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Then, he dares to curve his skeletal fingers along the back of her chair, brushing them across her hair.What a terror you were in harnessing that storm and commanding the herd. Did you know sociopaths are more prone to violent bursts of anger than psychopaths?
Fuck. I rub my brow, feeling a migraine coming. Hecate merely needles her eyes upon Nyxion, though he doesn’t return her gaze. I project my shadows, prepared to turn them into spears if necessary. Or perhaps a gag. I’d enjoy that.
Beastie’s breath grows heavier, her posture visibly tightening while her lips press into a seam. Still, she does not move as he continues,They are far easier to catch on account of their inability to control their emotions and maintain an order for their killings. Disorganization is such an inconvenience, isn’t it, little killer? And desensitization to violence.
With a deep sigh, Beastie reaches for a nearby blackberry tart, but she perplexes me when she stabs her fork repeatedlyinto the delicacy—as if the juice oozing from it parallels droplets of blood.
Inclining her chin ever so slightly, the protector retorts, “True, but most modern-day sociopaths and psychopaths have found other methods than chainsaws and chef knives.” She narrows her eyes. “Calculated charm and superficial charisma become the tools of the trade. Deception and manipulation with no remorse for their victims are their weapons. Does it sound familiar,Nyxion? And don’t call me killer.”
My brother tilts his head, his eyes gleaming more than usual before he conjures his bone throne and sits next to her.Tell me, little monster, did you ever feel an ounce of guilt for your crimes?
She scoffs as she mashes the blackberries. “Calling them crimes is a bit of a stretch, don’t you think? They were corrections. Every act was a calculated measure of survival and protection. I am not a weapon. I am ashield. One which uses force only when justified and necessary. And do not mistake necessity for guilt.”
So, you believe you made the world a better place?he tests her.
“Zenya’s world, yes. That is what I care about most.”
Once she is finished, Beastie toys with the tart, never lifting the fork to her mouth.
What lifts my feathers is Nyxion. Never in all our years have I witnessed him rendered speechless. Zenya has quips and playful banter. But Beastie just owned my horror of a brother. The Frightener himself.
Hmm…Nyxion strokes his jaw, shedding bone dust.You don’t like me.
Hecate tips her head back with a dark laugh. “You’re just picking up on that now?”
I smirk in kind, loving how Beastie gives him the cold shoulder. Not just cold. Downright icy.
But Zenya,—he lowers his bony hand, inching it toward hers—does.While Zenya’s hand would tremble, Beastie’s is steady.
Straightening with her chest thrust out, she lifts her mug to her lips and says stoically, “Zenya is naive, wild, and impulsive—always living for the next thrill and adventure. Her world has always been dangerous and dark. And she shines within it. My role is to ensure the darkness does not devour her.”
I’m not the night sky for you to shine, little dreamer,he purrs darkly, leaning closer, his phalanges on the verge of brushing hers.I am the black hole. And I’ll swallow you whole.
Don’t do it, you moronic egomaniac,I warn him.
In a twist of a 180, Nyxion is the moth to her flame. When Beastie does not indulge him, he touches one bony finger to her palm.
Oh!—she breaks his wrist, then snaps his fingers, and my shadows practically dance the Cha Cha!
With him writhing and seething, Beastie fractures another finger and narrows her eyes in a deathly glare. “The only thing you’ll swallow is your pride when I’m done with you, Phobetor. Icelos. Nyxion. You’re not a black hole; you’re a void. Empty and desperate for anything to fill you. And the next time you try to touch Zenya, it will be on your knees, groveling, kissing her feet, and begging for the right to breathe her air.”
Once she lets go and leaves him to groan in pain and work to reset his fingers, Phantasos chooses the opportune time to sweep into the throne room. A sharp blue suit that shimmers like cobalt with a scarlet red ascot. “Did I miss any of the fun?”
“Well, you missed the main show, but there’s still time for an encore,” Hecate says with her lips touching the rim of her wine goblet.
Phantasos approaches the table, glancing at Nyxion, who is now slumped on his throne, groaning in pain while resetting his bones. I kick my feet up on the table, relaxing my wings as Phantasos scrunches his brows and nods to our oldest brother. “What’s eating him?”
Hecate’s dogs now nudge Beastie, whining for her attention as the Goddess grins like a feline and replies, “She did…in a way.” Both women meet each other’s eyes in a moment of clarity.
I’ll admit to a certain intrigue washing over me regarding this new entity. Well, old in many ways. Much older than Zenya but younger than Hecate, I imagine.
Beastie turns to Phantasos and locks eyes with him, her expression unreadable. It’s a spine-tingling moment worthy of my neck muscles cording, wondering how Zenya’s protector will respond to our middle brother.
He tilts his head before beaming at her, then closing the distance to take her hand. She certainly does not break his fingers when he kisses the back of her hand. “Enchanté, Your Highness.”
Beastie’s entire composure changes. She leaps to her feet, clapping her hands, eyes sparkling. “You!Youwere a bunch of paper snowflakes floating all around us. And then, you were in this flowy snowflake dress!”
All the tattoos on the right side of her body light up like the sun. Amusement ripples through me at the child alters rising from his presence.
