Page 105 of Tainted Souls
I bite back a snort at the absurdity of anyone being this eager to be indulged by the ogre standing in front of me. But I digress. “Can’t leave a lady waiting,” I remark, mimicking Sophia’s curtsy, “my lord.”
He doesn’t flinch. Just gives a small nod, as if conceding to the fact that he has no intention of letting my mockery go unanswered. Then he leans in, close enough for me to feel the heat of him.
“Ace,” he breathes, voice pitched low in a way only I can hear.
My brows furrow slightly at the name, hitting me unexpectedly.
I snort aloud this time, unsure why I expected a name more grand. More dramatic. It’s almost anticlimactic. At least I know it now.
He lingers for a bit, raising the hairs on my neck, forcing me to compose myself. “You wanted my attention,” he continues, more warning than statement. “Now you have it. Let’s see how long you survive it.” When he pulls back, his eyes catch mine for one final moment before he turns to Sophia, his posture relaxing with effortless control. “So it has,” he says, allowing her to lead him away.
I watch them disappear down the corridor, my emotions a tangled mess I can’t begin to unravel. Relief and frustration war within me—relief at being free of his unsettling presence, frustration at the silent danger etched into every word he speaks.
Across the foyer, I spot Saul lounging on a settee, observing our interaction with thinly veiled interest. His posture is relaxed, but his eyes are brooding.
I make my way toward him.
“Enjoying your stay?” Saul asks as I sit, his tone deliberately light.
“Cut the crap,” I snap, too exhausted for games. “Why didn’t you at least tell me Mom was alive? Even if she was a captive? It’s one thing to keep me in the dark, to shield me from danger, to keep the harsh truths at arm’s length, but not telling me about Mom?” I can barely breathe, my chest tightening with a kind of pain I haven’t felt in years. “Not telling me she was alive this whole time? That’s not just a secret, Saul. That’sbetrayal. You had no right to keep that from me.”
His expression hardens, the facade of nonchalance faltering. “We already went over this, Sister.” He looks me straight in the eye, ready to knock me down another peg. “Your ego’s too big for your own good. You think you’re invincible, that you can fix everything by yourself.” He takes a sip of his wine, then sets the glass down with a deliberate clink. “You would’ve waltzed in there, trying to play the hero, only to end up on Cain’s doorstep, gift-wrapped on a silver platter, all while dragging your human soldiers with you.”
My jaw tightens, the bruises on my pride fresher than the ones on my body.
Saul leans back, crossing one leg over the other like he’s settling into a fireside chat rather than a confrontation. “Besides, it’s not like Ace hadn’t already tried telling you. Remember that letter he sent us?”
“I burnt it.” The reply comes too fast, too eager.
“Yes.” He squints his eyes as if thinking back to that day. The day I crumpled that piece of paper and threw it in the fire. The day when Saul stood in the doorway of our empty family home, ashadow cast long by the dying sun in front of him. “Which is why I went to meet him in your place.”
“What did he tell you?” I ask, though what I really want to know is what he’d said that made Saul believe in him.
Enough to abandon everything he knew, including me.
Saul doesn’t answer right away. He runs a thumb along the rim of his glass, his eyes distant, as if the answer is buried in the bottom of it.
“He didn’t have to say much,” he finally replies. “Just the truth.”
“What truth, Saul?” I press, unwilling to let him hide behind vague explanations.
The way I raised my voice seems to have gotten under his skin. He looks up, directly into my eye. “Thatyouare the reason why Cain is going after everyone else.” There’s a short pause, almost as if he knows what he’s about to say will sting. “That others are bleeding for the sake of your freedom.”
My pulse thrums like war drums in my ears. “Are you saying this is my fault?” I blink, breathe, but none of it softens the blow. “That I ought to be grateful, because everyone is acting inmybest interest?”
“No,” he says quietly, sighing. “I’m saying vindictiveness is in your character. It blinds you.” He leans forward, elbows on his knees, wine forgotten. “You don’t see what’s happening,reallyhappening, because you’re constantly caught up in your own fight.”
I rise to my feet, hurt and guilt clawing at my insides in equal measure. “Can you blame me?! My whole life, I’ve carried your weight on my back. Smoothing over the trouble you caused, covering your mistakes, dragging you out of danger while taking the hits myself. I was the only Rosen to show up to Dad’s funeral, for Blod’s sake!” I press a hand to my chest like it might stop my heart from splitting open. “And as if everything hadn’t alreadyfallen apart, you chose a killer—ourfather’skiller—over your own sister!” He opens his mouth to speak, but I cut him off, finishing my tirade. “How could I not be caught up in my own fight, when all of my battles were fought alone?!”
He lowers his head then, nudging the inside of his cheek with his tongue, the smallest gesture of reluctant agreement I’ve ever seen. “I didn’t say you were wrong to fight.” His voice is steadier than mine. “You just forgot how to stop.”
A bitter laugh escapes my lips. “You sound just like him,” I scoff, disgusted. “Ace.”
It isn’t until the silence stretches too long that I notice the shift in the room. Glasses have stopped clinking. Conversations have gone still. Every face in the vicinity is turned toward me, their eyes wide with a mix of pity and discomfort.
Some even flinch, as if I’d just said something blasphemous.
Heat floods my cheeks, not from embarrassment, but from the shame of being seen. Not as a leader or a weapon, but as someone cracking at the seams. I swallow hard and lower my gaze, sitting back into my seat with deliberate control, spine stiff and heart still pounding.
