Our Fatal Failings (Twisted book two)

Chapter Twenty-Four

“Lara!” 

She opens the door and pushes him through it before locking it. A couple frantic knocks come from the other side before they disappear completely. She looks at me with puzzled blue eyes. “What?” 

“What has gotten into you! What are you doing!”

“Telling him the truth. Bad things happen to this family since your mate came. It’s like you get all the moon goddess’ favor and the rest of us are cursed.”

I throw my hands into the air. “That’s not true. Don’t talk like that.”

She shrugs. “I’ll die alone. I don’t care.”

“It was different when you were younger.” 

She hugs her sweater to her body, shivering. “Nothing has been the same for years. And it will never be the same Mother is a husk, Father is dead, your mate is a rebel leader and you are a powerful, frightening king.”

“You’re scared of me?”

She looks me right in the eye. Her blue eyes are cold and dead. “Why wouldn’t I be your Majesty? You’d do anything for that girl. You even went as far to upend the standing government. It terrifies all of us.”

She picks up her sunglasses and puts them back on her face. For a moment I am glad. Her eyes could pierce my soul. And then I’m devastated. My baby sister. The sweet girl I’d known when we were children is dead. And in her place, a hollow ghost has grown.

And I didn't even notice. 

“I’m flying back to Paris tomorrow.”

“No. We’re going to get help for you. You don’t have to feel this way.”

“There is no other way to feel Your Majesty.” Those two words are the final nail in the coffin. We are strangers to her. She opens the door and leaves and I realize how incredibly alone I am in this giant castle I built for myself. Not my mate, not my family, myself. It was my ambition alone that did this. I built myself a prison. But it’s too late to turn back now. 

##############################################################

Jonah’s POV

I sit in the meeting room. I don’t know where the witch’s found those gems, but they’re tearing through us with them. We leave sizable holes in their forces, but they’ve got this grit to them, this dying, dying grit, like they’re fighting for their very lives. They're too willing to shed their own blood. They’re too willing to  kill their own kind before capture. It’s like they’d rather see an end to their kind before a return to the old system. It’s vicious and gruesome, putting more than bad taste in my mouse. 

They should’ve just stuck to making potions.

One of my advisors passes a file my way. “We came into possession of information from a regular infantry soldier. He claims to have made contact with one of the witches and escaped.”

I furrow my brow. “How?

I open the folder and my eyes immediately widen. I shove it away from me. “It’s not possible.”