Chapter 30
“Explain,” I ordered, sitting across from him.
Elios pushed the journal toward me. The pages were laden with thick scrawl, barely legible as they neared the end. Whatever she had been trying to convey, she was desperate to write it down.
Corvina’s handwriting had always been concise, the product of being raised in high society and attending the finest schools. Lucius forced both children toward the intense pressure of perfectionism, not accepting anything less than the best in all areas of his life.
I looked at Calia, noting her down-turned lips and how she clenched her fists to stop tearing at her skin. There was no measure of words that I could offer to calm her nerves, and I hated that she sought out pain to stop the overbearing voices in her mind.
Before learning her true heritage, I had thought Lucius’ distaste came from how lively Calia was. She fit no mold, breaking it when she was brought into this world, and never allowed herself to be contained. Perhaps there was a semblance of truth. If he knew she was not his daughter without a shadow of a doubt, I suspected he would have gotten rid of her quietly.
When I had seen the scars she inflicted on herself, brought about from years of scrutiny and abuse, of the anxiety that accompanied feeling less than and unloved, I had nearly broken.
It had taken everything in me not to drive to Darrow Manor and pull Lucius from bed in the dead of night. I wanted to tie him up, to take a carving knife to his flesh and scar him past the point of recognition. But his blood coating my hands would not be enough, and a quick death would be too easy for the likes of him.
But I vowed that one day I would make him answer for every horrible thought he forced her to endure, and I would do so with nothing less than a smile on my face as he screamed in pain.
“Corvina wrote that Leonora mentioned a power artifact several times, something with the power to change the world. It was always in passing, and eventually, Corvina chalked it up to the ramblings of a madwoman. But here,” Elios said, pointing toward the bottom of the page, “she mentions overhearing an argument between your mother and father about the artifact that had her questioning the validity of its existence.”
“Corvina had been in my father’s study before,” I said, rapping my knuckles against the wood, trying to understand everything. “The dagger was on display?—”
Rowena perched atop the desk. “Yes, but you know how he was,” she offered, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “He was a fan of the dramatic and made up a different story anytime we asked about anything he had on display.”
It was true, and my father had adored Corvina. He did not care about the curse or that she was fae. He only cared that she brought me happiness, and for a while, she had. But even that had been tainted by my mother’s ambition.
Elios continued. “Apparently, Leonora asked your father for the dagger, and he refused. Corvina notes that they began speaking quietly and she could not make out the words. Before your mother left, she—” he averted his gaze.
“What happened?” I asked, furrowing my brows. A sickening thought crept across my mind, and I forced it back into the darkness lingering there.
My mother and father frequently argued, particularly after he found me shivering in the deprivation chamber, forced to endure her cruelty. I was hardly allowed the luxury of privacy afterward. Not that I minded; I enjoyed the security of knowing I would never be alone.
But I grew up knowing that security would only go so far. I would never be free of my mother’s clutches, and neither would he. Not until she died.
I suspected that was why he offered a compromise to many of her demands. It was far easier than fighting her fire with gasoline.
“What happened?” I demanded. When I was met with no answer, I grabbed the journal from his hands and scanned the pages myself. I thought back to the words she had written on the first page, a note specifically for me should I ever discover her notes, but why?
The truth
-C
My father died in the days following Corvina. Though they never found who had murdered him, it was always believed Lucius Darrow played a part in his demise. My mother swore she saw him the night she found the body, and even if there was no evidence to support this claim, I had been willing to believe it.
Darrow’s beloved daughter, whom I was convinced was the only thing he ever loved in his life, had been taken from him. Following her death, he had grown increasingly unstable. I often awoke to threatening messages and promises of vengeance, which only added to his look of guilt.
In the end, despite an investigation by the council, Lucius had been cleared of all charges, and my father’s murder had since been unsolved.
But as the room grew silent and Elios averted his gaze, I felt the truth ring clear.
