A grin split his face.
Not a good grin.
A dark, delighted, terrible thing.
“Well,” he rasped, wiping blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. “I never thought that prophecy was real.”
I would have laughed too.
Maybe.
If I had not been stunned silent.
Because Perse had not moved.
She did not need to.
The garden had moved for her. The wolves had moved for her. The light had moved for her.
She stood there in the ruins of her sanctuary, gold dripping from her claws, roses bowing at her feet, eyes fixed on Ermes like he had already died and his body simply had not caught up yet.
And I did not know a freaking thing about prophecies in general.
Old books, moon nonsense, ancient riddles written by people who clearly had too much free time and not enough therapy were not my thing
