18 #2
He halts and looses a breath that smells like morning dew and oranges.
He shakes his head with a soft laugh. “The flaw in looking at Lucifer and seeing a devil is that you’re missing the nuance of his time as an angel.
Monsters aren’t born, Vanessa. They’re made.
And you… you’re not yet a devil. You still have time.
You don’t have to become one of them.” He opens my door, his hand closing around the handle with white knuckles and a glimmer of burgeoning claws.
One of them. Not one of us .
A truth.
I wait for him to leave, but he doesn’t. He stands on the threshold, his strong frame lit up by sunlight and gilded with all the ethereal grace of an angel not yet fallen.
“Evelyn is threatening you because she’s threatened by you,” he says. “Come to breakfast. Instructor Shepherd is teaching Combat and Conquest today. You’ll learn control there. That’ll help you, won’t it?”
More than he can ever know. “I’ll need a moment to change.”
“Of course.” Sin bows his head, glancing up through those insufferably long lashes one more time. “If you require help, perhaps with the removal of your nightgown—”
Lightning fast, I grab a pillow off the bed and hurl it at his head. The door is already closing behind him, though, and the sound of his laughter echoes through the room. In my heart—in my bones—I can feel that the sound is just like the rest of his facade. Perfect. Beautiful. And false.
Sin walks with me to breakfast, his hands stuffed in his pockets and his gaze fixed on the distance.
He appears bothered, annoyed, by this errand that someone has undoubtedly forced upon him, but he speaks the same as usual—in a soft, cheery voice and with a twinkle in his eyes.
I’m still not sure which version of him is real.
“The Great Hall is behind the second floor’s hearth, directly across from the throne room,” he says. “Werewolves are expected to share breakfast and supper when they stay with the court. Lunches, however, are eaten whenever you’d like, wherever you’d like.”
“And what, exactly, will we be eating?” I ask, suddenly realizing that no number of lessons could teach me everything I need to know about this new, strange world.
Though I keep pace with Sin as he strolls easily down a winding staircase and exits onto the second floor, my head spins and my palms sweat.
I wipe them quickly on the skirt of my nearly sheer purple gown.
Delicate gemstone straps slide down my shoulders, the corset boning a smoky, inky black against the soft lilac that feels inexplicably like actual flower petals.
Celeste would love this dress. She would force me to take a thousand selfies and post one online.
We would sit on my bed, holding hands and squealing until Max Cayden commented.
I tear myself from the unbidden thought. The wistful lie.
“Oh, the usual,” Sin says casually, none the wiser. “Blood sausage, liver, grilled limbs sliced off the prisoners we keep in the dungeon.”
I can’t help it; I stumble. “Y-you’re… you’re joking.”
Sinclair doesn’t respond at first, but then he glances over his shoulder and winks. I roll my eyes, huffing as I hurry to catch up with his long, quick strides. “Heinous ass.”
“You should’ve seen your face,” he says, his shoulders shaking with repressed laughter. “I can’t believe you’d assume I’m the type of man to gorge on human flesh.”
“I’m not sure what type of man you are,” I say honestly. “For all I know, you’re a cannibalistic monster who collects toenail clippings in an enchanted jar.”
“First, that’s disgusting and highly insulting. I would never waste an enchanted jar on toenails. Second—”
His words cut off as we approach two guards in the hall.
One remains human in appearance, wearing thick leathers with a sash tied across his bulky chest and a fist-sized medallion in the center.
A crest depicting a crow devouring a worm.
The other, however, burrows long claws into the stone floor and bares their fangs at anyone who dares to make eye contact with the fully shifted Beta.
They stand in front of a golden door embellished with starlight.
When Sinclair leads me past, the Beta folds themself into a deep bow, and the guard follows suit, with a murmured, “Prince Sinclair.”
Sin doesn’t bother responding, and we continue walking. When we’re far enough away, however, I ask, “What was that room they were guarding?”
“The queen’s chambers.” He glances at me and points down the hall, to another room where one Beta wolf stands guard, before his hand falls and brushes my lower back.
“That’s mine, if you ever need me for any reason.
Like in the middle of the night, when you’re lonely, perhaps if you need help unlacing your corset. …”
I sigh loudly, dramatically, and his smile widens briefly as though he can’t stop it.
