"I see every fracture in that twisted soul of yours," Vaeronyx thundered, his voice cracking the air like an ancient curse. "That the Oracle… my wife, purest light ever to walk this world, foretold her successor… and it is you? If this is fate, then fate is a cruel, deranged fool. I'll destroy you, imposter!"
The hatred dripping from his words was thick enough to scorch.
Lorraine froze.
For a breath, she'd thought his fury came from her earlier insolence, from her daring to question a god who had chosen to sleep while his bloodline was slaughtered. She had assumed she'd touched an unhealed wound, and she had, but that wound wasn't what made his voice shake with venom now.
No.
This was deeper. Older. Sharper.
This was personal.
