Jack moved to stand in front of the man, hatred stamped on every line of his body. “He’s about to give up everything. I’ll make the twins’ torture look like love taps.”
I blinked at Jack. So ruthless. So unyielding. A million miles away from the drunken boy who’d cared about nothing after the Flash.
Selena had told me that Jack had changed. Yeah. That.
He backhanded Milo. “Wake up, you fils de putain.” Not a twitch . . . While we waited, Aric knelt, lifting a weighty black book from the ground. He brushed sawdust from it, then laid it on the desk.
I drew in. “What is it?”
He didn’t answer, just turned to the first page. Handwritten text covered the weathered paper. I couldn’t determine the language.
Aric’s radiant eyes illuminated the page. “Gods in heavens.”
“What is it?”
“Chronicles.” He turned that brilliant gaze to me. “The Lovers’ chronicles.”
33
“What is this?” Milo demanded, spittle flying into the air. Finally, he’d come to.
Jack stopped mid swing, lowering his hand. “Look who’s up.”
Milo’s pale blue eyes widened with shock. “I know you! The notorious hunter! What do you want from me?”
“Your children,” Jack answered. “The real ones. You’re goan to give them to us.”
When the sounds of the outside celebrations filtered into the tent, Milo’s shock deepened. “This isn’t possible—my soldiers are loyal!” His lips drew back from stained teeth. “They will retake control.” His hands twisted against his bonds, his fingers tipped with long yellow nails. “And when they do—”
“Your loyalists are as good as dead. Just like your twins.” Jack nodded to indicate the carnates. “Or their placeholders, anyway.”
“That’s Death’s mark.” Milo whipped his head around with confusion, settling on Aric.
He sat at the man’s desk, leaning back in the chair, steepling his fingers. The book lay open in front of him.
Milo glanced at it, then studiously away. Did he hope we wouldn’t figure out what we possessed?
For once, we’d had a turn of fortune. The book hadn’t been in Milo’s safe or hidden away.
Because he was the Lovers’ chronicler.
At the time a canister rolled into his tent, he’d been recording an entry. The last written word trailed across a page.
The bad news? The language was ancient Romanian. The good news? Aric said he could translate it in time. Milo snapped, “Death wasn’t part of the deal!”
“The one your kids already welshed on?” I pointed out.
“You!” As I’d suspected, Milo’s face grew even redder. I’d never been looked at with such contempt. “All my life I’ve known who to blame for generations of this family’s misfortunes—the Empress. Here she stands.”
“I understand your blaming me for the last game. But all the following centuries? That’s a stretch.”
He gazed at the circlet of roses on my head, making a face of revulsion. “Without your treachery, the Duke and Duchess Most Perverse would have won, becoming royalty. No, becoming immortal gods! They could have watched over and enriched this family eternally. Each generation knows how you robbed us. Our line is forged from vengeance!”
So the Milovnícis had grown more and more bitter about my betrayal? More twisted?
“My children will right this wrong. They are retribution. They will win this, so they can punish you in the next game and the next.” He bared yellowed teeth. “Enjoy your final days in this life, you treacherous bitch!”
Jack clocked him for that.
The man grunted in pain, taking long moments to focus his vision. “Let’s talk about those kids, Milo. We’re goan to ring them up, inform them of our upcoming hostage swap.”
“They won’t trade anyone for me.”
“For their chronicles, then?” Aric slid the tome into a waterproof sleeve he’d found.
Milo redlined on the crazy meter, spittle flying. “Thief! You have no right to those!”
“Stay on topic.” Jack backhanded him again, rocking the man’s head to the side. “Your kids. Where are they?”
“I will never give them away!”
Jack just smiled. Though I knew Milo had earned the retribution he was about to receive, I didn’t want to watch him tortured. Especially not by Jack.
Plus the red witch would probably view it as recreation and crave similar forms of entertainment.
I caught Jack’s gaze.
“I got this, Evie. You want to wait outside?” Aric rose, book in hand. “I’ll take you.”
As we exited, Milo told Jack, “I remember your pretty sister. Vincent told me she liked to beg in French—”
His scream ripped through the night. Even as I flinched, the red witch found the sound as pleasurable as a petal’s caress.
I took a seat on a bench not far from where the petrifying Thanatos waited, giving passersby the willies.
When Milo let loose another strangled scream, Death began to pace, his spurs clinking. “If the mortal can’t control himself, this will not work. Torture isn’t as simple as one would think.” Pacing, pacing. “Does Deveaux know how to torment his victim while leaving the man conscious? Will he avoid major arteries? It’s not so easy a feat.”
“You want to go back in, don’t you?”
“The sooner we retrieve Selena for Deveaux, the sooner you return home with me.”
I parted my lips to argue, then decided not to waste my breath. I waved him away. “Just go.”
“Don’t leave this place, sievā, and keep your guard up. There could still be loyalists about.” He returned to the tent.
As I waited, Milo screamed intermittently. But I could also hear people talking about Jack, Aric, and me. A group of women gabbed about the hunter’s “hot-as-fire” Cajun accent and “steely” gray eyes. They found Aric “eerily gorgeous.”
Jealousy flared on both counts. I was used to feeling it over Jack and Selena, but not as often for Death. For kicks and giggles, I imagined Aric kissing someone else.
My claws budded.
And what did Azey North think of me? The men found me “unnerving” yet “definitely doable.” The women? “She’s so creepy.” “Did you see that vine snaking around her head?”
Still, whenever people walked by me, I smiled in greeting. They nodded politely, but couldn’t hide their nervousness.