Page 36 of Chasing the Night
“I… I’m sorry.” I tucked my hair behind my ear and cursed myself for letting the liquor saturate my filter. “What about you… what was life like before you found the Krypt?”
The drink was killed, and he quickly refilled it. A few swigs later, and he was practically melting into his chair. His voice maintained that smooth whiskey tone, and he even managed to meet my eyes now and again.
“Before the Krypt?” His gaze became distant and a forlorn smile carried a gentle softness. “Hmm… I became a Krypt the day I was branded. The day Atticus and Isabella saved my life.”
“What?” I smiled, expecting some sign of jest. When it didn’t come, I placed my hand over my throat and forced myself to speak past the empathy that had lodged there. “Wh -why were you branded to the point of death?”
“I was found guilty of theft,” he slowly repeated. It was a statement that haunted him, causing a distant haze to cloud his eyes each time it was uttered.
“For what, though? What could you have possibly stolen that would demand such a deep and horrid marking?”
“A woman’s honor,” he whispered before scooting the bottle of Cognac toward the center of the desk. It was just beyond his reach to beckon back without purposeful effort.
“You… you raped someone…” The drinks and his tale were weaving with my new-found hyper-vigilance. Everything sounded suspicious and sordid.
“No!” he passionately hissed. Pain quivered at the corner of his eyes, it was subtle, but I was sure I saw it before he clenched his jaw and forced all traces of emotion from his expression. “She was my intended.”
“Oh…” I slowly comprehended. “Did they brand her too?”
“No.” He swallowed and looked away. “They executed her.”
My brows flinched, and I fought my own shock in search for some words of condolence, but none came. Why was he laying with Blazian? What man risked suffering such a fate twice?
One that was set to be unioned with a woman he didn’t give an iota of a fuck about, that’s who.
“May the Fated Few show her mercy,” I finally managed.
“Don’t tell me you still believe in all those whispers and fables.” He smiled wistfully.
“You don’t?” Shock and disbelief clung to the almost whispered query.
“I…” He paused and looked at me like it was our last moment together. “I don’t think it’s possible to live this life… and still believe in things like favor and curses.”
“Are you saying you believe in nothing?”
“I’m saying I believe in myself. I believe I can compel a man to use his very last breath to utter curses. Hmm, indeed. My beliefs are neither here nor there, Chalice. But... if there is one thing that I would choose for you to remember, love, it’s that you are the truth. The judge, jury, and executioner of your own conscience. Do I believe in the depths of Lake Last? Fuck no. The most excruciating existence one could ever conjure or be sentenced to, the only eternal torment that exists in this life or any after is and always will be House Krypt.”
When Messiah spoke, men shut up and listened. Though his tone was dreamlike, and his eyes forever lust-lidded, when he spoke it was with power. His words chosen with purpose and delivered in a way that stuck.
Even in my inebriated state, I recognized it for the grave warning that it was.