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He doesn’t bother with words as he leaps toward me, and this time, the intention in his eyes is clear. He was playing before, but now he wants to kill me. Well, that makes two of us. We crash together, all snarling teeth and angry hisses. He lifts his arm, ready to bring his knife down across my face, and I lift my own to block it. The clang is loud, reverberating down my arm as I push, trying to lift him away. We are locked together like that, the blades starting to lower toward my face from his strength until, with a gasp, I push them to the side, flinging his blade away with the unexpected movement, but mine goes flying as well. Now, we only have our fists. That’s fine. I can kill him with my bare hands.
“You deserve to rot in hell,” I snarl as I swing my fist with my full weight behind it and the power of the cards flowing through me.
“You’re going to rot there with me,” he goads. “You’re wearing blood once more, dear wife.”
“I’m going to wear yours too,” I hiss, narrowing my eyes on him as he dances under my wild swings. “I’m going to bathe in your blood when you’re dead and fuck every single one of those circus freaks while I’m covered in it.”
The power of the cirque flares in my veins as I move forward, but Freedom makes a sound, and I make the mistake of glancing over at her. Roger’s fist swings and lands a blow across my jaw, snapping my head to the side. Pain flares where he hit me. My hand slowly lifts to prod at the bruising skin before I slowly turn my head back to meet his narrowed eyes. I bare my teeth at him like a wild animal would, knowing my eyes are glowing and wrong. Fury fills me for everything he has done to me, to my family, and what he continues to do. It fills my veins with a power that can’t be contained.
“That’s the last time you’ll ever hit me, Roger,” I growl. “I hope you remember the feeling when I rip you open.”
He stares at me, a mocking grin on his face despite the flash of fear I see in his eyes. “Come on, baby. You know I’m going to do much more than that. I haven’t forgotten the beautiful way you screamed when I fucked you as you were dying. I want that again. I might even fuck you after you’re dead just so you know that every inch of you, even in death, belongs to me. It’s time you remember who you are.”
Fury taints me that’s so thick, I can barely breathe through it. I’m tempted to throw myself at him again, but that isn’t what I need. Instead, instinct has me raising my hand and holding it in front of me, palm up.
“You’re right,” I muse as I feel power flow through me. “It’s time I remember who I truly am.”
Roger stares at my hand in confusion, arching one eyebrow. “What?” he grunts. “What is this?”
Between one blink and the next, a deck of cards appears in my palm, perfectly stacked, and the power inside me uncurls like a dragon.
“They teach you magic tricks at that freak show?” Roger sneers. “Are you going to pull a rabbit out of a hat next?”
“Close,” I say, my smile slow and bloodthirsty. “I’m going to pull your intestines out of your throat.”
He lifts his arm, preparing to hit me again, but I don’t move except for my slow smile.
The deck of cards begins to glow, and he pauses, confused. “Ember, what?—”
“It’s not Ember anymore,” I declare, meeting his eyes. The cards rise into the air, spreading out before me, and he backs up. “Bow to your queen.”
The cards shoot toward him, and he grunts as they slice his skin. One of them cuts his cheek, leaving a red line behind. He reaches up and touches it, his finger coming away red, and his lips split into a sneer.
“You’re lucky it’s a clean cut,” he says.
“Oh?” I mock. Another card strikes him, this time slicing a jagged mark across his forehead. “Is this better?”
“You bitch!” he spits. “You’re going to pay for that!”
He lunges, but the cards are faster. More than that, I can feel them start to glow beneath my skin. The cards that fly next are sharper, more painful. I reach for another knife at my hip and pull it out.
“You hurt what’s mine,” I say, licking the blade like I’ve seen Club do a hundred times, christening it with my blood. “If it had just been me, I’d have let things go, but because you hurt Heart, I’m going to carve out yours and give it to him.”
The glow beneath my skin slides along the blade, and when I lash out and cut a line across his bicep, he howls in pain, stumbling back.
“Stop this!” he snarls. “I am your husband!”
“I’m your husband,” I mock, laughing, and then cut his forearm. He falls backward, but I follow him. “How pitiful.”
When he reaches toward me, I slice down. The knife cuts through skin, muscle, and bone, and the resounding thump as his hand falls to the floor is music to my ears. The yell that tears from his throat is a symphony.
“Oh no!” I say, laughing. I pick up his hand and wave it at him. “Need a hand, Roger?”
He cradles his arm against his stomach, his face twisted. Despite his anger and his attempts to seem more powerful, the fear in his eyes is undeniable.
It’s the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen.
He doesn’t know when to quit though. He comes at me again, trying to kick me, and my cards slam into his thigh, embedding themselves there. They dig inside, and he starts to scream in earnest, the long, haunting sounds echoing. I shiver with delight. I understand his obsession with my pain now.
