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I fly toward her and grab her by the neck. “Yes, you are correct. I am.” I squeeze her throat, relishing how the color drains from her face. Delia pounds her fists on my back, but it’s no use.

This woman has hated me since the second she saw me. She has treated me like everyone else has. Like I’m a piece of trash, not even worthy enough for the bin. “Your daughter is next.”

Her eyes bulge wide. Delia’s screams are agonizing, but I cannot let go. The dark parts of me are warm and fuzzy. They tickle my skin and soothe my ache. I will feel better once she is dead.

“Bell, stop. Please.”

I suck in a deep breath. Arkana.

“Get away from me, or I will hurt you too,” I rasp.

“No, you will not. But I will kill you if you don’t let Olga down this instant.” Her scent is upon me. She is at my back.

I grit my teeth. “She knows what I am.”

Arkana sighs, and it is as sweet as any melody I’ve ever heard. “Yes. You are Bell Erebus, lord of this manor. That is all anyone needs to know. And all anyone will say that you are. They are bound to me. And I am bound to you.” She places a gentle hand on my arm. “Please, my love… she is more of a mother to me than the one who ripped me out of her womb a day early so that I wouldn’t ruin her favorite holiday.”

Fuck.

I drop the woman to the floor. What the fuck have I done?

Delia throws her body over her mother in defense.

“I am sick. Sick of myself!” I scream. And for the first time since I was five years old, I collapse and burst into tears.

ARKANA

I send them all below the manor for their own protection. “Everyone out, now.” They all scurry except for Olga and Delia, who insist I come with them or else they won’t leave my side. “He won’t hurt me,” I tell them. They don’t believe me, but I force them down into the crypt with the others and lock them all inside.

And now I creep through these halls to get back to him. I follow the sound of his cries, his wails, my heart aching with each step I take. He can destroy the manor, but I won’t let him destroy himself.

I find him in the parlor, all of the furniture decimated. He crouches on the marble floor, his black strands matted to his forehead. I throw open the windows; this time I am strong enough to lift the levers myself.

He sobs into his blood-stained hands.

“It’s okay, beloved. I will fix you.” As I tower over him, he lets me pick shards of glass out of his hair. Even on his knees, he’s a formidable man. The cords of his muscles are deeply chiseled, his chest and shoulders broad. And by some unseen force, this man is stronger than the bones of this very manor. But in this moment, he looks as if a feather could break him.

“Let me go, Arkana. Put a knife through my heart and throw me off a cliff like I did to the man whose life I stole.” He rocks back on his heels and glares up at me.

He is feverish, wild, and the most unhinged I’ve ever seen him. “Tell me everything, Bell. And then I can decide if I wish to end your life or not.” The thought of being without this man makes it hard for me to breathe. But I will threaten him to get the truth.

He claws at his own skin as if something were beneath it trying to get out. “I murdered your betrothed. The real Bellamy Erebus. I gutted him in cold blood so that I could claim his wealth and status. And then I killed your coachman so that there were no witnesses. I had planned to kill you too. No stone left unturned.”

I am not surprised for some reason. Nor as horrified as I should be. “And yet here I am. Alive and well. See, you are not a monster.”

He grunts and clenches his fists. “I am, Arkana. You have no idea.”

I kneel down beside him and place my hands on his chest. “Tell me, then. Have I not proven my loyalty? Trust me.”

He takes a vial from his pocket, pops the lid, and waves it in front of my nose. “Do you know what this is?”

I nod. “Of course. Nightshade.” Being able to differentiate between toxins is something I pride myself on. My brothers were never any good at it. Especially Silas. He hated the taste of it.

Bell nods, his eyes darkening. “Can you tell me exactly how it is made? The process from field to vial?”

I shake my head. “No. I’m not a botanist, Bell.”

He snickers. “Well, I can. You know why? Because from the time I was eighteen years old, until about three weeks ago, I worked in the poison fields in Hemlock Valley.”