Sancte Diaboli: Part Two (The Elite King's Club 7)

“So why am I here then?” I demand, my hand coming to my neck when a shock of pain rips through my vein. “Please, just tell me what is going on.”

Silence.

Ophelia sighs, falling onto the chair beside me. “Well, I’ll tell her, since none of you want to be honest.”

“Ophelia!” Veronica snaps. Though her voice is forceful, her smile and eyes remain on me. “Quiet.”

Ophelia’s mouth slams shut, the muscles in her jaw tensing. She brings her hand to mine, resting on top protectively. “She deserves to know. How can we have a sisterhood but keep one out of the truth?”

Veronica’s eyes flash to her finally, narrowed and ready for war, before her cheeks relax and her shoulders shift. “Fine.” She goes through another couple of puffs before finally starting. “You are still in Riverside—on the west side, commonly known as Riveredge. This home was built in the early seventeen hundreds and has housed generations of generations of witches since. Hector, your father, brought you to me for two reasons. One, he knows you are safe here, and two, this is your home.”

“I have a home already, and it’s darker than this.”

Veronica studies me, her eyes falling down my body. “Hmm, so as it may seem you do, though I can reassure you—”

“—you’re awfully chatty tonight.” The voice that drifts in from behind me freezes me to my core. Hearing him, feeling his energy around me, the energy that once comforted me, forces me to my feet. I spin around to face him. I think in the back of my mind, I wanted him not to be here. I wanted to think that I didn’t see him in that limo the night I was shot, but I was wrong. Because there he stands. All six-foot-I can’t remember of him. Dressed in black, with his hair in the way I’ve come to love, and his jaw as sharp as I remember. He doesn’t look at me, though. Not when I stand. Not when I make my way to him. And definitely not when my hand is flying into his face.

Slap!

My palm stings, but I don’t care, because betrayal? Betrayal hurts more. He doesn’t so much as move as his eyes remain on Veronica. Anger. Anger bubbles beneath my skin and I ball my fingers into a fist. “You—”

“—Saint, let’s show you around the house and leave them to talk, yeah?” Ophelia says, hooking her arm in mine. It isn’t until we’re walking down the giant corridor filled with more artistic paintings and giant colossal pillars that I realize my cheeks are wet from my tears.

“It’s okay, Saint.” Alessi is walking on the other side of me, heels clicking against the marble. “It’s going to be okay.” I turn to look over my shoulder and see a blank-faced Frankie and a disinterested Ivy, but even if they think whatever of me—they are still here.

We make our way through the large foyer, breaking through the colosseum-styled pillars that line both sides of the hallway—if you can even call it that—before we reach the master stairs. White marble, more art on the ceiling, and flowing vines and plants overflowing the railing. There’s one grand staircase before it splits off into two others, which lead to opposite sides of the house.

“We can show you outside tomorrow, but let’s start with our wing.” Ophelia gestures up the stairs, and I block out her voice when my mind drifts back downstairs to where Brantley is with Veronica.

“—so we all stay on this side, with the other for V and her—whatever you want to call her obsessions. We prefer it better this way because we like to stay close to each other.”

Alessi steps up to two wide doors and slides them open, stepping into another vast space. “The spa room.” Lights flicker on, exposing an octagon-style hot tub that could fit at least twenty of us, a long bar on the other side, more plants growing over furnishings, and a large projector screen that hangs behind the tub.

“It’s—everything is very beautiful,” I say truthfully.

Frankie scoffs, and I turn to face her just in time to catch the end of an eye roll. “I’m sorry, but are we all going to ignore the fact that we literally have a Vitiosis in this house?”

“Ignore her,” Alessi chimes in, kicking off her heels and removing the pin in her hair that’s keeping her chiffon bun so tightly in place. She scrunches up the bottom of her gown, dipping her toes into the tub. “She’s the only one who acts like a rich, spoiled brat out of us, but who actually isn’t a rich, spoiled brat.” Alessi begins removing her gown, as does Ophelia. Ivy shuffles to the bench seat, which is built into the large windowpane opposite the spa, pushing her reading glasses up the bridge of her nose.