Chapter 18

My lazy eyes bore into Draven as he is the first to enter the room.

It's so bright I have to fight the urge to squint my eyes. The walls are made fully of glass and the sun just had to choose today if all days to be so alive. It's rained every other day this week.

He gracefully lowers himself into the wrought iron chair, his back sticking straight up. He levels a playful grin on me, a brow cocked, "sore, are we?"

I match his gaze, fully relaxed, "why? Do you want to be part of round two?"

He reaches a hand up to rub his face, "you wish?"

My lips stretch up, "I've never been attracted to a male in my life," I lift a shoulder, dropping just as quickly, "but your welcome to try your luck."

He grunts, quickly changing the subject, "not only did you sleep with my wife, but you killed my mother. Care to comment?"

I wince in an overly fake gesture, "huh. I guess I forgot about that."

He mutters a quick flame save me under his breath before leaning forward, flatting his hand out on the wooden table, "why the hells would you kill her?"

"I killed Arabella Atkinsons because I wanted to."

He goes to speak, only to be cut off by the others filing into the room. Windsor dressed to the nines in finery, Kol and Harlan looking disheveled, as if they just rolled out of bed. Everyone else looking somewhere in between classy and trashy.

Draven straightens up immediately, once again looking unfazed and immaculate in his dark grey, fully buttoned, waistcoat and orangish tie. His eyes promise me a slow death.

If only I could die. Everything would be so much easier.

While the others file in and start to pull papers out I tap on his mental shields. He blinks and there is a small opening for me to enter.

What do you want?

What do you want? I parrot back.

His face remains the same on the outside. There isn't a sign of our conversation on the outside.

I want death to greet you. He laughs in my head. I'm sure you'll laugh in her face as she drags you down to Hell.

I'm sure I will. I nod in agreement.

I can't wait until you shatter.

My breath catches. I slip out of his mind.

I will not break. I must be perfection. I am perfection. Not a thing out of place. My hand begs to twitch, but I hold it in. I am unmitigated refinement.

I feel my chest ache as my heart slowly pulls itself apart.

With a look of distaste in my direction, Draven pulls out his own papers and starts writing notes upon the reports I laid out on the crisp white oak table, ingrained with willow trees with vines dangling down from each of the delicate branches.

The winter air is cold and tension is thick in that air, so much so that it's palpable.

"My queen, I was told to give this to you, from my mother."

I hum, tapping my fingers on the table, "always a pleasure, Brina."

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