“I’m thinking about my sister. Vittoria is…” I sighed and glanced up at him. “She’s no longer human. I’d like to believe I’d retain my morals, but I’m not sure that’s possible. Especially now. Our House was Vengeance. It seems to fuel us both. Even before I knew what we were, my initial response to Vittoria’s ‘death’ was simple: revenge. Deep down I know that my sister is hurt and that this is the sole way for her to express it.”
Wrath regarded me closely, a deep crease forming in his brow. “Everyone has choices they make. Your sister is using her immortality as an excuse to do unforgivable things. She could alter her path, forge a new one easily. She doesn’t want to. And therein lies the issue. She is a monster by choice, not birth.” He bared his teeth in a smile that promised untamed violence. “As we all are. But she’s not the only one who can discard moral code to accomplish a task.”
I held his gaze for a few beats. Nothing but pure determination and icy promise shone out of his eyes. Once he set his mind to it, he’d move the entire underworld to accomplish his goals. Vittoria was very close to becoming his number one task to eliminate. Nothing I could do or say would dissuade him. I knew that for certain because that would be the path I’d take. And no one would stop me. We truly were a match made in Hell.
“Regardless of the methods used to accomplish it, I learned a great many things this evening.” I rolled onto my back and stared up at the ceiling. “I don’t believe Vesta is dead. It’s the one question my sister refuses to answer—she goes out of her way to avoid it, actually. If she were guilty, I don’t see why she’d have any trouble rubbing it in Greed’s face. She hates demons, princes of Hell especially. If she truly wishes to start a war, why not admit such a large triumph as slaying someone as important as one of their commanders? Especially if Vesta was as special as Greed claimed. Vittoria hasn’t been shy in boasting about any of her other conquests. Why maintain silence now?”
Wrath exhaled. “I also questioned why Vesta had sought out Pride. He’s hiding something, but I don’t believe it has anything to do with her potential disappearance.”
“What do you believe, then?” I rolled onto my side again, facing him.
“I think he’d been after information and thought he was using Vesta.” His mouth almost lifted in a smile. “Once he realized he’d been outmaneuvered, I think his pride took another hit. Which was why he seemed surprised and annoyed. He thought he’d been the hunter, and he discovered he’d fallen into another trap. He’s been overly sensitive about that sort of thing since your sister trampled all over his carefully crafted image.”
“Did he care for her?”
“Your sister?” Wrath’s attention slid over me as I nodded. “I’m not sure. But he certainly puts an enormous amount of effort into seeing her destroyed. Though that could simply be because he hates himself for letting his pride get in the way of telling his wife the truth.”
“Which was?”
“As far as I know, Pride and Vittoria never did more than kiss. He had his reputation of a debauched prince to uphold, which was why he’d allowed everyone to think he was bedding her.”
“You’re certain he never bedded Vittoria?”
Wrath considered my question carefully. “I don’t think anyone except Pride and Vittoria know the full truth. He’s certainly not shared any details from that night.”
And if Vittoria had grown feelings for him and they were unrequited, that certainly could have added fuel to her current “destroy demons and witches” mission. I mulled over another theory. “Do you think Greed sent himself the skull?”
“I wouldn’t rule it out as a possibility. If he is convinced your sister is to blame, it would give him a clear motive to attempt to create evidence to prove his theory.”
It was precisely what I’d been thinking, too. “Without having complete access to Greed’s lands, there isn’t any way for us to prove where the skull originated from, correct?” My prince shook his head. I turned over a few more thoughts. “The Duke of Devon mentioned that Vesta’s family wasn’t from here…”
“Are you considering the blood left at the scene?”
I nodded. “We obviously don’t know the circumstances that brought Vesta here, but we know that she’d been inquiring about Pride’s portal and the blood scenting. If her family was from somewhere outside of Greed’s domain, even outside of the Seven Circles, perhaps she used the portal to return home. With the mixture of blood we found, perhaps she even sneaked some other type of demon here to help her?”
And if that were true, then perhaps she hadn’t been the victim at all, but the actual murderer. If she was as unhappy in Greed’s court as the duke had claimed, perhaps she had killed someone who stood in her way, leaving the mutilated body behind before making a great escape?
“It’s certainly an area to look into and either rule out or prove correct.” Wrath kissed my forehead, then got out of bed and pulled on a pair of pressed trousers. Something outside caught his attention, and he quietly swore as he strode onto the balcony.
