ERMES POV
Dawn was coming.
Thin grey light pressed against the broken glass of the winter garden, turning the gold around him paler, colder, almost holy.
He f*****g hated that.
He hated the light. Hated the roses. Hated the way they held him suspended above cracked stone like an offering no one had bothered to kill yet. Hated the slow drip of blood from his wrists, the burn marks beneath his ribs, the flowers blooming against his skin as if pain could be made decorative.
Most of all, he hated her.
Persefone Savage stood several feet away, speaking quietly with one of the silver wolves in human skin now, her hair loose around her face, blood on her hands, gold still moving beneath her skin like a disease pretending to be starlight.
Hours.
She had gone on for hours.
Question after q
