Page 38 of His Eternal Claim

I can still feel the phantom of his hands, the bruise of his kiss, the terrifying safety of his darkness.

To hear these vultures pick at the memory of us, to hear them turn my survival into a commodity, is a violation worse than any death.

“She looks like she’s going to faint,” the skeletal man says, his voice mocking. “Look at her tremble. It’s almost erotic, isn’t it? The way she’s so terrified of us.”

“She’s not terrified,” my Mother says, her voice maternal in a way that makes me want to weep with rage. “She’s just overwhelmed by the love in this room. Aren’t you, Selene? You’re among friends now. People who know your value.”

My value.

I don’t wish to die.

I wish to be the fire that consumes them.

I open my eyes and look at my Mother. I offer her that small, fragile, broken-doll smile.

If I act, I’ll be safe.

“Yes, Mama,” I whisper, the words tasting like poison.

I resume staring down at my plate, my eyes burning.

“Selene, darling,” my Mother says softly, her voice cutting through the haze. “Be a good host. The help is busy in the kitchen. Pour some wine for our guests.”

She gestures to the man sitting halfway down the table. He is thick-necked with a jagged scar on his temple, his eyes already glazed with a cruel sort of boredom.

My hands tremble as I stand. I pick up the heavy crystal decanter, the red liquid inside sloshing like the blood I see in my nightmares.

I move around the table. Corvin’s gaze follows me. I reach the man, Mr. Vane.

I lean forward to pour. The scent of the wine hits me.

A hand like a vise snaps around my wrist. I jolt, a gasp dying in my throat.

Vane’s fingers are calloused, digging into the delicate skin over my pulse. The shock sends a physical chill through me, and my fingers lose their grip.

The decanter slips.

It hits the floor. Shards of crystal explode outward. A dark, arterial stain spreads across the white rug and splashes over Vane’s polished leather boots. I stand there, wide-eyed, my wrist still trapped in his bruising grip.

“Watch it!” Vane roars, his chair screeching back as he stands, not letting go of me. He looks at his boots, then glares at my Mother. “For fuck’s sake, Hannah. I thought you said she was ‘re-educated.’ She’s a clumsy brat. Teach your daughter some fucking manners before she ruins more than just my shoes.”

I try to yank my arm back, my heart thundering. “You grabbed me,” I whisper, my voice shaking with a mix of fear and a sudden, sharp spark of the fire Zagreus left behind. “You touched me inappropriately.”

Corvin half-stands, his face pale, but a sharp look from Aris pins him back to his seat.

My Mother takes a slow, deep breath. She sets her glass down with a deliberate clink.

I recall that look.

Along with blood and screams.

“Selene,” she says, her voice a calm, chilling melody. “Mr. Vane is a guest of this house. His touch is not an excuse for your incompetence.”

“But Mama—”

“Silence.” It isn’t a shout, but it carries the weight of a guillotine. She gestures to the floor, to the spilled wine and the stained leather. “Apologize to Mr. Vane. And then, get on your knees and clean the wine off his shoes. We do not tolerate disrespect in this sanctuary.”

My blood turns to ice.