My mother had been the only one to see my father’s body, citing the scene as too gruesome to be looked upon. I fought against her, ignoring the tug on my jacket as I tried to force my way inside, to no avail. A soft voice had whispered my name, and I turned around to see Rowena standing inches behind me. Her pale blonde hair was tousled, undoubtedly pulled from sleep to the sounds of Leonora’s wailing.
Without question, I turned away and pulled Rowena into my arms. She tucked her head between my neck and shoulder, her body wracked with tears as she called out for our father. I held her for hours as she cried, consoling her as she asked to see him and why he was gone.
How could I explain what had happened when I did not understand it myself?
I felt my sister’s presence as she stepped beside me now, wrapping her arm around my trembling shoulders. Panic and anger swirled in my veins, as fresh and potent as it had been on the day I watched my father’s body be carted out of our home on a stretcher with only a thin, bloody sheet separating him from the world’s prying eyes.
“Rion,” Rowena whispered, pressing her lips to my temple.
“She killed him,” I breathed, vision blurring. Why, after knowing what she was capable of, was it surprising to think she was capable of murdering her husband in cold blood? She had frequently beaten and tortured her own flesh and blood.
I remembered the anguish on my father’s face when he had seen what I had done, how he had called for Jasper before carefully prying Corvina’s limp form from my arms. He escorted me to my ensuite, cleaning my wounds without asking me questions as the haze had set in.
He had known what had happened.
More importantly, he knew why it had happened.
The days separating their deaths had been a blur—countless days of questions asked and alibis provided. I hardly slept, knowing when I tried that I would again see the light fading from Corvina’s terrified eyes.
Elios reached out, placing his hand atop mine. I barely registered the touch or the words that followed. “I have to ask,” he said, pausing. “Why did you kill Corvina?”
I could not answer. What was there to say? I had lost control, unable to stop myself once I had tasted her. I had always prided myself on self-control, refusing to indulge in overconsumption like many of our kind often did.
Blood was not necessary for our survival, but the drug was akin to damnation, seeing as we hungered for the power in others’ veins.
My father had been adamant that Jasper and I never become dependent on that power source. He told us our history, the cautionary tale of how the bloodlust had been the downfall of our kind and the reason the curse was placed upon us.
In my primitive years, Jasper and I had gone out on our own after we finished our schooling. I allowed myself to fall prey to the allure, spending my nights at clubs in the city, where eager patrons would line up to be fed upon and fucked. The heady combination was euphoric for both parties. Therefore, I never thought twice about the addiction driving me to take my fill.
It was not until I awoke in a strange bed covered in blood that I saw what I had become. Bodies were strewn haphazardly around the room, their stringy pulses barely audible over the roaring in my ears.
I fled the scene, compelling Jasper to lock me in the deprivation chamber when he would not do it at my desperate request. Betrayal was thick between us, knowing it had damn near killed him to watch my demons come back to devour me whole.
It was the only time in my life when I worried whether my friend would still be here when I emerged, but it was a risk I had been willing to take. Though he had beaten me bloody when he pried open the chamber door, I had gladly accepted the punishment for forcing his hand.
Consequences be damned, there were no other options.
From that moment on, I always kept my father’s warning at the forefront of my mind, careful not to let the drug take control and turn me into someone I did not recognize.
“I do not know,” I whispered. “I had fought vehemently against taking Corvina’s blood for so long, refusing to take so much as a sip directly from her veins. Anything I consumed was brought in from donation centers to avoid the temptation of taking too much.”
Was that why, when I finally gave in, I had taken everything despite the terror she emanated and how hard she fought? Was I too weak to say no, regardless of how much I wanted to?
“Is it possible,” Calia began, drawing my attention, “that you were compelled?”
I opened my mouth to tell her no, that no one would dare compel me to perform such an atrocious act, but I was struck with the stupidity of the statement.
There was one person who would benefit from Corvina’s death. Someone who had likely become suspicious of her questions and constant trailing, who knew her threats had been overheard and could not risk them seeing the light of day.
