Cold and cruel, Brochan understood. But heartless? No. No one loved harder than Viola. She loved herself utterly, madly, completely. So, clearly, she had a heart. It was shriveled, yes, but it was a heart nonetheless, which meant she did have a weakness. He had only to find it.
Brochan grabbed the scroll with a sketch of Viola. A type of mugshot, he thought the humans called it. Dione had meted out revenge, arranging for Viola’s incarceration in Tartarus, where she had spent centuries.
A young Viola peered up at him from the page, her expression startled, her hair wild and in tangles.
His chest clenched. He traced a fingertip across her lips and scowled. Beautiful on the outside. Monstrous on the inside. Selfish. Haughty. As brutal as advertised. Everything he’d once fought against in the skies. But…
She was also charming without effort. Wonderfully confident, no matter the situation. Never shy or soft-spoken, as his wives had been. No, Viola took what she wanted, when she wanted it, and let nothing stop her. A commendable trait. An insufferable trait. But even still, Brochan hungered for her.
Fool! Every foul thing she did, she did with one aim: to save that devil-dog. As if her bloodthirsty pet was worth more than McCadden. Or anyone.
If Brochan must watch his brother age and die, Viola must experience the same with her darling Fluffy. He expected—nay, he demanded—tit for tat.
Temper flaring, he fixed his attention on the story of the goddess’s imprisonment. For centuries, Viola languished in her cell, locked in solitary confinement. At some point, she became bonded to Narcissism.
According to the warden’s report, that bond was forced upon her. Brochan refused to feel sorry for her, however. He––
The tattoo on his arm heated, and he tossed the scroll with a huff. Viola was excited about something. On the prowl for a gullible immortal already? This could not be borne.
Fury bubbled inside him. But so did anticipation. The time for observation and hoping the goddess inadvertently revealed the key to Nevaeh ended now.
A quick plan formed. Bring her here. Imprison her until she gifts the key. Choose her ultimate fate. His lust for her hadn’t mattered, didn’t matter, and wouldn’t matter.
Decided, Brochan unsheathed a blade and flashed away.
Chapter Three
Not him. His aura burned too bright.
Not him. His aura indicated a rageful temper.
Not him. His aura spoke of fear. No courage.
Music blasted as Viola strutted through a crowded nightclub packed with wolfshifters, searching the sea of faces. Three days had passed since Brochan’s demise, and she’d barely thought of him more than a hundred times. Practically never when you considered that most people had trillions of thoughts a day. But…
She maybe, kinda, sorta did possibly, perhaps miss the stimulation of his insistent chase. Having such a dedicated bodyguard hadn’t sucked. At least Brochan could no longer stop her from feeding Fluffy or temporarily quieting Narcissism. Exactly what she planned to do tonight.
The fur-baby required a full battery recharge, and the demon demanded adoration. Winning a man’s heart provided both. For a short time, at least.
Two birds, one slightly distasteful stone. Hardly a big deal. The pangs now arching through her meant nothing.
For two days, she’d failed at her mission. But not tonight. Victory was critical. Soon, the demon would begin siphoning her confidence, leaving her vulnerable against the mountain of insecurities and loathing buried beneath her glorious self-assurance. A circumstance she abhorred—as anyone would. Her tears never ceased and fears constantly overran her mind.
Confidence was her drug of choice, and she planned to get smashed. So. Here we are. Viola endeavored to do what she hated and loved: charm someone into falling in love with her.
Exactly as she’d done to McCadden and so many others. Meaning, another family would be devastated.
Her chest tightened, squeezing her rib cage.
You deserve better, Narcissism whispered. Always better.
Yes. She did.
Tightening further… Why should she care about others, anyway? People might not mean to, may actively try not to or have the best intentions, but they always betrayed you. It happened without fail. But oh, how she yearned to torment the fiend the way he so often tormented her. If anyone deserved to suffer, he did. But how was she supposed to fight a monster responsible for her confidence?
Just get this done and move on.
Lights flashed as randy wolfshifters flailed and thrashed upon the dance floor. Not him. Not him. Not him. As usual, she sought a specific type of male. Someone eager for love but also courting death. Her gift to herself. Selecting males on the verge of dying kept all guilt at bay…mostly. At least half, surely. Why should she allow death to extinguish so much power? Why not remove the power first? Win-win.
Viola was born with an ability to read auras. A prized skill, to be sure. Auras shared the deepest secrets. The condition of a heart, whether pure or evil. The state of a mind, whether at peace or agitated. The amount of time someone had left, whether centuries or hours.