Wolf Omega: The Lykanos Chronicles 2

Chapter Fifty-Three

Pompeia's porcelain face appeared every bit as luminous as it had the last day I saw her. She stood in the light by the window, her black satin dress even more striking under the gleam of her golden hair.

Pompeia's welcome shook me to the core. The devil who had conspired to destroy our father unexpectedly stood meekly before me, and I felt my hold slacken. My body pushed painfully against the seams of my corset, and I could think of little else than ripping through my garments to stand at vengeful attention.

A sound came from Duccio. It was nothing any of them could likely hear. It wasn't a word or even an emotion, but some resonance that calmed me and restored my self-control. It felt as if he extended the indefinable power to offer me aid. And without considering it for more than a second, I knew he desired for me to restrain myself.

"The day has come for justice," Pompeia continued when I didn't answer.

"Justice?"

She sighed quickly and cast her eyes to the floor, sensing my disbelief.

"You have every right to despise me for my part in what befell us."

From my mind, I extended to Pompeia the gruesome sight of Apollonia's savaged body, her arms outstretched and nailed to her bedroom wall. An aborted child lay dead at her feet in a pool of black, coagulated blood, still attached to its mother's womb. Swarms of houseflies swarmed around them both, buzzing with determination over the feast. Scrawled above her head in blood was the word 'TRAITOR.'

The image was flawless and vivid, drenched in every emotion of horror I felt that day. I recalled my helpless agony at witnessing the scene, and then my debilitating anxiety as I wept alone on the street and in the cathedral.

I forced it all upon Pompeia's mind with such severity that I saw her stiffen before she could draw her next breath.

"Indeed," I answered, hearing the memory of Sempronio's voice guide my response.

Emotion overtook Pompeia's face, and she placed her hand on her stomach as if to hold herself. Did she feel the same child in her womb as I had? Did she see it fall painfully into the world with no hope of a mother's love?

"I could give you reasons," Pompeia said when she finally could. "But there's nothing I could say that might ever atone for what I've done. I have no excuse."

"Very well, then. Give me your reasons."

Her voice stumbled as if she was unprepared for me to ask for her account.

"I loved him," she said at last. Her eyes fell to Duccio, who stared at the floor on his knees between us. "And I believed him when he told me why I must kill the human; why I must take you to your husband's house as I did."

"You believed him? What did you believe?"

"That you had betrayed him. In your silence on that night when Father had banished him from the castle, you had betrayed him."

"Were you any less silent on that night?"

"No," she shook her head wearily. "But my silence was the obedience of a wife. And yours was pure defiance."

"Defiance of his decision to cast you aside and take me as his possession. Still, you forgave him and held me accountable for refusing to watch him betray you? How could you possibly have done that? How could you have agreed to such malice toward me? You loved him—that was your reason?"

"I did!" she insisted. "He was my husband. More than that, he was our master."

"He was not!" I shouted back at her. "He was never our true master. He certainly wasn't after Sempronio cast him into the night. And do you recall why Father did that? Because Duccio tried to betray us both again after he'd been forgiven of his crimes. How can you have aided your husband as you did? How can you have helped your husband slaughter Father in his own home?!"