Page 41

Edwin watches my face like he’s waiting to see which desire wins. There’s only one choice.

“I want Asher’s killer found,” I say. My voice sounds firmer than I intended. “And dealt with.”

Edwin lifts a brow. “Dealt with how?”

My mouth goes dry as I suck in breaths.

I know the answer before I say it. Somehow, I knew it the moment I heard the gunshot through the playroom door.

Asher is dead while the man who killed him gets to wake up and live his life. The unfairness of it burns in my chest.

My brother’s death replays no matter how hard I try to stop it. The grief is still there, crushing and bottomless, but anger sharpens beneath it.

When I open them, my voice comes out barely above a whisper.

“Death.”

Edwin grins, sharp canines visible with the dangerous tilt of his lips. “Are you positive that’s what you want?”

“Yes.” The confirmation has my pulse hammering.

He nods like he’s sure this is possible. “We’ll find him.”

Then he reaches into the inner pocket of his jacket and pulls out another medallion, this one without a chain. It’s identical to Asher’s.

I shake my head before he asks.

“Asher gave this to me.”

“And its use has been fulfilled.” He extends his hand with the shiny, clean medallion in it. “For this to work, you have to take mine.”

I rub my thumb over the skull on Asher’s medallion. Right over the smear of his blood still marking its surface. It’s all I have left. The final proof that he existed at all.

Tears well in my eyes. He sacrificed his life for me and I’ll do anything I have to do to make up for it.

I press one kiss against the coin. My hand refuses to open when I try to place it in Edwin’s. Giving it away means losing Asher all over again.

Then I force myself to let go. And I take the new one.

He slips Asher’s medallion into his pocket.

“Keep this with you at all times,” he says. “When the Serpents come to collect, you’ll give it back.”

I stare down at this new coin. “But what do I have to do?”

His expression turns intimate as his eyes graze over my body.

“When it’s time,” he says, “you’ll know.”

“That isn’t enough.” Fear spikes again, sharpened by frustration. “He’s still out there, running free.”

He catches a loose lock of hair framing my face and tucks it behind my ear. The gesture is small, but it makes the heat I’ve been trying to ignore spread deeper.

“Don’t worry, angel.” His voice softens, a dangerous lull in the electricity in the room. “I’ll collect soon enough.”

He opens the door and steps into the hallway.

I stand here holding this piece of metal, trying to make sense of the switch, the bargain, the blood that’s been spilled for me tonight.