Page 125 of King of Ashes
“He also drew some blood. Just in case,” he says, his voice laced with caution, triggering my nerves.
“In case of what?” I ask, not understanding what he implies.
He eyes my belly.
“No. That can’t be.” I gulp, trying to infuse as much confidence as I can. Imagine me killing not only my husband but my baby’s father.
What am I? Fucking cursed. No, that can’t be. Everything is all right.Nothing is all right, that damn annoying inner voice reminds me.
Perhaps going insane was inevitable, and Vian simply delayed it.
“Any news?”
He shakes his head, a shadow of concern falling over his face. “It will be war. Alliances will be rethought. You married an associate of the Syndicate, which you yourself are, but you still killed a member.”
“Stop saying that.”
He’s alive. He’s still alive. Knowing the damn asshole, he is clawing his way out of hell to torment me some more. He’s good at playing me. He made me fall in love with him despite all my alarm bells ringing louder than thousands of church bells. Not a blind woman in love, but a deaf woman in love.
Yeah, I should unplug him to be sure.
As if you’re capable of that, the inner voice taunts.
My insides have turned against me.
Grief subdues me, burying me under the merciless weight of loss. “I will talk to his cousin.”
“But––”
I cut him off. “I will deal with the consequences.” I wave my hand toward the door. “Let me rest. Go back to work. You have stuff to do.”
“You’re my priority.”
“Sure. Then remember who you work for. I know it’s hard, but at least pretend it’s me.”
He rolls his eyes at me, the grimace putting a smile on my face, but not for long. Vian is never far from my thoughts. I close my eyes, wishing for sweet oblivion, anything to forget the pain threatening to splinter my mind and shatter my soul.
The house opens in front of me on a beautiful summer day. The sun casts a glow over the entire perimeter. Flowers bloom, the green of the trees appearing so rich, a mild gust of wind caressing my face.
I hear children’s squeals, and I round the house to see Vian playing with two boys, chasing them around in the backyard.
I come to a stop and lean against the wall, rejoicing in the image.
He’s the first to notice me. Knowing my husband, he sensed me long before I parked. A smirk sits at the corner of his mouth, revealing how attuned he is to me.
My firstborn notices me next, but it’s my youngest who runs to me and crashes straight into my open arms.
As I hold him, my chest overflows with so much love. I kiss his beautiful little face and place him down. He is his father’s mini-me.
“Mommy,” he says in his soft voice that warms my heart.
“Baby,” my oldest says when I pin him with a serious stare. “What? He is.”
“Don’t talk like that about your brother,” my husband chastises him.
They’re not even two years apart, but they couldn’t be more different.
My oldest comes next for a quick hug, looking like the perfect combination of his father and me. He kisses me on the cheek and goes back to throwing one knife after another, right into the bull’s-eye.
