Page 61 of Devoured

Sin looks at me, then at his mother. A muscle feathers along his hard jaw. His voice darkens—shades deeper, more terrifying, than his mother’s own gaze. “You promised you wouldn’t lie to me, Cora. I’ve trusted you for years. I gave up my entire world for you—”

Cora scoffs, flicking her wrist carelessly in my direction as she perches on the edge of her throne. “And still you believe some girl over your own mother?”

Sin hoists me higher in his arms. “Vanessa has never been some girl to me, and she hasn’t done anything wrong. She obeys you. We all obey you. What more do you want from us?”

“We are supposed to be a team, Sinclair. You and I and no one else.” Cora sits forward, pressing her elbows onto her knees, pleading with a widened, maternal gaze. But it’s a lie. Everything about her is a lie, and I hate her. I wish I could move, could scream, could rage in Sin’s arms.

Sin jerks his head. “Then, stop lying. Stop acting like Sybil. You said we would have peace. Remember that? You found me crying on the beach, you held me tight, and you swore the world would be different someday. You said you and I could be its salvation. I’m tired of people dying, Cora. I will not have my mate be another fatality. Vanessa and Calix have always been part of the deal. They don’t get hurt, no matter what.”

He exhales a ragged breath but continues before Cora can interrupt again. “Duquesa Balam Xol is locked inside a tower right now because you said we needed to take control of her palace. You sold Evie to a brute general. Hell, Mother, you’re about to start a goddamned war. You murdered a princess of Antarctica. You murdered Dalla without even thinking it through. Do you think that won’t have political repercussions? Are you prepared to do battle with six other continents so soon?”

Cora’s expression sharpens as the rest of her stiffens. The air around her pulls taut. “I do not think we should speak of such things in front of Vanessa.”

Sin curses again. “She’s not a threat. Clearly, you can see that now. You promised—”

“I know, Sinclair. I’m sorry.” Cora lifts her chin, and her expression smooths into an indecipherable calm. Lie. “Take her to the infirmary. I’ll send healers. The best we have.”

“We don’t have good healers anymore. You made sure of that when you slaughtered the old ones.” Sin glances down at me, and my own agony is reflected in his gaze. “I’m taking her to my room. I’ll heal her myself. In the meantime, I want the Antarctic prisoners released.”

“Pardon?” Cora stands abruptly, her brows creeping up her forehead. When she smiles again, it’s harder than before, as if her patience has reached its end. “Perhaps you’re suffering from short-term memory loss, but we are a team. I did not slaughter anyone alone, nor will I be ordered around by a child.”

Sin begins to turn, to walk away from his mother. “You and I both know they shouldn’t be chained up like animals.”

“They’re traitors—”

He laughs shortly. Dryly. “They are? Or Vanessa is? Or do you just declare anyone a traitor so you can torture them? I’m done, Cora. We have to be better than those who came before us.”

He pauses in front of the broken door when Cora responds, her voice cold and sickeningly unbothered. Tranquil, even. “It takes bloodshed to win a war, Sinclair Severi, and you have always known that this ends in war. There is no other way.”

“Maybe.” He glances over his shoulder at his mother. “But you will not lay another hand on Vanessa Hart.”

24

VANESSA

SIN LAYS ME ON HIS BED WITH GENTLE HANDS.

I don’t feel his touch as he peels my tattered clothes from my wounds. He curses every time he finds a new injury, but the deep lacerations around my wrists and ankles are by far the worst. “I need to heal you, but it’s going to be painful.” He presses a hand to my forehead and curses again. “You have a fever. You’re sweating.” His gaze burns through mine with palpable ferocity. “Does anything else hurt? Did they do anything else to you?”

I open my mouth, but my throat has swollen closed. Shutting my eyes, I jerk my head left. Right. It’s not quite a shake, not quite a no, but it’s all I can manage.

“Fuck.” He runs a hand through his messy hair. “You shouldn’t be this ill. You should have recovered a little in your sleep. Werewolves are meant to withstand. To survive.” His hand moves to my cheek and wipes blood from my face.

“I’ll be right back.” Sin moves to leave, and I seize his forearm. I don’t even realize I’ve done it until searing pain shoots up my wrist. A guttural moan tears from my throat. My body convulses at the twisting agony, nearly throwing me off the bed, but Sin holds me through the worst of the tremors. When they’ve subsided, he brushes a damp curl from my face. “I swear I’ll be right back. I’m not leaving you again.”

Truth. He’s telling the truth.

Sin exits, and my bones sink into the mattress, heavy and leaden, impossible to lift, but I need to see the depth of my injuries. I need to know how Sin will heal me. Gritting my teeth, tears blurring my vision, I force my left leg up. A harsh gasp lodges in my throat. The shackles have gnawed through the flesh around my foot. White bone glistens in the candlelight.

I drop my leg and cry out when it hits the bed. The door bursts open. Slams closed.

Sin has returned to my side before I can blink. He hoists a basket of supplies next to me. A small saw peeks out between two clean towels and a roll of gauze. I clench my eyes shut tight, wishing I could curse. Or weep. Or scream.

“You—are—not—a—healer,” I groan, staring at him instead, pleading with him silently to send for anyone else.

He glances down with an arched brow before spinning the saw deftly in his hand. “You probably shouldn’t insult someone holding a bone saw.”

Bone. Saw.