Page 21 of Sacred Venom

She stares until the last second when the car descends into town, taking with it the last flicker of light in my chest.

I exhale.

The sun crawls higher, threatening to blind me if I don’t get out of here now. I tap the barrel of the revolver against my temple, but the thought of using it has already gone strange in my head.

I came to the cemetery to die. Instead, I found a reason not to.

Not yet.

I have to find her first.

She’ll be with the Boltons, a tragic arrangement, but a temporary one. My angel crawled into my path for a reason.

She won’t escape me for long.

The image of her, that luminous creature, is the only thing dragging me back to the place I’m supposed to call home.

The cemetery gives way to trees, a thick canopy of branches blocking out the sky. Beneath them, I’m mercifully kept hidden from the growing light a little longer. I’ve always preferred the world when it’s half-dead and dark.

All is quiet when Highstone Manor appears. A mansion added onto so many times throughout the century that it’s become almost a castle, because God forbid the Crotavere men ever stop building monuments to themselves.

It’s maybe six in the morning by the time I slip through the back door into the kitchen.

Our housekeeper, Pearl, is already up making coffee. My grandfather sits at the table, reading news of the outside world as if it will ever affect him. Steam curls from the mug Pearl sets in front of him. She rushes out of the room when I come in, gifted woman that she is, sensing the stench of an argument.

“Out late again, Edwin.” Grandpa Wallace doesn’t bother to look up.

“Running the business like I’m supposed to.” I brace myself at the counter, prepared for the family tradition of being chastised for my inadequacy.

“Running the business.” He scoffs and sets the tablet aside. When he stands to his full height, he still commands the room. Ninety-something but wouldn’t back down from a fight.

With my shoulders slumped, his eyes are even with mine, and I fold. Pathetic, really. Making strangers cower all night, but one look from this old man and I’m reduced to a disappointing heir.

“Your father is dying, Edwin. You need to be here. Don’t let him go alone.”

“He’s not alone. This house is full of people.”

“Now is not the time for selfishness,” he says quietly.

I face him, pushing my shoulders back.

“He’s your son. Why aren’t you with him?”

That strikes a chord. His voice softens to something I haven’t heard from him since my grandmother died decades ago.

“It’s a son’s duty to bury his father. A father is obligated to bury his son. He’s your responsibility, Edwin.”

The familiar crushing weight presses against my chest. My entire life was scripted before my first breath. Something to be molded and sharpened until useful. I am a number in the succession of Crotavere men. The continuation of a legacy. And my time is coming up fast.

“I’m going to bed,” I mutter, turning before he can continue his speech.

Upstairs, the hallway is cold. I come to my parents’ bedroom and ease the door open. My father sleeps alone on his side of the bed, the space next to him an open wound where my mother used to lie.

I stand here long enough for the ache to spread. I’ve buried one parent already. I don’t have it in me to do it again. Not so soon. Not before I’ve had time to process the first loss.

A cold breath sweeps past me as I close the door. Whether it’s a draft or phantom, I don’t let it touch me further.

In my room, I collapse back into the dark. And there she is again, brightening up my mind.