Whatever exhaustion I’d felt vanished. I pushed the covers back and snagged a robe before joining him, stopping dead in my tracks. Glittering red stars were scattered across the sky, red as a blood-drenched omen. While we stood there silently watching them, they slowly formed a shape.
An anatomical heart, struck through the center with a dagger that had a skull at the top of its hilt. Blood dripped from the tip of the blade, or at least it appeared that way as crimson stars winked and spilled down the now pulsing symbol. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. It was beating, the pulse waves slowly raising the hair along my arms as they traveled across the realm.
It was a celestial heart. And it was clearly not a naturally occurring constellation.
“What is that?” I asked, my voice hushed.
“The immortal heart.” Wrath’s expression turned grim. The stars continued to pulse from their position in the sky, the red appearing like a gash in the universe. My own heart sped up. “It’s the symbol of the vampire court.”
Wrath dropped his attention to the courtyard below, scanning the moonlit grounds. I followed the path his attention traveled, looking for any sign of movement. A fresh blanket of snow had fallen, the crimson stars reflecting off it like drops of blood on the ground. The red splatters made it seem like a battle had already raged and soldiers had fallen.
I rubbed my arms. The night was quiet, but in no way was it peaceful. It felt like the shadows were watching, waiting. Trouble was near.
“An emissary will arrive soon.”
From the tone of Wrath’s voice and the way he kept surveying the castle grounds, it was not going to be a welcome visit.
In the weeks I’d been staying at House Wrath, I’d seen many impressive chambers—the libraries, guest suites, the training room, the garden, the Crescent Shallows, the dining hall, the circular tower where Celestia had brewed her potions and tonics, my bedroom suite and Wrath’s, among many other formal and informal rooms, terraces, and balconies—but I’d never stepped into Wrath’s throne room. It was a study of ferocious, gothic elegance.
Part of me wanted to drop to my knees, confess my sins like a devotee, or better yet, claim my favorite sin in front of the court forever. Though an audience would have to wait, the cathedral-like room with vaulted ceilings was empty for the moment, save for me and Wrath.
“It’s stunning,” I said, voice echoing lightly. We stood just inside the carved double doors, looking at the place where the devil ruled his kingdom. It suited Wrath. It was refined yet still contained an edge of wickedness. I waited for a spark of memory, but none came.
Black marble floors with pale gold veining, soaring arched ceilings with matching columns in a deep gray stone, and massive chandeliers with ebony gemstones glinted in the candlelight. Muted tones in floral designs were featured in stained glass windows. Which were placed at least twenty feet off the ground on either side of the room, allowing light to trickle in and break up the darkness. Torches set into serpent sconces were evenly spaced along the lower walls, the fire crackling as if to remind those who entered here that they were in the underworld.
Blasphemous though it may be, it reminded me of a church. Except in this house of worship, the demon of war was the only “heavenly” being who was prayed to.
Gleaming gold weapons decorated the walls, similar to Wrath’s training room. Shields, coats of armor, swords and daggers. Bows and arrows and curved blades that made me shiver from their wickedness. At the very back of the room, the widest arched window sat proudly above the throne. Taking up almost the entire wall, the stained glass design featured an unmistakable pair of outstretched black wings. I swallowed hard, realizing they must symbolize the wings that were stolen from Wrath. It must be torturous to have them memorialized like that.
I dropped my attention back to the first level. Just below the enormous window with black wings was a roaring fireplace. I’d never seen one quite so large—like the window, it took up almost the entire wall. A deep burgundy runner ran the length of the room, ending at the base of an ebony dais. The opaque gemstone looked like frozen smoke, forbidding yet beautiful. It was similar to, if not the very same, stone that I’d seen when we first entered this realm.
Atop the dais were two matching thrones. As the king of the underworld, I’d imagined his seat would be larger. Champagne bronze serpents curved around black leather, looking very much like the tattoo Wrath had inked onto his right arm. My heart skipped a beat when I spied vines with thorns that were elegantly twined around the serpent’s bodies.
Wrath slanted a look in my direction, his mouth curving in a hint of a smile despite the circumstances that brought us to this chamber so late at night. “You’re surprised.”
“You really mean for me to be queen. Not just your consort.”