“No.” My fingers dug into Wrath’s forearm. “P-please.”
I don’t know if it was the way my voice broke, or if he’d been waiting for an opportunity for his own reasons, but one second Wrath had me in his arms, and the next I was behind him and his blade was buried deep in Lust’s chest. Bones crunched. He twisted the dagger up, dark blood poured from the wound.
“Don’t come back here again. I’ll go home when I’m ready.” He yanked the dagger out, wiped it across his pants. And waited. “See you in Hell, brother.”
I wasn’t sure what disturbed me more—the cold indifference on Wrath’s face as he watched his brother die, or the brutal efficiency of the attack.
I knew he was dangerous, but seeing it . . .
Lust coughed, glanced down at his mortal wound. And was suddenly gone. As in, vanished completely from sight, like he’d never been here.
I collapsed on the beach, staring at the space the demonic prince once occupied. Tears streamed down my face. I heaved again and Wrath watched impassively. After I stopped retching, he knelt beside me. I couldn’t bring myself to look him in the eye. “Is he dead?”
“No. Being struck with a House blade only severs ties to this realm. He’s back in the kingdom, and won’t be able to use his powers for a while.”
A small blessing amidst the curse. “Good.”
Wrath handed me a cloth to wipe my face. I don’t know where he pulled it from, and I didn’t care. “Lust takes the pleasant emotions you have and inflates them. You might experience a void now. Picture it like a well—his influence rapidly depletes the supply. Where you were once blissfully happy, you’ll feel a sharp contrast. It is a hell in its own way. Giving someone ultimate pleasure, only to rip it from them before they fully grasp it. Done often enough, it drives mortals mad. You should be all right soon enough, though.”
“He wouldn’t have . . .” I fisted my hands at my side. “Made me . . .”
Wrath shook his head. “No.”
“But I felt—there were invisible hands.” I also didn’t forget how hard I’d been trying to take my clothes off in front of Wrath. Or how much I’d wanted him to touch me.
“Manifestations of your desire. They were a part of you, not anyone or anything else.”
There was little comfort in that. Lust might not have violated me physically, but the emotional manipulation was equally bad. He’d twisted goodness until it was cloaked in evil. Wrath was right. It did feel like I’d crashed—like I’d been soaring, and the wind abruptly stopped and I was plunged into the frigid sea depths below. A vast abyss of nothing swallowed me.
I wanted to curl up on the ground, and sleep for eternity. I didn’t care about the curse. Or the nagging feeling I’d learned something important. I no longer worried about my sister’s murder. Or vengeance. Nothing mattered anymore.
I must have said that last part out loud.
Wrath reached over and lightly brushed blood-smeared knuckles against the side of my neck. The exact place I thought he’d kissed me the night he’d saved me from the Viperidae. I shivered and he dropped his hand.
“Valeas.” Be strong. “It will again soon.”
Thirty-Five
“Soon” turned into a week. I hardly noticed the passage of time. I stayed in bed, locked the sunlight out, and refused to bathe. I had little energy and less reason to care. I didn’t visit my family, or the restaurant. I didn’t look for my amulet, or think about the gates of Hell. I barely slept. When I did, I kept hearing a strange voice. When I awoke, the urgent message was forgotten.
I didn’t care. It didn’t matter.
The world felt like it was caving in around me, and sometimes I’d gasp for what felt like hours, unable to draw in enough breath. Life hurt. All pleasure was gone. Anything that once held meaning was long forgotten, buried deep in a void I couldn’t break through. My sister was a faraway memory. Vengeance was rooted in passion, and therefore I had nothing left of it, either.
If Wrath was angry or annoyed by my inability to shake off the last vestiges of his brother’s power, he didn’t let it show. At least not in the ways I expected.
He wasn’t always the most gracious or patient nursemaid. But he was never far, always prowling around near my borrowed room in the ruined palace. Sometimes, when I was in that foggy place between sleep and wakefulness, I saw him camped out in a chair beside my bed. His hair and clothing both rumpled. Once, I thought he held my hand. But when I roused myself from that near-impenetrable haziness, he was gone. He brought food three times a day and when I refused to eat, he’d sit there, glowering until I did. Fighting him took too much energy. So I ate.