Page 119 of The Villains of Winter

“At least that is the old college theory!” She clasped her hands together in furtive secrecy. “In my theory, however, I believe Thierre suspected Helmut began an illicit affair with Malcolm, which would’ve been a great betrayal. Malcolm was intended to die for his treason, but Marcus sacrificed himself for him. At the Bacchanal in retaliation, Helmut ensured Thierre witnessed him penetrate Malcolm in front of everyone drinking and dancing and fornicating. Thierre flew into a rage even I’ve never witnessed before. Violent destruction. Horrid accusations. The feasts were completely ruined. That was why the cabal theory started.” She fluidly seared open the Mediterranean octopus with her knife. “Afterward, Helmut slaughtered Thierre before Thierre could successfully murder Helmut. Oh my stars, Helmut bled profusely with wounds that night. Perhaps Helmut freed Malcolm of Thierre, or perhaps Helmut even freed all of the roomed men of Thierre, it mattered little, Thierre was found dead. Then, in order to justify the murders to the College, Helmut blamed the mentor which consequently ex-communicated the old man, the poor professor was an unfortunate casualty in Helmut’s dark stratagem, but he liberated the roommates at last.” She tittered with laughter. “Of course, no one will ever know what happened in Swiðhun Hall that winter. What an aftermath!”

As she dined with him, James remained behind her throne of flora, which Perseus found odd given the horror of her ghastly tale. Perseus resigned never to be in her midst again. He barely glanced up from the serving of oysters.

Without warning, though, James moved from his position.

He captured photographs and little recordings of the mentor and third-year history student. Then, he locked it with the tea set afterward.

While Perseus reached for the scallops, James reached for a pair of reinforced, thickened gloves. He extended his arms through a dense raincoat, covering himself from his shoulders to his knees, as though he was stepping out into an electrical storm in the mountains. Perseus realized he wore rubber boots. What was wrong with these eccentrics?

Perseus washed down the scallops with wine, spearing through the Grecian octopus and squid afterward, idly staring from time to time at James’s empty plate as she prattled on about stage direction and grand narratives to propel Lucy into stardom.

“May I refill your wine?” James offered her, plucking her dram of wine with a napkin.

“Yes, thank you.” She didn’t even glance at him, keeping her freshly inspired eyes on Perseus. “My plays will be horridly subpar without Apollōn, of course. However, I quiver with excitement at the arrival of my new muse.”

“Apollōn?” Perseus echoed with a mouthful of well-seared squid, “What on earth–”

His mouth fell open in horror.

All of a sudden, James trapped her arms beneath his strength, his right hand held one of the serpents from her den. Before Perseus could finish swallowing the sea creature down his throat, the riled snake lunged itself into her neck.

​​ CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

“YOU…APOLLŌN…YOU?” PROFESSOR ILARIA’S treacly eyes filled with water, and unspeakable agony. Her heart ached from betrayal. James held her down as the immobilization of the venom was coursing rapidly through her veins. Her brain failure would be first. Her ravaged organs would follow in its suffering. Her cardiac arrest would be an excruciation. He drank in the sight of it. A spittle of blood already began to pool at the edges of her lips. Her eyes were darkened in sorrow. “…Why…What have I done to deserve your treason…?”

“You started a war with me,” James seethed down at her, and the lower register of his tone steeped in hatred had evinced his inner bellicosity. His archaic words stunned Perseus. Perseus dropped his fork. Mollusks spilled onto the lush carpet. His squid was still stuck in his throat. “I answered your war cry. Árēs has spoken unto me to end your life. He has called upon me to sever your fate.”

He invoked the god of battlelust in Ancient Greek. Horrified, Perseus nearly choked on seawater. What the hell was wrong with him?

James thrust her prized snake on the banquet table, his hand extending towards the butcher’s knife, and though she lurched forward to stop him, he beheaded it. Blood splattered against Perseus’s parted lips, and he quickly rose out of his seat.

“James, what the hell is happening?” He demanded, though he kept his volume considerably less combative with a sharp butcher knife in the man’s hands.

She screamed, hurling herself after her precious snake with the last of her strength. Its headless body spooled through her hands. She shrieked at him. “You have crossed your own fate!”

“You are not a god.” James smeared her blood trickling from her ears onto his face. He drew esoteric symbols of warfare on his forehead and cheekbones. “You’ve bled. You are mortal. No ichor courses through your veins. As you die as you deserve, you will know that I have always thought you weak, maudlin, and revolting.”

“Revolting? Apollōn, this is not you…” She pleaded, grasping him. She gathered his fabric in her weakening fists. She attempted to press her lips against him. “…You’ve always been the only one to accept me as I am. You are my flesh and blood.”

“You are no flesh of mine.”

“Congressman Pittman…He has misled you to turn against me, hasn’t he?” She whispered in thinned malice. “He has commanded you of this,” she accused heatedly. “He is not our beloved Árēs.”

James removed the snake handler gloves, discarding them in a trash bag. He delivered a prayer beneath his breath to Finch. For his forgiveness. For his strength.

He had committed vengeance in his name and his honor at last.

She did not deserve to hear his name, not even in the end.

She never deserved to gaze upon Elliott again. Blood smeared her eyes, rendering her sightless, and never again would she lay her light corneas on Elliott to lure him.

Never again would she have the opportunity to kill him.

Coldly, James gazed down upon her as she wept against him. His eyes were tidal waves of flames. Hers were rivulets of leaked blood.

As if witnessing him for the first time, his slaughterous nature, Séverine flinched beneath him. “You cannot commit murder against me. The Erinyes will hound you for this. I don’t wish that for you.”

James ridiculed, caustically, “I will perform lustration then.”