As though he enjoys riling me. And maybe he does.
In my gut, there’s a stirring, a warmth like honesty curling around my heart.
Sin doesn’t seem to despise me like everyone else, but he still won’t outwardly be my friend. Not like Oona. Or even like Portia.
Prince Sinclair.
Prince.
We continue down the halls, and it feels like trudging through thick, wet mud.
Before volleyball games, Coach Murphy would sit me and my teammates on the rickety gymnasium bleachers and roll out a big, bulky television.
We would stay there for hours after school, watching tapes of our opponents while Coach Murphy scribbled atop the screen in dry-erase markers.
We would pinpoint each girl’s weaknesses.
Their strengths. And from there, we could brainstorm the exact strategy necessary to crush them on the court.
Of course, this court is a completely different sort, and those strategies were spike the ball this way and watch Amanda’s flank , rather than note the exits and observe the bloodthirsty guards and their stations , but still.
Since being dragged from the beach, I’ve forgotten to pay attention.
To think. To do anything other than react.
Not anymore.
“Could… could you show me more?” I ask Sin while we’re in a corridor with no one around. “Where the others stay? If guards are stationed everywhere? What the rest of the rooms are for?”
Prince Sinclair Severi of the Wolf Queen’s Court of North America can’t protect me, but he can at least give me the tools so that I might protect myself.
He seems to realize this too, and in an instant sweeps me deeper into the corridor, where an out-of-place hearth roars with midnight-blue flames.
Voice quiet but no less pleasant, he says, “The guards serve the Wolf Queen. They remain stationed outside her chamber, her throne room, the trophy room, my room when I’m not around, and the common areas at night.
Otherwise, werewolves—especially nobility—are expected to defend themselves.
We have soldiers, of course, but they train for war with rebellious packs or hunters, never against those inside their own court.
To employ a guard yourself would imply that you do not think the queen can protect you, and that would be considered treason. ”
“I see.”
I nibble on my lip, thinking and contemplating strategy as that out-of-place hearth roars with heat beside us.
The queen’s chamber. Sin’s occasionally.
But not the others. Not those who were at the beach.
Maybe there’s evidence to collect. If this court is so centered around its laws and loyalties, there has to be a way to find out who murdered Celeste and who illegally bit me. There has to be a way to convict them.
With my lack of strength, support, and knowledge, it’s really the only viable path forward.
“Does everyone stay on the second floor except me?”
Sin shakes his head, crossing his ankles and leaning against the wall.
“Second floor is for current royalty and certain common areas most utilized by the queen. Third floor is for Alphas—and also you, darling, special Vanessa,” he says flirtatiously, “and fourth floor is for Betas. The towers are used for most classes, and the first floor is for the masses, with a few sitting rooms, tea rooms, the kitchen, and, of course, the stairwell that leads to the lagoon and dungeon.”
I stop listening after I hear third floor is for Alphas . That means Evie is on my floor. She’d have the means to break into my room and somehow put the blood on my chest—at least, she’d have the access. And I have the access to find out where her room is as well.
I could search it.
I’m not sure what evidence I’m looking for, but there could be something there. Something that would bring her to justice and avenge Celeste—
“All right,” Sin says despondently, interrupting the stream of ideas flooding through my brain. “Are you ready?”
“Ready?”
“Breakfast?” he asks and waves a hand in front of my face. “First meal of the day? Bacon? Sausage? Ham?”
Right. “You just listed three meats.”
“Because I’m starving, and I’m a werewolf, and as much as I’d like to spend all day gazing at you, darling, I really need to eat.
” Sin tugs me to his side and kicks the bottom, misshapen tile of the hearth.
Before I can contemplate his words, or the honesty that nestles in my chest from them, the hearth…
groans. I leap away from it, throwing myself against the other wall.
This is a hallway. It’s a hallway, and like all things in the castle, this shouldn’t be possible.
The ground rumbles. And the hearth slowly begins to twist into itself, revealing a wide, rectangular passage that leads into a massive room.
“What the…?”
Sin’s fingers entwine with mine, and he gives a comforting, friendly squeeze. “I hope you know the difference between shrimp forks and salad prongs.”
“I don’t,” I say stupidly. Nervously.