Page 148 of Lethal King

When I look down at the black cat, I see those sharp yellow eyes on me. Slowly, she looks back towards the cupboard.

Cold sweat drips down my forehead.

What the hell is wrong with you? Why am I reacting so intensely?

It feels like I’ve been plunged into the tail end of a nightmare. And the longer I look down at Kaja, the less she starts to look like the black cat I rescued from Rian’s coronation.

“Willow…” I whisper, my newly tender heart trembling.

The cat meows, and I’m transported back to a time and a place I never want to go back to.

I can feel the fire at my back. The horror in my heart. The fear of what’s to come, and the dread of what’s already happened.

I can almost see the bars of my cage… and a lone dark figure standing in the storm outside.

“Drago…”

Somewhere, a cat hisses, and I’m snapped back to reality.

A terrified laugh jitters from my throat.

I’m not back in that melting mansion. I’m not watching my parents being burned to ashes. I’m not desperately trying to save my only friend in the world.

I’m in a little cottage out in the country. I’m a grown-up. I’m a killer.

With a sharp breath, I tear the cabinet door open.

My aching heart stops.

There’s nothing inside—at least, nothing gruesome. Only two dozen or so cans of tuna. Neatly stacked, as Babcia always does.

Another meow cuts through the quiet cottage. This time, when I look down, I don’t see any ghosts from my distant past.

I just see Kaja. She stretches out, yellow eyes still fixed on the cupboard.

The poor little thing is hungry.

“Where’s your grandma?” I ask. Taking out a can of tuna, I pry it open with one of my nails and place it down on the counter.

Kaja immediately digs in. The cat doesn’t have a care in the world.

But a giant stone has appeared in my gut.

Fuck. This is why you never get attached to anyone. And it’s definitely why you don’t help out a kindly old lady when she gets evicted from her apartment. Because when something inevitably bad happens to someone you’ve allowed yourself to care about, all you’re left with is sorrow.

And sorrow’s awfully good at turning a person crazy— I’ve seen it happen.

Is that what’s happening to me?

Pinching my nose, I push myself off the counter.

What the fuck is happening to me?

It’s been years since I had a flashback like that. Am I just that worried about Babcia, or is it something more?

Somehow, I already know the answer. I just don’t want to confront it.

Rian.