Page 143 of Devoured

I flush, wishing I still had my hair down to hide behind. “Portia did the hard work.”

“I had an excellent canvas.” Portia picks up my arm, careful not to smudge any of her artistry. “Look what I did, Evie.”

“Ancient vows? Cora will hate that.” Evie passes Portia the bottle of champagne. “Nice work, Montgomery.”

Portia beams under her praise. And then someone taps on the door.

Amethyst’s harsh voice snaps our moment of joy like a twig. “The rite begins in five minutes. Get the hell out here. I’m not asking again.” Her footsteps thunder down the corridor, toward the field.

Evie growls, then seizes the bottle of champagne from Portia. Throwing her head back, she downs the last of the liquor and throws the bottle against the wall. It shatters, but she doesn’t so much as flinch. She just turns to us, her scarlet eyes glowing with renewed bloodlust. “Are you ready to end this?”

“Yes,” I say.

She smiles and turns on her heels. “Good. I’ll see you out there, Hart.” Over her shoulder, right before she leaves, she calls, “Knock ’em dead.”

Portia grabs my hand again. She murmurs prayers under her breath so rapidly I don’t catch a single word. All the while, I look back at the mirror. At the reflection of a girl I hardly even know anymore. Purple eyes. Purple hair. Gilded skin. Her fangs glint in the light the same as her tiara. And there—in the depth of her gaze, of my gaze—a storm of unbridled rage.

There is no more waiting. No more time to dread or plan or cry.

I pull away from Portia with smooth, refined confidence.

“Okay,” I say. “Let’s give them hell.”

47

CALIX

IN THE CENTER OF THE OPEN FIELD, AN AISLE OF SCATTERED chrysanthemum petals winds toward an elaborate arch woven from the branches of a willow tree. Black gossamer ribbons drift from its curve while ivy climbs the base of the castle turrets behind it.

Cora has poured every ounce of her court’s magic into this rite. Even though the faerie world has all but fallen around us, a hint of magic lingers in the air. Alchemists. Weavers. Modifiers. Candles flicker in the breeze, though there is no need for them as the sun slowly climbs toward its peak in a fathomless blue sky.

Since dawn, Cora’s loyal lesser packs have spilled from the fortress’s doors. They gather in a massive crescent around the arch. Local packs mingle in the back as her more distinguished guests from Guatemala sample foods and drinks from passing trays near the front. Unfortunately, most of that food and drink is purely mortal. They don’t seem to mind, and I suppose it’s because they’re not here to eat. They’re here to appease their queen.

All the while, the Wolf Queen waits, draped head to toe in obsidian velvet with a star-flecked crown to match. Her smile curves with wicked delight, sharp and knowing, as though she is the only one who knows what’s to come.

She is wrong. I am so fucking glad that she’s wrong.

I keep my arms crossed, my claws hidden from sight, as a violinist begins to play a saccharine melody. The myriad guests settle, their gossip lowering to a dull hush, as the door to the castle opens and Sin marches out. His brocade suit—gold and black—makes him look every inch the crown prince.

Holding his head high, bracing an arm across his chest as per tradition, he stalks toward the aisle. The guests part for him. A few reach out to offer congratulations, but he ignores them all. His burgundy eyes smolder, his blond hair almost white beneath the sun. He keeps a stoic expression tethered in place and continues to his mother’s side.

“More than anyone else, you have always known who I am.”

I didn’t, though. Not until he woke up, and Arielle remained asleep. She is still asleep, slumbering in the infirmary, while every other werewolf still on good terms with Cora Severi gathers here.

Sin is a liar, a murderer, and, most of all, his mother’s son.

He doesn’t bother looking at me now, and I don’t need him to. Today will be horrible enough without any extended eye contact.

As if I’ve conjured her from thought alone, the music weaves into a slower, more romantic melody, and Vanessa appears in the doorway.

From this far away, clear across the other side of the field, I don’t see anything but purple and gold. So much gold—on her skin, on her gown, in her hair—that she looks like sunlight. The closer she glides toward the aisle, toward Sin, the brighter that light glows. Until it’s not just sunlight, but starlight, moonlight, effervescent, ethereal flame. Until it hurts to look at her. Yet I can’t force myself to look away.

The memory of her breathy sigh clenches my heart in a cruel fist. The memory of her whispering my name, of her hands tearing at my shirt, of her lips so perfect against mine.

She looks beautiful.

More beautiful than anything on this Earth or outside of it. And now she is going to be mated to my cousin.