Calia reached out her hand, replacing her father’s on my own. I did not want to look at her, knowing I would see disgust swimming in her eyes and condemnation for my actions.
With the stroke of her thumb against my skin, my resolve broke.
Slowly, I lifted my gaze and was met with only understanding. Her down-turned lips formed a full pout, tear tracks glistening in the light. She let me see everything, an olive branch I desperately found myself clinging to as though it could absolve me of my crimes.
“Fucking hell,” Jasper said, running his hands through his hair. “I’m going to kill that cunt.”
Calia pulled back, tucking her hands underneath her legs as she spoke. “Not if I kill her first.”
“So, Leonora wanted to be all-powerful and wanted the knife even though your father wouldn’t give it to her,” Jasper said, pacing the room. It had become deathly quiet as we all took in the new information and what it meant.“Why kill Corvina? She could have easily enlisted her to steal it from him. Your father loved her.”
I sat back in my chair, rubbing my temples. I tried not to think about the conviction in Calia’s words, how she had voiced her determination to end my mother once and for all, or the way it made my cock ache thinking of her dirtying her hands.
She had her own reasons for wanting the woman dead, but the thought of me being one of those reasons made my chest inexplicably tight.
“Leonora is suspicious of her own shadow. I would not be surprised if she believed Corvina to be working against her, rather than with, as we assumed, therefore painting a target on her back. If she did use compulsion on me”—I swallowed past the rising bile, forcing myself to say the words out loud—“Corvina’s death gave her more than her life ever did.”
“What do you mean?” Elios asked, tilting his head.
“If I was the one to kill Corvina, it gave her the perfect opportunity to kill my father in the following days. The blame would fall on my and Lucius’ shoulders for both deaths, ensuring she would not be implicated, and allowing her access to steal the dagger from Father’s office.”
Rowena shifted next to me. “Which explains her anger toward the dagger’s disappearance,” she mused. “Because for all her scheming, she never anticipated failure.”
“Precisely,” I nodded, tenting my fingers. “And with Corvina gone, she did not even have the opportunity to bide her time and break the curse.” I flitted my gaze to Calia. “Until you.”
Castor, who had remained silent, shifted behind Calia. “Leonora could use Calia to break the curse, therefore allowing her to search for the dagger without limitations, but then it presented itself amidst the chaos.”
“Which means the blood moon is of little consequence,” Elios said, sighing. His weary face was drawn tight, shoulders tensing underneath his shirt. “And she will not stop hunting us until she gets her way.”
Jasper stopped, raising his finger in the air. “Or she dies.”
Elios nodded, pushing to his feet. “Yes.” He turned to Castor. “How quickly can you call in reinforcements from the Vail?”
Castor, already ahead of the god, pressed his phone to his ear. “On it,” he said, walking from the room.
Jasper slapped my shoulder. “I will make a few calls of my own,” he said, following Castor to the hallway.
“What now?” Rowena said, worry evident as she began chewing her bottom lip. Sloane grabbed her hand, intertwining their fingers. She gave my sister a tentative smile, alleviating her nerves.
I stood, pressing my lips to her temple as she had done for me. “We wait for Ballard to return and perform the tracking spell as soon as possible. We need to know where she is hiding. If we can ambush her before she can draw on any sympathizers…”
Rowena nodded, understanding my meaning. Though she loathed my mother for what she had done, my sister had not inherited the penchant for violence as I had. She was more like our father than she would ever know.
And the knowledge I was more like my mother soured my soul more than I could ever admit.
“I assume the dagger is in your possession?” I asked Elios.
“It is,” he said, picking up the journal. He offered no more information. I itched to ask him where it was, but knew better than to push. “If it is alright with you, I have my own errand to run before Ballard returns.”
“What is it?” I asked, slipping my hands into my pockets.
He smiled, though it did not reach his eyes. “It is time to rouse the gods.”