Page 149 of The Cannibal

“Then say it plainly for me,” I mocked.

He wrapped some of my hair around his palm. It triggered the most delightful shiver, tickling my scalp, as if even my hair could anticipate the sensation.

“Wroth,” he said against my neck. “Ireful,” his voice strained. “Despitous.”

“Quite archaic,” I breathed, and his grip tightened in my hair. “Go on, pull the thread until my will is undone. It won’t make it better.”

He pulled my head back so he could look me in the eye. “I could kill you,” his violent words against my lips, “you know it, I know it.”

He jolted me, the sting of his fingers against my scalp making my eyes water.

“Do you hear me? I could kill you now, and I can’t decide if I would be relieved or broken.” His teeth clenched together so hard as he spoke, as if the manifestation were an animal clawing at the cage just behind the fangs barring it in.

I was shaken, truly, because I believed him.

I always did.

The problem was that I never cared if I lived.

He let me go but did not move away.

When I turned to him, it looked as if he was deciding whether it would be better to cut me down or cut me loose.

“You have caused me enough pain to span lifetimes,” he said, so slow and pointed.

My heart broke for him as much as for myself. We loved her. There would be nothing that would allow me to bring her back or close the wound. I had hoped we could stitch ourselves together, to make it right.

“And yet I still love you,” he continued. “I will love you and hate you in a cycle of guilt and longing until it eats me from the inside out.”

I stared silently, no further words to add. There was nothing to do but let him say his piece or else he would never hear mine.

“I do not know if you deserve such power over me, woman. You have ruined me. Entirely,” he laughed, “and I will forgive you in every lifetime because I just can’t help myself. I am weak to you.”

“I hear you,” I said slowly. “I see you, Silas.”

For the first time, genuine disgust. But it didn’t seem to be for me; it was pointed within.

“Will you hear me now?” I asked gently.

He puffed, opening his hands wide as if he expected me to hit him.

I knelt down on a knee, which only confused him further. I slipped off my shoe and picked it up. I stood before him without fear of consequence, because I had what we both needed.

The mirrored glass cast a metallic shimmer as it was presented between my fingers. I held it between our faces, and I made sure I held his gaze in mine.

He looked unsure of whether he should be looking at my eyes or the glass.

“It was arsenic,” I said, “and I know who did it. You do too.”

His eyes narrowed on me, silent.

“She was poisoned, weakened and vulnerable to injury just as a person would be. My bite should not have killed her.” I shook my head. “Chronic exposure right under our noses.”

Even without a single word from him, I heard his heart pick up.

“I have a plan. But do you trust me?” I tilted my head at him, placing the glass in his hand. “We know what’s about to happen. We can get justice for Phoebe, for us, and for everyone who came before and all those who will come after.”

He turned his gaze down to the glass, hand brushing against the metallic mirror.