Book 3 - Page 57 (1/2)

Jack moved to stand in front of the man, hatred stamped on every line of his body. “He’s about to give up everything. I’ll make the twins’ torture look like love taps.”

I blinked at Jack. So ruthless. So unyielding. A million miles away from the drunken boy who’d cared about nothing after the Flash.

Selena had told me that Jack had changed. Yeah. That.

He backhanded Milo. “Wake up, you fils de putain.” Not a twitch . . . While we waited, Aric knelt, lifting a weighty black book from the ground. He brushed sawdust from it, then laid it on the desk.

I drew in. “What is it?”

He didn’t answer, just turned to the first page. Handwritten text covered the weathered paper. I couldn’t determine the language.

Aric’s radiant eyes illuminated the page. “G.o.ds in heavens.”

“What is it?”

“Chronicles.” He turned that brilliant gaze to me. “The Lovers’ chronicles.”

33

“What is this?” Milo demanded, spittle flying into the air. Finally, he’d come to.

Jack stopped mid swing, lowering his hand. “Look who’s up.”

Milo’s pale blue eyes widened with shock. “I know you! The notorious hunter! What do you want from me?”

“Your children,” Jack answered. “The real ones. You’re goan to give them to us.”

When the sounds of the outside celebrations filtered into the tent, Milo’s shock deepened. “This isn’t possible—my soldiers are loyal!” His lips drew back from stained teeth. “They will retake control.” His hands twisted against his bonds, his fingers tipped with long yellow nails. “And when they do—”

“Your loyalists are as good as dead. Just like your twins.” Jack nodded to indicate the carnates. “Or their placeholders, anyway.”

“That’s Death’s mark.” Milo whipped his head around with confusion, settling on Aric.

He sat at the man’s desk, leaning back in the chair, steepling his fingers. The book lay open in front of him.

Milo glanced at it, then studiously away. Did he hope we wouldn’t figure out what we possessed?

For once, we’d had a turn of fortune. The book hadn’t been in Milo’s safe or hidden away.

Because he was the Lovers’ chronicler.

At the time a canister rolled into his tent, he’d been recording an entry. The last written word trailed across a page.

The bad news? The language was ancient Romanian. The good news? Aric said he could translate it in time. Milo snapped, “Death wasn’t part of the deal!”

“The one your kids already welshed on?” I pointed out.

“You!” As I’d suspected, Milo’s face grew even redder. I’d never been looked at with such contempt. “All my life I’ve known who to blame for generations of this family’s misfortunes—the Empress. Here she stands.”

“I understand your blaming me for the last game. But all the following centuries? That’s a stretch.”

He gazed at the circlet of roses on my head, making a face of revulsion. “Without your treachery, the Duke and d.u.c.h.ess Most Perverse would have won, becoming royalty. No, becoming immortal G.o.ds! They could have watched over and enriched this family eternally. Each generation knows how you robbed us. Our line is forged from vengeance!”