Crown of Cinders (Imdalind #7)(4)

“You mean my grandmother.” It was a statement, a forgotten connection hitting me full in the face.

Her grandmother.

The same power of the first that I had worked to destroy was flowing through her veins, as it was Ilyan’s. The addition of Edmund’s Chosen blood made them powerhouses that had hindered my accomplishments for far too long. Powerhouses were too big of a liability.

“Yes, your grandmother,” I mused, holding the robe gently in my hands as I took a step toward her, ash falling from my hair and shoulders with the movement. “How unfortunate.”

“And why is that unfortunate?” she snapped, her voice strong, though I could sense the tiniest shake behind it.

“No reason,” I said with a smile, the icy look making her flinch for the first time.

Oh, well. I supposed I would have to add her to my list. Not that I hadn’t already intended to kill her after I had gotten my use of her. Now, it would have to be a bit sooner than expected.

Ilyan, Joclyn, Wyn, Ryland, and Ovailia. Thank all that I had already disposed of Edmund’s little puppet Míra in the pile of corpses, leaving Ilyan to set her aflame. The child had still borne Edmund’s ?tít, which would not have died with his death.

The last of his magic, now I had to dispose of the last remains.

“All the other four are dead now,” I hissed, moving the robe from my arms and letting the blood drip across the air as I threw it over my shoulders, the damp fabric heavy. “I am the only one left, the only one fit to sit in this role.”

“The role of the blood-soaked king?”

“Yes.” My smile grew, the title fitting. “With a robe of blood and a crown of cinders, I leave death in my wake.”

“And hell before.” Ovailia stepped toward me, the tap of her heels against the ash sounding like bells. “You are the devil this world needs.”

A flash of the sight I’d had in the cathedral in Prague caused me to flinch: the white room, the voice of the woman. It blinded me, the pressure of her voice splitting my head.

Pushing the imagery and memory aside, I attempted to ignore the sudden boom of my heart that had exploded in my chest.

“No, darling,” I growled, pressing down on the sudden and despicable emotion, letting my anger and power smother it. “I am hell. It is the devil who searches for me.”

I expected her to flinch from the confession, flinch from the smile I fixed her with, but she persisted, her trademark glare in place as she casually brushed her hair behind her ear, her lithe fingers delicate in the motion.

Beautiful.

Intoxicating.

Lustful.

I swallowed, feeling my magic swell with the motion, trying to push itself beyond my skin to reach out to hers, to find hers.

I held it back, not wanting to feel the sweet need of her magic, not wanting to lose control. Not with her, not now.

I had a feeling, with the smile she now had, she knew exactly what she was doing.

“Maybe I am the devil.”

“Then I will destroy you, Ovailia. Just like all the others.”

It was a threat, but she smiled, her breasts heaving as she moved closer, as though she couldn’t keep herself away from the danger that was dripping from my skin.

“Try.”

I hadn’t expected the word. I hadn’t expected the weight behind it. My perfectly planned rebuttal stalled on my tongue, my magic tangling with hers in a heightened lust the threat gave me.

I swallowed, and she smiled, obviously sensing the control she had over me.

Perhaps she was the devil.

I would have to turn her skin as red as her father’s. And soon.

The imagery of that simple thought was beautiful.

“You killed them, too.” She already knew the answer. Not that it was that difficult to piece together after everything she had seen. Of course, she wasn’t completely right, and I wouldn’t let her know that.

Yes, I had killed two of them, but the third, that repulsive Vil?, had been dealt with by Edmund before I could. Imprisoning him, using him to infect himself and to infect his son, that idiotic boy who had released it, leaving him to infect my own daughter.

That little piece of information was too important to get out. If Ovailia knew how much power flowed within my dratted child, I was convinced I would lose her allegiance. She was too valuable of a weapon to lose.

I needed her … for now.

“You killed them all,” she whispered, moving closer as the flutter of her words moved over my skin.

“I did,” I admitted openly.

Her smile grew as mine did, the room silent and still as we faced each other.

The pulse of my magic was becoming unsteady. I needed to put a stop to it.

“I killed your grandmother,” I whispered back, my voice soft, while the words were hostile. “I stopped her heart. I devoured her magic like I did to your darling daddy.”

Her eyes clouded over as she flinched at my verbal assault, stepping back as I stepped closer, a wicked grin now stretching my lips, letting my teeth gleam in the dimly lit room.

Her chest heaved from either the proximity or with the words; I wasn’t sure which. She could either kiss me or attack me. I would gladly accept either.

“Are you sure you want to be the devil?” I prodded, taking yet another step toward her, expecting her to step away again.

She held her ground, her blue eyes hardening into the emotionless steel that was so common for her.