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

This time was different. I was in my head. Not in his head. I liked this better, because I could study him closer now. Maybe he didn’t want me in his anymore; maybe he knew we were close.

I shuffled across the dusty floorboards, but they creaked beneath my feet.

“I’m trying to work something out,” the voice said. The one I had come to realize was his. The voice that gave away everything. “You think I’m dead?”

I turned, straightening my shoulders. I didn’t want him to think I was cowering. I didn’t want to give him that power. “No, I think you’re alive.” The room was unkempt. As if we were on the second level of an abandoned house. There was a crib in the corner with cobwebs through the bars, and a single mobile hanging above. He moved toward the crib and turned the dial until the tune began playing. I recognized the lullaby as “Ring-a-Ring o’ Roses.” Only it sounded flat. As if the batteries were almost dead. The lullaby itself was haunting when you looked at the history and origin of it.

“I do wonder why that is, Saint. Is it because maybe you want me to be alive, so that your—” he paused and leaned against the railing of the crib, “—charming husband can make do on his promise?”

I folded my arms over my chest, breathing calmly. “Who are you?”

He didn’t answer. He simply studied me carefully. “You think you have this all figured out. All of you.”

“Where’s Veronica?” I snapped back quickly before Ophelia pulled me out of my sleep. I already knew he must have been working with her. I didn’t need his confirmation. She would have been helping him all along; I just had to know why.

He ran the tip of his finger over the wound on my neck and smirked. It was almost too painful to be this close to him this time. Touching Brantley’s mark. His favorite spot to bite me just below my ear. “Riddle me this…” I gulped. “What’s neither here, nor there, but a place that has caused all a little despair?” He breathed over my lips and I had to stop the bile that rose in my throat. “The time starts now; the games have just begun.”

I whacked his hand off me. “Tell me why.”

He seemed surprised by me hitting him. “I’m not working with Veronica, Saint. In fact, you should ask your husband why it is that they haven’t killed her yet? I’m sure he can fill you in. When you come back to me, I might just be ready to talk.”

I fly off the sofa with my fists clenched.

“What?” Ophelia asks, her hand on my forehead. “What did you get?” It’s just her and me this time, with the boys away briefly. They didn’t leave us without doubling security. I told them we would be fine, that the house alone is security, but they didn’t budge. Whatever dragged them away from here is obviously important, and I didn’t want to make a big hassle about it since their focus has solely been on me since Tillie, Madison, and Tate flew to Perdita. It has been three whole weeks. I feel guilty that everyone is separated on my account, and to make matters worse, Madison is three months away from giving birth, with Tillie not far behind her. “Please tell me we didn’t just defy orders for nothing.”

It’s true. Both Bishop and Brantley demanded we don’t do anything until they’re home. I couldn’t wait. With that same guilt living inside of my head rent-free, I need to find Veronica and get to the bottom of whoever this person is that has been invading me for months. “Not nothing. This time was different.”

Ophelia hands me a glass of warm milk. “Drink it. Warm milk is comfort for the soul.”

I take a sip and sigh when I feel it slide down my throat and settle in my belly.

“See…” She smiles at me. She must have showered today, too, since she’s not dressed in her pajamas. That’s another reason why I feel guilty. What this is doing to Ophelia and Ivy, who still hasn’t said a word to me and hangs out in her room more and more every day. Occasionally, she’ll give me a gentle smile, but that’s about it. It’s weird. She says nothing at all, but I still have come to trust her. Words can be deceiving, actions can, too, but energy speaks from the soul.

I smile at her, placing the mug onto my lap while wrapping my fingers around it. “I—” my words are cut off when an explosion rings through my ears. As if a village of women are screaming. I drop to the floor, covering my ears. Dust and shattered plaster burst in front of me, the milk from the mug I was sipping on spills over the old wood floors. A piercing sound deafens me so badly I can almost taste it. I tremble to my feet, coughing. Someone has blown up half of the house!