Valka
I pace the length of my bedchamber until the rug wears thin, panic hollowing my gut.
He knew. How could he know? When-- when had he--? No. If he'd always known, he wouldn't have been angry that we slept together.
During the mating rite...
Had our slit palms touched then and sparked what? Memories for him? Then why couldn't I remember it? The absurd claims he's made, things I never could have done.
I stop in front of the mirror, staring at myself. That memory flashes again before my eyes and I try to pick it apart objectively, but it feels real. The feel of blood running down my fingers. The reek of rot and death. The grunt of pain.
Theirs? His?
Leave me for dead. Again.
My world tilts with the weight of it and I clutch the edge of the dressing table to keep from falling.
What have I done? To Lucien? Who else did I hurt? Who did I kill? Why can't I remember more?
Come home with me...
