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Back Kingdom of the Wicked
Chapters (58)
  1. About the Author
  2. Title Page
  3. Imprint Page
  4. Dedication
  5. Epigraph
  6. Map
  7. Contents
  8. Prologue
  9. One
  10. Two
  11. Three
  12. Four
  13. Five
  14. Six
  15. Seven
  16. Eight
  17. Nine
  18. Ten
  19. Eleven
  20. Twelve
  21. Thirteen
  22. Fourteen
  23. Fifteen
  24. Sixteen
  25. Seventeen
  26. Eighteen
  27. Nineteen
  28. Twenty
  29. Twenty-One
  30. Twenty-Two
  31. Twenty-Three
  32. Twenty-Four
  33. Twenty-Five
  34. Twenty-Six
  35. Twenty-Seven
  36. Twenty-Eight
  37. Twenty-Nine
  38. Thirty
  39. Thirty-One
  40. Thirty-Two
  41. Thirty-Three
  42. Thirty-Four
  43. Thirty-Five
  44. Thirty-Six
  45. Thirty-Seven
  46. Thirty-Eight
  47. Thirty-Nine
  48. Forty
  49. Forty-One
  50. Forty-Two
  51. Forty-Three
  52. Forty-Four
  53. Forty-Five
  54. Forty-Six
  55. Forty-Seven
  56. Forty-Eight
  57. Acknowledgments
  58. Endmatter page 1

Wrath handed me a cloth to wipe my face. I don’t know where he pulled it from, and I didn’t care. “Lust takes the pleasant emotions you have and inflates them. You might experience a void now. Picture it like a well—his influence rapidly depletes the supply. Where you were once blissfully happy, you’ll feel a sharp contrast. It is a hell in its own way. Giving someone ultimate pleasure, only to rip it from them before they fully grasp it. Done often enough, it drives mortals mad. You should be all right soon enough, though.”

“He wouldn’t have . . .” I fisted my hands at my side. “Made me . . .”

Wrath shook his head. “No.”

“But I felt—there were invisible hands.” I also didn’t forget how hard I’d been trying to take my clothes off in front of Wrath. Or how much I’d wanted him to touch me.

“Manifestations of your desire. They were a part of you, not anyone or anything else.”

There was little comfort in that. Lust might not have violated me physically, but the emotional manipulation was equally bad. He’d twisted goodness until it was cloaked in evil. Wrath was right. It did feel like I’d crashed—like I’d been soaring, and the wind abruptly stopped and I was plunged into the frigid sea depths below. A vast abyss of nothing swallowed me.

I wanted to curl up on the ground, and sleep for eternity. I didn’t care about the curse. Or the nagging feeling I’d learned something important. I no longer worried about my sister’s murder. Or vengeance. Nothing mattered anymore.

I must have said that last part out loud.

Wrath reached over and lightly brushed blood-smeared knuckles against the side of my neck. The exact place I thought he’d kissed me the night he’d saved me from the Viperidae. I shivered and he dropped his hand.

“Valeas.” Be strong. “It will again soon.”

Thirty-Five

Thirty-Five

“Soon” turned into a week. I hardly noticed the passage of time. I stayed in bed, locked the sunlight out, and refused to bathe. I had little energy and less reason to care. I didn’t visit my family, or the restaurant. I didn’t look for my amulet, or think about the gates of Hell. I barely slept. When I did, I kept hearing a strange voice. When I awoke, the urgent message was forgotten.

I didn’t care. It didn’t matter.

The world felt like it was caving in around me, and sometimes I’d gasp for what felt like hours, unable to draw in enough breath. Life hurt. All pleasure was gone. Anything that once held meaning was long forgotten, buried deep in a void I couldn’t break through. My sister was a faraway memory. Vengeance was rooted in passion, and therefore I had nothing left of it, either.