinging to me, heavier and far more permanent.