When I rip it open, a photograph flutters free.
Three girls beam up at me from sun-bleached gloss. My own crooked grin, Sunniva’s wind-tangled hair, and Giselda’s arm hooked tight around us with her laughter frozen mid-summer. I can almost taste the lake spray, hear her voice cutting through the heat.
The weight of the memory presses harder than the paper ever could.
I flip it over, my breath snagging in my throat as I read over the four words that crawl across the paper like worms.
Sisters forever. Or not.
I almost shred it to ribbons just so I never have to see her handwriting again, but my fingers won’t let go. They’re frozen, as if some part of me still wants to cling to the ghost she left behind.
“A little dramatic if you ask me,” Sunniva grumbles before standing with a sigh. “She’s taunting you, Cressi.” Her face is pale, but her eyes burn with rage. “The bitch knows exactly where to stick the knife.”
Lucetta swears, pacing to the window to peek out. “I don’t like this. If she can slip this through, she can slip herself through. She’s closer than we thought.”
The photo shakes in my hand. “She’s not just targeting Kon and his business like we originally thought. This is personal. She’s targeting me.”
The bond pulses sharply like it agrees, or maybe it’s just reacting to my fear.
Suddenly pressure builds in my head until it feels like something might split open inside me.
There’s something that doesn’t belong to Konstantin trying to dig into my head. A sliver of energy that feels oily and wrong, like smoke curling under a locked door.
I gasp, trying to quickly block whatever evil is trying to get in. “She’s trying to dig into my fucking brain. When the hell did she get powers?”
Sunniva’s hands close over mine, grounding me. “Don’t let her in, doll face. That’s what she wants. To get inside your head.”
A door slams downstairs and heavy footsteps echo through the hall like a storm rolling in. The bond flares so violently that my knees almost give out.
And then he’s here.
Konstantin fills the doorway, bloodied and feral, his presence a wall of heat and violence. Misha shadows him, silent as a wraith, but I barely see him. All my focus is on the man who owns my heartbeat even when I wish he didn’t.
He tosses something onto the table with a quiet clink. A small, twisted charm shaped like a scythe gleams in the light it’s black metal edges cruel.
“She’s laughing at us,” he growls.
I want to fling the photo in his face. I want to scream until my throat bleeds. Instead, the words tear out of me before I can stop them. “And you think killing your way through her people fixes that?”
His head snaps toward me, his eyes blazing hot. “You’d rather I do nothing while she poisons my streets? While she sends you her little love notes?” He gestures to the photo still shaking in my hand. “She’s already inside our walls, Cressida. And you want me calm?”
“Calm?” I laugh, sharp and broken. “I want you sane. You terrify the shit out of me, Kon. And not because of what you’ll do to her, but because of what you’re turning into.”
His chest heaves as he steps closer, blood smeared along his knuckles, and the scent of iron still clinging to him. “And yet you are still here.”
“Because I don’t get to run,” I snap. “She was my best friend. My sister. She braided my fucking hair and swore she’d never leave us. And now, she sends me this.” I shove the photo at him. “So, tell me, Bogeyman, how do I fight a ghost who already knows how to kill me?”
He cups my jaw with his bloodied hand, his thumb pressing just under my ear. His touch is gentle even as his eyes burn. “You don’t. More than dealing drugs on my streets and killing my people, she hurt you,Lisichka. That makes her mine to destroy.”
“She betrayed me,” I say, my voice breaking.
Something raw flickers in his eyes. The bond surges between us. It’s painful, electric, and nearly too much to bear, but I press into his hand anyway, even as tears sting my eyes.
The rest of the people in the room fade as we crash together in a kiss that isn’t soft. It’s teeth and desperation. It’s bruising and messy. His mouth claims mine like he’s drowning, and I let him, because I’m drowning too.
When we break apart, we both shaking. The bond quiets to a simmer, not soothes, but temporarily silenced, as if it’s holding its breath.
I stare at the photo still clutched in my hand. Giselda’s smiling face burns into me like acid.
